Gangland (The Girl in the Box Book 51) by Robert J. Crane

Author:Robert J. Crane [Crane, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ostiagard Press
Published: 2022-09-01T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Marcel

“Gentlemen and lady, welcome,” Heavy D said, strangely formal, as three dudes wearing blue crammed themselves into the back seat of the car Marcel was driving. A girl with big hips in tight jeans climbed over D and squeezed herself onto the console between them. When she turned, her breasts, bound up and slightly overflowing her wife beater, threatened to spill into Marcel's face. He felt heat in his cheeks, and caught a grin from the girl before he turned to look back at the road. “I apologize for the cramped nature of our conveyance.” To Marcel he added, “Should have stole that BMW instead of blowing it up, huh? Oh, well. We ain't gonna be up in here long.” And he gestured forward.

Marcel took the hint and let off the brake, causing the car to lurch and the girl next to him to slide toward D. She let out a little cry and Marcel said, “Sorry. Sorry,” then smoothed it out.

“You gonna have to forgive Marcel, he's new to this driving thing,” D said as the boys in back guffawed at his screwup. A couple jeers followed, but Marcel's ears were burning and he had his face anchored forward. “But he's already done right by me this morning, and we hit that little bitch dealer Kenneth at the corner.”

“Nice,” one of the boys in back said. He had a faded blue jersey on. “What are we doing now, D?”

“What I do best,” D said, “bringing it – and heavy, too.” He chuckled. “Turn here.” And he waved a hand for Marcel.

Marcel kept his mouth shut, and D did not elaborate. The boys in the back chatted back and forth – some teasing, some jeering, one of them commented on the girl squatting on the console beside him in a flattering way, and they all laughed – even her. Marcel didn't, really; he was too tense and it wasn't that funny. More embarrassing, really. His grandmama would box his ears if he'd said something like that in even the same county as her.

“Pull on up to the curb there, Marcel,” D said once they'd gone for about five minutes. They were on a residential street again, not unlike the one where they'd blown up the BMW. Once they slid to a stop, D said, “This is the Bocktown Bloods' stash house. Now Marcel and I hit them twice today already, so you know the call's already gone out. If I'm right, they're in there now, planning out what to do before they jump in their rides,” he indicated a half dozen cars parked along the street, “and come find some of us, get their own back.”

D slipped the sunglasses down, and Marcel could tell his eyes were hard. “We're gonna hit 'em now. I'm gonna bring down that house, and you, Leonel, you're going to set it on fire. It'll burn with them in it, and hopefully none of the rest of y'all will have to do a damned thing 'cept warm your hands or roast some marshmallows.

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