Dead Money Run Read Free

shot who looked like he had been raised on prison food. I didn’t take him for a cop because he was dressed in expensive clothes. For the price of his suit alone, I could have bought a car.
    “You look like you could use a ride ,” he said, leaning on the Town Car.
    It was n’t a question, so I ignored him. He had a persistent look to him.
    “I said, ‘you look like you could use a ride.’”
    “What gives you that idea?” I said.
    Raising his right hand, he put his thumb up like he was looking for a ride, “One, you’re standing at the East Gate of the Atlanta Pen.” Then he extended his forefinger, “Two, this is the gate they usually let the prisoners exit from when they get out of the joint.” Next he popped his middle finger up. “And three, you ain’t got no car.”
    “You sound like a man who speaks from experience,” I said.
    He was smiling now like a cat about to eat a canary.
    “Look, let’s try and make this as easy as possible. Are you getting in the car or do we have to make this hard?”
    On the word ‘hard’, the rear car door opened behind the passenger side of the car. A dude the size of a gorilla on steroids exited the car. His face looked like it had gone fifteen rounds with a meat grinder and lost. The amount of scar around his eyes was so thick he had to keep blinking to see. Dressed in suit that had that slept in look, there was one thing you didn’t miss. On his feet he had the largest pair of Nikes I had ever seen.
    “Do I look that stupid to you , asshole? Here’s my answer.” I shot him a bird.
    “ Enough of the hand signals. You were dumb enough to get caught. Now let’s see how smart you got while you were in the can.”
    In one motion, the canary swallower pushed off the Lincoln and unbuttoned his coat like he had plenty of practice.
    “I got it,” I said. “You guys are part of a circus. You in the blue suit, you’re a stand in for Rudy Kazzuti and the fat one dressed in the roof tarp, he’s a fill in for Bimbo the Elephant. When does the tumbling act start?”
    “ Fuck you wise guy,” said Bimbo. Those were probably the only four words he knew.
    “ I take it this is the hard part,” I said.
    “Just the way you like it, Lou,” said canary man.
    I was concentrating so hard I did not hear the door open behind me, just a voice.
    “Mr. Malloy?”
    O ne of the prison guards was standing in the doorway with a paper bag in his hand.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “You forgot your valuables.”
    Walking to where the guard was standing, I took the paper bag from him. I felt like kissing him.
    “Everything al l right here?” he asked.
    “Yeah, ” I said over my shoulder. “These gents just need directions to the circus. Maybe you could give them some help?”
    M y wallet was inside the bag and the two, one hundred dollar bills that I had on me when I entered the prison fifteen years ago, were still in the sack where I left them.
    Looking at the canary swallower, I said, “Everything is good if I can get you to call a cab for me.”
    “ That’s the least I can do after fifteen years, Mister Malloy,” said the guard.
    I never knew the guard’s name, but when he came back to tell me a cab was on its way, the menagerie had gotten in their car. The canary swallower had started the engine and raced it a few times just to prove he had one. Then he made a U-turn in the street squealing the tires as Bimbo shot me a bird or his IQ. I didn’t know which and he probably didn’t either. When I turned around to thank the guard, he too had left. A few minutes later a cab pulled up and I got in. I told the cab driver to take me to the nearest Greyhound Bus station. My plan for the day was to buy a one-way ticket to Jacksonville Beach. I didn’t think I had seen the last of the circus team, but I didn’t care either.
    While in the cab, I took off my left shoe and sock. I stuffed the two hundreds under my foot and put my sock back on and then the shoe. It was a prison trick.