Free The Book With No Name by Anonymous Page A

take them off when he sat himself down at the bar, ready to discuss business with Sanchez.
    It didn’t bother Elvis that the Tapioca was moderately busy, and it didn’t bother Sanchez. If Elvis wanted to chew the fat with Sanchez for half an hour, then none of the other customers would order a drink. Elvis was respected, feared and, strangely enough, liked by just about everyone in town.
    ‘Hear y’had some pretty shitty news,’ said the King, with a knowing nod of the head.
    Sanchez picked up a bottle and, unasked, began to pour him a glass of whisky. ‘Shit travels fast when you throw it around,’ he said, slowly sliding the drink over the bar to Elvis.
    ‘Shit like yours creates quite a stink, too,’ the other remarked. His voice was a deep drawl.
    Sanchez smiled for the first time that morning. It was only half a smile, but being in the presence of greatness had dragged him out of the depths of sorrow he had been wallowing in since finding his brother dead. God bless the King.
    ‘So, Elvis, my friend, what do you know about this particular shit?’
    ‘You’re looking for the driver of a yellow Caddy, right?
    ‘That’s right. Y’seen him?’
    ‘I seen him. Want me to kill him for ya?’
    ‘Yeah. Kill him,’ said Sanchez. He was pleased Elvis had offered because he had been a little nervous about actually asking him out loud. ‘Make him suffer, then kill him again. If that don’t work, just torture him ’til he’s dead.’
    ‘Kill him more than once, huh? Normally that’d cost extra, but I like you, Sanchez, so I’ll kill him the second time for nothin’.’
    This was music to Sanchez’s ears. It felt like he could suddenly hear ‘Suspicious Minds’ blaring away in the corners of his mind.
    ‘So how much d’ya want for the job?’ he asked.
    ‘A thousand up front. Then when he’s dead I want ya to pay to have his car resprayed. I’ve always wanted a pinkCadillac. Kinda rock ’n’ roll, don’t ya think?’
    ‘Right.’ Sanchez agreed. He picked up the whisky bottle and topped up Elvis’s glass. ‘I’ll go get you the first instalment. Watch the bar for me a minute, would ya?’
    ‘Sure thing, boss.’
    Elvis spent a minute gazing into his glass, checking out his reflection, while Sanchez disappeared out back to get the money. It wasn’t just the money and the car that Elvis was after. Rumour had it that the driver of the yellow Cadillac also had a precious blue stone. Piece like that could be worth a fortune. Elvis knew nothing about jewellery, but he did know that women liked the stuff. Gifts like that were the perfect way to a lady’s heart, and Elvis loved the ladies.
    Sanchez reappeared with a greasy brown envelope loaded with cash. Elvis took it and held it open. Then he flicked through the notes, not to count them, just to make sure they were all genuine, though he trusted Sanchez – insofar as he trusted anyone. Satisfied that everything was in order he folded the envelope in half and tucked it inside his jacket. Then he tossed back his drink, finishing it in one quick gulp, pulled off a quick spin move on his stool, stood up, and headed for the door.
    ‘Hey, Elvis, wait up,’ called Sanchez. The King stopped, but didn’t look back.
    ‘Yeah, man, what is it?’
    ‘The name.’
    ‘The name?’
    ‘Yeah, what’s the name of this guy you’re gonna kill for me? Do I know him?’
    ‘You might. He’s from outta town. He’s a bounty hunter.’
    ‘So what’s his name? And why did he kill my brother and his wife?’
    Sanchez had not initially planned to ask Elvis these questions, but now that the hitman had accepted the job and was off to carry out his instructions he was overcome with a desire to know more about the mysterious driver of the yellowCadillac.
    Elvis turned round and peered back at Sanchez over the top of his sunglasses.
    ‘You sure you wanna know now? Wouldn’t you rather know after the job’s done? Y’know, so’s you don’t change your