Pawnbroker by Jerry Hatchett

Author:Jerry Hatchett [Hatchett, Jerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Crime, Spies & Politics, Conspiracies, Technothrillers, Crime Fiction, Thrillers
Amazon: B009LYDM4W
Publisher: Red House Publishing
Published: 2014-01-19T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 67

WITCH DANCE CAMPGROUND

NATCHEZ TRACE PARKWAY

BETWEEN TUPELO AND MONTELLO

The sparse late-night traffic on the federal parkway made its many scenic and historical stops ideal for clandestine meetings. Ballard didn’t like getting this involved with the details, but the rate of attrition of his workforce had been a real bitch over the past few days. He worked quickly, moving the cardboard cartons from the cargo area of the van into the back of his Escalade. Each box was twelve inches square.

The driver of the van, a dealer named Bowser who had recently moved from Chicago to Memphis, was a dark-skinned Caucasian with a pocked face and tiny deep-sunk eyes beneath a crude tattoo of a dagger that ran diagonally across his forehead. He stood nearer the roadway, his muscular arms crossed, watching for any traffic that might decide to pull into the small rest area.

When Ballard put the last carton inside and closed the door, Bowser walked by and said, “Better get your shit together if you want to keep your territory.”

Ballard froze, but said nothing.

“I don’t like incompetent hicks,” Bowser continued. “They screw things up for everybody.”

Ballard cocked his head to the side and studied Bowser. The chirping sounds of night stopped, as if even the crickets and cicadae were shocked into silence. “What did you say?”

Bowser froze, his hand on the van door, then turned his head back toward Ballard, who was now walking toward Bowser. “I said, you fat pig, that I don—”

Ballard caught him just below the left cheekbone with a lead-filled leather sap. The jawbone gave way with a sickening crack that filled the night air and Bowser wailed and fell to his knees. He was trying to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Ballard circled him, holding the sap in his right hand, slapping it into his left palm. Bowser was holding his shattered jaw with his left hand, moaning. On Ballard’s third trip around him, he swung the sap in a vicious backhand that broke the hand Bowser was holding to his face.

In a perfectly calm tone, Ballard said, “What were you saying?”

Bowser tried amid a series of moans and grunts to speak. “Thawy—thawy.” Blood poured from his mouth.

“Sorry? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Bowser nodded emphatically. Ballard suddenly smiled a big smile. “Apology accepted.” The smile disappeared and he said, “You so much as look at me with disrespect again, and I’ll kill you. Now get out of my sight.”

As Bowser made his way into the van, Ballard pulled out a cell phone and dialed. “Got the extra units—no, no problems.” He listened for a moment. “Don’t worry, Docker is taking care of them right about now.”

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