Ghosts: Barrett Mason Book 4 by Stewart Matthews

Author:Stewart Matthews [Matthews, Stewart]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Primrose Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-04-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

PHONE MAN LOOKED AT Huff like he was here to rip the cash register off the counter and scramble like hell out of the guild halls.

“I didn’t see anyone,” Phone Man said through the thickest Russian accent I’d heard in years.

Hearing it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Really?” Huff asked in a smarmy way. “You didn’t see anybody at all? So, if I were to go through that door behind the counter there,” Huff pointed over the top of Phone Man’s head, “what would I find back there? A cappuccino machine? A stove? Nothing else?”

Phone Man’s large, sweaty buddy, Newspaper Guy, lowered the edge of his paper so that two dark, beady eyes could see just who in the hell had come to their cafe.

“Look, I’m not interested in whatever goes on here, fellas.” Huff tapped me on the chest. “My friend and I are just here to find another friend.”

“We’re all friends,” I added, cheerily.

“That’s right,” Huff said. “And if you two gentlemen want to join our circle of friends, there’s a sign-on bonus.”

They looked at each other as if they were deciding on who got to rip which of Huff’s arms out. But if they tried, I wasn’t going to let them get very far.

Huff reached for the breast pocket of his shirt. Phone Man, who looked like the younger, and therefore, jumpier of the two of them, started to reach inside his jacket. I noticed Huff’s eyes swinging to Phone Man’s hand.

“There’s no need for that,” Huff said. “I already told you I wanted to be your friend.” He dipped his fingers into his pocket and pulled out the hundred Euro bill. “I just want to give you your sign-on bonus. As promised.”

He tugged on either end of the bill. It made a nice, crisp snapping noise. “A hundred bucks. Or Euros. Or Deutschmarks—whatever you guys call it here.” Huff slapped the bill down on the nearest table.

Both Phone Man and Newspaper man eyed it. And in them now, I saw a look I’d seen in other men’s eyes about a hundred times before. They weren’t impressed. Hell, they were probably a little pissed off. But that ain’t the look I saw. What I saw was malice. Two minds figuring out how they could kick the crap out of the both of us and get away with it.

So, I figured I’d jump-start the process a little bit for them. Newspaper Guy wasn’t too far from me. Not within punching distance. But kicking distance? Oh, hell yes.

I planted my left foot and snapped my right foot out like a bullwhip. Front kick, clean to face. Cleaner than I expected. I thought he might see me coming and throw up his hands or move his head, but maybe he’d been drinking on the job. I felt his teeth nibble at the toe of my sneaker, then his head whipped back, absorbing the impact of my foot. I’m sure his neck popped at least a couple times.

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