Free The Vets (Stephen Leather Thrillers) by Stephen Leather Page A

and give me another twenty bucks or so.” He sniggered and reached up to pinch his nostrils as if stifling a sneeze.
    “Hey man, what’s your problem?” said Pimlott, irritated. He couldn’t understand why the man was picking on him. It couldn’t have been personal. He didn’t recognise the guy. In fact he wouldn’t have been able to describe any of the men who manned the change booth; he was usually too busy to get back to the game and wherever possible he used the automatic change-giving machines. The dark glasses and beard made it difficult to assess his age; he could have been anywhere between thirty and forty. He was about five nine, five ten, though the way he slouched in the chair could have been deceptive. He was skinny and his shoulders sloped sharply away from his long neck. He was wearing a black sweatshirt that appeared to be a size too big for him, and faded blue jeans that were ripped at the knees. There was a large American eagle on the sweat-shirt and underneath it in white lettering it said “POWMIA. You Are Not Forgotten”. Pimlott wondered what the initials stood for. He ran various combinations quickly through his mind and rapidly came to the conclusion that it meant “Prisoners of War – Missing in Action” and that the man was probably a Vietnam vet. Great, thought Pimlott. Just what I need. A vet with a grudge.
    “Hey, I’m not the one with the problem, College Boy,” the man sneered. “You’re the one who’s blowing all Daddy’s money on a game he can’t handle.”
    The comment struck home and Pimlott felt his cheeks blush. His father was picking up the tab for his education, and was paying his living expenses, too. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to work, it was just that the economy was so stretched that part-time jobs just weren’t available, and it was only Ivy Leaguers who managed to get high-paying vacation jobs with legal firms. The best he could find last vacation had been serving drinks in a downtown bar and he’d hated that so much that he quit after the first week. Hell, he was training to be a lawyer, not a cocktail waiter. He’d pay his father back once he was qualified and had a job, and besides, he needed most of his free time to study. You didn’t get to be a lawyer without putting in the hours with the books.
    “Think you can do better?” Pimlott asked.
    The man snorted. “I’m damn sure I can,” he laughed.
    “Wanna put money on it?”
    “You mean your daddy’s money, College Boy?”
    “It doesn’t matter whose money it is, does it? Do you want to put your money where your mouth is?”
    The man took his cowboy boots off the shelf. “Fifty bucks,” he said quietly.
    “Fifty bucks?” repeated Pimlott. He didn’t want to embarrass himself by taking his wallet out but he was pretty sure that was about all he had.
    “Too rich for your blood, College Boy? Yeah, I thought it might be. Why don’t you go and ask Daddy for a raise and come back and see me.”
    “I’ve got the money,” said Pimlott, angrily. “I’ll take you on.”
    The man laughed, throwing his head back. “Take me on?” he said. “Take me on? This isn’t going to be a competition, College Boy. It’s going to be a walkover. I could beat you one-handed.” He stood up and turned his back on Pimlott to put his magazine on a table at the rear of the booth.
    “Oh yeah?” said Pimlott.
    “Yeah,” said the man, turning around and holding up his left arm. For the first time Pimlott noticed that the man’s left hand was missing. In its place was a steel claw made from three interlocking metal curves. The man grinned and made the pieces click together. Pimlott frowned, trying to work out how he’d managed to do that. The claw must be connected to the tendons in what remained of his arm, he realised.
    “Oh come on, man,” said Pimlott.
    The man thrust his neck forward. “You backing out, College Boy?” he spat. “Cos if you’re backing out, I want the fifty