SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense Read Free Page A

$60,000?”
    “I’m working on it,” Trick said, feeling a cold breeze sting the back of his neck. “I’ve got a couple of irons in the fire. Just need a little time.”
    “Time? I been waitin’ for three years. You’re lucky I’m not chargin’ interest.”
    “Hey, come on,” Trick said, pulling his face back from Starnes’ whiskey breath. “I was locked up. What the hell do you expect?”
    “I expect you to come up with my money. I don’t care how you do it. Go rob a fuckin’ bank. But you will cough up some coin. Otherwise you’ll find your son’s head on the front porch with the mornin’ paper.”
    Trick grabbed Starnes by the lapels of his motorcycle jacket. “You mother fucker, don’t ever threaten my son’s life again.” His voice raspy from dryness, Trick managed, “If anything ever happens to him I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
    Trick heard Moogie’s .45 caliber revolver click next to his head. “Just come up with the dough.” Starnes shoved a fist into Trick’s chest. “I could hurt you in ways you couldn’t imagine. Never see it comin’, boy.”
    With the exception of Moogie’s asthmatic breathing, they stood in silence, glaring at one another. After a few moments, Moogie tailed Starnes back to his pickup truck and they drove away. Leaning against his 1979 Lincoln Continental, Trick took a few deep breaths in an effort to compose himself. It was one of those times when an unfiltered Old Gold would taste great again.
    He walked to the entrance he remembered so well and pushed the lighted button next to the name LeChat. A hand pulled a curtain aside and a familiar ebony face peered at him. The annoying sound of the buzzer unlocked the door, giving Trick entrance to days gone by.
    “Look atcha, man. Put on some size while you were in da house. Been hittin’ dat iron, boy. Face looks different too … became a man while you were gone.”
    “Hey, Junebug, it’s been a while. Yeah, I’m not the same person.” Trick shook Reggie’s hand and glanced around the first floor condo. “I appreciate you letting me bum here.”
    “S’ok, man.” Reggie’s tone changed as he dropped the street dialect. “It’ll be good havin’ someone here keepin’ an eye on things while I’m gone.”
    “Yeah,” Trick said, changing the subject. “I just had a run in with Starnes and that neanderthal, Moogie, out in your parking lot. Got any idea how he knew I’d be here?”
    “Who me? No. How would I know? Must have heard you were out, I guess. Maybe tailin’ you.”
    Trick tried to lock eyes with Reggie, who looked away with a wave of his arms and said, “Well, what do you think?”
    “Place looks good … new couch, bigger TV.” Trick breathed in a combination of incense and lemon-scented Pledge. “A fishing boat, huh?”
    “Yep, north to Alaska. Ten Gs for three months. Can’t spend any of it either. You’re on a boat the whole time. Work your ass off. Come back with some of that mean green. You know what they say, money talks.”
    With deadpan delivery, Trick answered back, “Well, all it ever said to me was goodbye.”
    Reggie chuckled and shook his head. “Why doncha sign up for the fishin’ boat? They’re always lookin’ for guys.”
    “I’ve been away from my son way too long. I need to make up for lost time.” Trick looked at his gold Omega watch, wondering what it would bring at a pawnshop. “Ten grand wouldn’t solve my problems anyway.”
    “Gotcha. Sit down, make yourself at home.” Reggie spread his palms out. “It will be for the next few months. Wanna beer?”
    “Hell yeah, I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in almost three years. Well, except for some homemade hooch over in Cook County on Thanksgiving a couple years ago.”
    Reggie walked into the kitchen and returned with two open bottles of beer. He handed one to Trick, and said, “Gentlemen, start your livers,” before settling into a velour recliner.
    Trick took a big gulp of cold Michelob,