One Last Job by Sean Rodman

Author:Sean Rodman [Rodman, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2022-01-29T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

A couple of days later I’m hanging out on the corner with Tank. He’s put his usual drumsticks aside while he eats a burrito. The thin tinfoil wrapper barely contains the goopy tortilla.

I’ve told him all about Tricia. About the original necklace. Gone forever to some big-shot drug dealer. About the copy that Tricia’s making.

“How’s your Gramps handling it?” Tank asks.

“Not great. I just wish I could have done more, you know?”

“Yeah, I felt the same way,” says Tank. “So I asked around. Found out something good.”

The bottom of his burrito drops out of the wrapper. Sauce and beans dribble down his hands. His white T-shirt is splattered with burrito juice.

“What did you find out?” I ask. But Tank’s concentration is split between the necklace story and his exploding lunch. He doesn’t answer. Annoyed, I ask again.

“C’mon—what did you find out?”

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a crisis?” snaps Tank. “Look at me, man, I’m a mess! And I’m still hungry!”

We’re interrupted by a big white van rattling to a stop in front of us. Fancy red letters curl across the side of the van: Stella’s Catering . The passenger-side window rolls down with a squeak. A young woman leans across from the driver’s seat. She’s pretty, with dark hair in a ponytail and big hoop earrings.

“Tank! You wearing my food now, you love it so much?”

Despite her teasing, Tank looks relieved instead of annoyed.

“You saved me, Stella! I just wasted one of your finest creations. You have it in your heart to treat me to another one?” Tank is wearing his widest smile.

Stella just shakes her head. “Get in, you charmer.”

Tank happily opens the door and climbs into the van. What’s he doing?

“Wait, Tank—you’re just leaving me here? I need to find out—”

Tank rolls his eyes. “What you need is a good meal. Get in.”

He leans back, and the rear door to the big van slides open. I clamber inside. The van is a little kitchen on wheels. It’s stuffed with shining stainless-steel shelves. Containers of ingredients. A little stove and fridge toward the back. There’s a small pull-down seat on one wall, behind the driver. I sit down and buckle up as Stella pulls away from the corner.

“Stella, meet Michael,” says Tank.

“Tank told me all about you,” says Stella as she navigates the van through the city streets. “Told me about your Gramps. He sounds like a sweetheart. Looking for his beloved wife’s necklace and all.”

Tank rustles around in a container at his feet, then tosses a paper bag of fried tortilla chips back to me. They smell great. They taste even better. Stella keeps talking as she drives.

“So when Tank told me about everything, I realized I might know the guy who bought the necklace. Hang on—I’ve got to merge to get onto the bridge.” Traffic thickens around the van as we leave downtown.

Tank jumps in to tell the rest of the story. “So this guy hires Stella a couple of weeks ago. His wife loves throwing parties.

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