Serious Crimes (A Willows and Parker Mystery) by Laurence Gough

Author:Laurence Gough
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2016-04-11T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Garret, sucked in by the sexy blonde starlet on the cover, was reading a magazine. Newsweek, or maybe it was People. Billy always had a hard time telling the two apart. He drank some beer and watched Garret’s eyes scan back and forth, up and down. He was the only guy Billy had ever met who moved his lips looking at pictures.

Garret’s boots were up on the coffee table. Billy kicked him in the ankle. “Whatcha readin’?”

“Thing on Burt Reynolds. Does he wear a rug, or what?”

“Hair by Dupont,” said Billy. “He don’t comb it, he vacuums it.”

“Think so?” Garret turned the magazine upside down, trying for a different angle. “Looks pretty real to me.”

“Sinatra, he wears a hairpiece, right? I mean, it’s a fact. But you couldn’t tell by looking at him. What it boils down to is how much you got to spend.”

“Those guys got a lot,” said Garret. “Millionaires, both of ’em.”

“We could be that rich,” said Billy.

“Sure thing, Billy.”

“Almost,” said Billy defensively.

Garret turned to the next page. “I thought Madonna had gone and died or something, but look, there she is.”

“I got a real good idea,” said Billy.

“She’d never go for it.”

“I’m talking about an idea for making a whole lot of money.”

“How much is it gonna be this time?”

Billy’s intention had been to make Garret wait a minute, build the suspense. But he lost his cool and blurted it out. “Maybe half a million.”

Garret rolled his eyes, as if Billy was out of his mind. He said, “Okay, that’s more like it. Back at McDonald’s it was a couple million. Now you’re being reasonable.”

Billy said, “I was thinking about robbing an armoured car.”

Garret thought that was pretty funny. Garret sure got a laugh out of that one.

Billy lit a cigarette. He waited until Garret had calmed down and then said, “I wanna show you something,” and clomped out of the living room, his back stiff and angry.

Garret didn’t know what he was supposed to do — go after him or wait where he was, or what. He said, “Hey, Billy?”

Billy came back into the living room. The stub of his cigarette drooped from the corner of his mouth. He stopped on the far side of the coffee table, the Colt Python held loosely in his right hand.

“Maybe robbing an armoured car ain’t such a bad idea after all,” said Garret.

The tendons on Billy’s wrist stood out as he pulled back the hammer. The Python made a sharp double click.

“That thing loaded?”

Billy crouched, brought up his arm. His voice low and throaty, he said, “Get ready to die, mothafucka!”

“Quit foolin’ around,” whispered Garret, staring into the black hole of the muzzle.

Billy pulled the trigger. A tongue of orange and yellow flame leapt at Garret’s empty face. The sound of the shot seemed to explode inside his head, reverberate endlessly through the house.

Garret shrieked in pain, slapped at his face with his hands. “Jesus Christ, Billy!”

Billy had put the .357 Magnum round in a vice, pried out the wadcutter.

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