The Burning Man Read Free

Randy, but he still had a full head of thick, perfectly gelled black hair while Randy’s was more like a dying lawn—thin, patchy and pale brown. Tony was the kind of guy who had a five o’ clock shadow by noon. A real he-man type. Chicks couldn’t get enough of him.
    It took Randy a couple of months to start trusting Tony, since he was a cop and all. But it soon became clear that he was as crooked as they come. He was also a generous friend. Always picking up the tab when they went drinking, always sharing the coke he’d confiscated from some lowlife, and always offering up freebies from the working girls he kept out of jail.
    Tony talked all the time about how the drug dealers he arrested had stacks of money just lying around, and how easy it would be to make that cash disappear. After all, if you rob a drug dealer, it’s not like he’s gonna call the cops. And even if he did, Tony was the cops.
    All Tony needed was a good trustworthy partner. Someone he could count on to stay cool under pressure, and back him up on the score.
    That’s where Randy came in.
    Randy got out of the pickup and slid into the passenger side of the prowler. It was nice and cool, air conditioning running at full blast. But even under the circumstances, being inside a cop car still made him sweat a little.
    “You’re late, Randall,” Tony said, instead of a greeting.
    “Sorry, man,” Randy replied. “My old lady’s been giving me grief all night. Practically had to chew my own leg off to get away. You’d think that bitch would be a little more appreciative, seeing as how I’m about to make her rich and all.”
    “Focus,” Tony said. “We got a big night ahead of us.” He looked over. “Let me see your gun.”
    Randy felt a rush of hot blood to his face.
    “Goddammit,” he said. “I knew I forgot something.”
    Tony just stared at him, flat black eyes ice-cold in his stony, expressionless face.
    “Get out,” Tony said.
    “Now just hold on a second, Tony,” Randy began.
    “I said get out.”
    “Look, man,” Randy said, palms out. “I’m sorry. I just let that whiny bitch get to me, break my concentration. Give me a second chance, willya?”
    “Now you listen to me, Randall,” Tony said, twisting a fistful of Randy’s sweaty T-shirt and pulling him close enough to kiss. “I’m trusting you with my life here. My life will literally be in your hands, do you understand that? If you screw this up, I’m a dead man.”
    “I understand,” Randy said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Honest. It’s not a big deal. We can just swing back by my place and pick up the piece, okay? It won’t take any time at all.”
    Tony didn’t say anything for a long, drawn out moment, leaving Randy to sweat in silence. Getting in on a score like this was by far the best and most important thing that had ever happened to Randy. No more smalltime action, this was his ticket to the big leagues. A score like this would change his life forever, and if he screwed it up before it even got off the ground, he didn’t think he could live with himself.
    “All right,” Tony said finally, letting go of Randy’s shirt and putting the prowler in gear. “I’m gonna let it slide, just this once. But I expect better from you from here on out.”
    “Absolutely,” Randy said, straightening his stretched out collar. “You bet. I won’t let you down. You can count on me, man.”
    As Tony drove back down Pearl Street toward the house, Randy had to fight to stop himself from fidgeting like an anxious kid. He’d already made such a bad impression, he needed to do everything he could to show Tony that he was cool. Trustworthy. That he really was ready for the big leagues.
    When they turned the corner and the sad little white house came into view, he felt a pulse of shame. He’d been to Tony’s high-rise condo, with the trendy leather furniture and the knockout view. That was the kind of place Randy wanted, not a trashy dump like this. He wanted