Money Men by Gerald Petievich

Author:Gerald Petievich [Petievich, Gerald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-08-10T06:00:00+00:00

Red put it in his shirt pocket. He grasped the arms of the chair tightly. "I wouldn't ask you if I didn't need the money. I've sent you a lot of business through the years. I never handed you up to the Feds in the last project. I could of handed you up to the Feds but I didn't. They asked about you but I kept my mouth shut and walked the yard. You could have been there with me. You know that."

"I also know that the statute has run. I'm a lawyer, Red. I'm home free. They can't arrest me, because the offense happened over five years ago. That's the law. Please don't try to muscle me. Nobody muscles me. Let's remain friends." Max turned his palms up and gave a weak smile.

Red stood up and put his hands in his pockets. He thought it odd that his stomach had suddenly stopped churning.

"Tony the juice man has a long memory, doesn't he?" the lawyer asked. Red felt his head bob up and down. "I told you years ago that it was a mistake to go to him for front money. I'm sorry you didn't take my advice. I'm really very sorry."

Red walked toward the door.

"Bring something to me! Anything except grass. I have a truckload man who keeps me busy with grass. Anything else! With luck you'll be out of the bind in no time at all. I am sorry, Red." Max looked at his watch.

The door closed.

A jukebox played soul music.

Red Diamond and Ronnie Boyce sat in a corner booth with drinks, served by a floppy-breasted waitress who wore nothing but a G-string.

The only light in the bar was a semicircle of pink, which illuminated a small, round stage. On the stage, a naked blonde woman with stretch marks on her stomach arched backward clumsily to give some men at a nearby table a good look at her crotch. The men made drunken remarks of appreciation.

No one else in the place seemed to be watching her. The tables and booths buzzed with whispered negotiations of all kinds. In the next booth an older man with a ponytail and a fat Mexican woman snorted cocaine from a tiny spoon.

Red handed Ronnie the ten-dollar Sahara Casino chip. "Take a look at it, lil' brother. I just got it today. You can't tell the difference between it and a real one. It's a sample counterfeit from the guy who makes 'em. He's an inventor, a genius really."

Ronnie rubbed the chip, tried to bend it. "Can we get some more?"

"That's the problem. The inventor made up this sample for me, but we need cash before he'll go into full production. We're back in a negative-cash-flow situation at this point."

Ronnie looked puzzled.

Red wrote on the paper place mat. "Cash flow...equipment trip to Las Vegas...$100,000." He turned the place mat around to Ronnie. "This is the way I have it mapped out. We need another score to make this thing move. The dude will make the phony chips for a flat fee and we lay 'em down in Vegas.

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