Free The Killer Within by Jason Kahn Page B

but he should have known his partner would find out.
    “It went fine, we saw a movie, had a bite to eat, all in all, pretty nice.” The truth was they had seen a chick movie that Frank had feigned interest in, and then they shared some coffee while he made a miserable attempt at small talk.
    Frank was saved from further conversation on the subject when they turned onto Gallant Street. He motioned with his arm. “Ahead there, pull over by the fire hydrant.”
    “You want back-up?” Vera asked.

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    “Nah, my guy doesn’t know you, you’d just make him panic. Just stay in the car.” Vera shot him a dark look. “Whatever you say, partner.”
    The car pulled over next to a line of abandoned flat houses. Up ahead, young men sporting do-rags and ink on their skin clustered by the curb. Frank got out of the car and strode down the block like he owned it. Dealers and customers watched him warily. Some knew him by sight, others by the cheap looking suit that screamed MCPD. Without warning, he swerved and darted for a group of five tough guys with grease in their hair and chains in their pockets. They sprinted like jackrabbits, but not before Frank caught two by the arm and threw them across the back of an old Chevy with bashed-in headlights.
    The two youths hit the metal with a thud and a sharp exhalation of breath. Everyone else on the street vanished inside crumbling walls and broken doorways.
    One of the young men started to protest, but Frank grabbed his neck and shoved his face back down on the car. “Got anything else to say?” Frank growled. “No?
    Good, then shut up.”
    Frank did a quick body search before jerking the boy upright.
    “You’re clean,” he said. “Beat it.” Frank shoved him in the back. The youth stumbled away with as much dignity as he could muster before disappearing into one of the nearby flats.
    Frank leaned over the second youth, twisting his arm behind his back.
    “Hey, Richie boy,” Frank snarled into his ear.
    “What’s shakin’?”
    “Jesus, Frank, what the hell do you want?” Richie said, his cheek pressed against the sun-heated metal.
    “Why, Richie, can’t a guy be sociable now and then?” Frank reached in Richie’s back pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag with some white powder in it.
    “Now what do we have here, Richie boy? Enough to put you away for a solid year at least, don’t you think?” Richie’s eyes squeezed tight as Frank twisted his Page 6
    arm more. “Shit, Frank, you gonna bust me for that?
    You must be getting pretty desperate if you—” Frank applied more pressure to the arm, cutting Richie’s speech off with a pained gasp. “Shame, what with your brother’s parole hearing coming up in a few months. No telling what can happen at those things, you know,” Frank said.
    “Hey,” Richie said, his eyes pleading. “Anton’s been clean, don’t mess it up for him. Please, man, he’s done his time.”
    Frank leaned over some more so he could whisper in Richie’s ear. “Maybe I could do something for your little brother, Richie. But, naturally, I’d need something in return.”
    Richie shuddered, but then closed his eyes, resigned. “What do you want, Frank?”
    “Just a little information,” Frank said. “You must hear lots of useful tidbits in that watering hole you work at. I know Hector’s gang hangs out there.” Richie’s body went stiff and he struggled, but Frank bore down and twisted his arm even more.
    Tears squeezed from Richie’s eyes. “Shit, Frank, you tryin’ to get me killed?” His voice broke as the words came out.
    “I’m trying to do your brother a favor,” Frank said. “I know something big’s coming, I want to know what.” He added casually, “Of course, if you’d rather send your mom postcards from the cell you and Anton are going to be sharing…”
    Defeated, Richie spoke in a soft whisper. “All right, Frank. There’s a huge shipment coming in, drugs, guns, enough to flood the