Free Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) by Tony Wiley Page A

last night. Do you know
anything about it?”
    Morrison shrugged. “How
could I? I just got up,” he said.
    “You have to admit it’s a
funny coincidence, isn’t it?”
    “And you?”
    “Me what?”
    “Do you have anything to
do with these ATMs?”
    “Nah.”
    “Do you know who might?”
    Mike shook his head. “No.
Probably just some newbies,” he said. “But I’ll ask around. Just in case.” He
motioned for the blond guy to dump his cup and follow him. The blond guy passed
in front of Morrison and gave him an arrogant stare. The guy would always be the
thug who had held him at gunpoint. Like it made him superior. Morrison had to
admit it kind of started their relationship on the wrong foot, but he didn’t
resent the blond guy’s arrogance. Quite the opposite. He knew he could use it
against him later on if he needed to.
    “If you want breakfast,
help yourself,” Mike said. “There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge. Bob will
leave your money out on the credenza in the lobby. See you around.”
    Morrison took another sip from
his mug and foraged in the fridge and the kitchen cabinets. Mike was right.
They were well stocked. But he wouldn’t have breakfast there. That morning, it
would come from Elena’s. He was dying to eat one of those cinnamon buns. And he
bet Johnson was too.

Chapter 16
    The two extra rolls of
money bulged in Morrison’s jacket pocket. Twenty thousand dollars. That was the
amount he had agreed upon with Johnson to get him started. He drove to town to
make his first payment. The Navigator had yet to merge on the county road. It
was still bouncing from one pothole to another on the property’s private road.
    While he wrestled with the
wheel one-handed, Morrison called Johnson directly on his mobile phone. His
hacker friend picked up on the first ring.
    “Good, you’re still up,” Morrison
said. “Mind if I drop by?”
    “If you have my money,
please do,” Johnson said.
    “I’ll do better than that.
I’ll pick up breakfast, or a late snack for you, on my way. I was thinking of cinnamon
buns from Elena’s. Good enough for you?”
    “Bring ’em on. I sure
could use ’em.”
    “Tough night?”
    “You remember when you
went to school? The first day? How you felt all lost and out of place? That’s
how it’s been all night.”
    “Don’t tell me it’s that
bad.”
    “Three years is a long
time, Morrison. I’m wallowing in the dark, here.”
    “But are you getting
somewhere?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’ve picked
up on a thing or two. But that’s a one-thousand-piece puzzle full of clear blue
sky. It’s not gonna be the work of a moment.”
    “It’s all right. As long
as it doesn’t take too long either.”
    Johnson scoffed. “No
pressure,” he said.
    “I only put on the pressure
because I know you can deliver.”
    “You know, during these
three years, I really didn’t miss you all that much, Morrison.”
    “Wait till you see the
money.”
    “Right. And don’t forget
the buns.”
    Morrison flipped his phone
shut and slid it into his jacket.
    Finally, after having
bounced around on that bad private road for a few minutes, he reached the
county road. What a relief. It was smooth as silk. He gunned down the engine
just for the fun of it, just for the pleasure of feeling the acceleration rush
push his backside deep into the leather seat on that perfect ribbon of
blacktop. He reached seventy miles an hour in the blink of an eye. Then eighty.
The big V8 engine rumbled and roared, loving it as much as he did. Then he came
back to his senses. It wasn’t a very smart thing to do. Last thing he needed
was a patrol car chasing him down full blinkers on. He looked up in the rear-view
mirror. There was a lone gray car, far behind. For a moment, he thought, Shit,
that could be an unmarked car. So he proceeded to slow down to the
prescribed fifty miles an hour and punched the cruise control button to lock
down that speed. He looked up to the mirror again. Noticed that the car