The Maine Events, Rodney Riesel [best books to read in your 20s TXT] 📗

inside and shut the door behind him. Withoutthe backlighting, Allen could see Jordan's two black eyes, his stitched chin,and the purple lump on his forehead.

“Jesus,” Allen said. “Is that from hitting the deck?”

“It is.”

“Well, now I feel bad.”

“It wasn't your fault, Crane. My doctor has been telling meto cut down on salt and fatty foods for years. He told me this was my warningsign. He said it's time to start living a healthier lifestyle.”

“So, you could say I actually saved your life.”

“Let's not go that far, Crane.”

“I thought they said you would be in the hospital for a fewdays?”

“I left against the doc's advice. I came straight here fromthe hospital.”

“I'm honored. But, why are you here?”

“I think you might have something that belongs to me.”

“What might that be?”

The gangster stared into Allen's eyes for a second withoutsaying anything. It was obvious to Allen that Jordan didn't believe him.

“I'm a reasonable man, Crane. I got no ill will about what happenedbetween us up the street. Forgive and forget, that's my motto … or mycreed—whatever the hell the correct word is. You're a writer, what word is it?”

“Either, but I guess creed would be the best fit.”

“I'll remember that.” Jordan brought up his hands and beganturning the gold ring on the middle finger of his left hand. “I bet ya gotta bepretty damn smart to be a writer.”

“Nothing is further from the truth, Jordan. I just make uplies and write them down. Then an editor fixes all the mistakes.”

“I bet you're real good at making up lies.”

“I'd like to think so.”

“I bet if you were lying to me right now, I wouldn't even beable to tell.”

Allen nodded. “You'd probably have to torture me to get thetruth.”

Jordan grinned. “And you probably wouldn't believe how wellthat would work, or how good I am at it.” He put his hands on his hips. “Youhave nothing that belongs to me?”

“I absolutely do not have anything that belongs to you.”Allen waved his arm around the room. “Feel free to look around if you don'tbelieve me.”

“That won't be necessary.” Jordan scanned the room. His eyeslit up when he saw the pizza box. “Where's that pizza from?”

“York House Pizza.”

“Any left in that box?”

“There is. Help yourself.”

“That hospital food is shit.” Jordan walked to the sink andpicked up the box. He carried it to the table and sat down in one of thechairs. He tossed the box on the bed, opened it, and pulled out a slice.

“You can heat that up in the microwave if you want,” Allentold him.

“Cold's fine.” He took a big bite. “What're ya saving thattequila for?”

“I'm not saving it for anything.”

“Can I—”

 “Help yourself.”

Bobby Jordan was one of those guys who didn't have to speakif he didn't want to. With the tilt of his head, a look in his eye, and just theright eyebrow maneuver, he could get his point across just fine. The look hegave Allen said, I'm a guest here. I've got a handful of pizza, so get yourass up and pour me some tequila.

Allen got up and went to the cupboard. “You want ice inthat?”

“No.”

Allen poured two shots into the glass and handed it toJordan.

“You ain't drinking with me?” Jordan asked. “I hate drinkin'alone.”

“Yeah, why not.”

Allen poured himself a drink, returned to the bed, and satdown.

“Can I ask you a question?” Allen asked.

“Sure. Don't mean I'll answer it.” He sipped his tequila andtook another bite of the pizza.

“If Vinny Tubbs works for your brother, and the two of youdon't get along, why was Vinny with you at Stones Throw?”

Jordan was impressed. “Who you been talking to?”

“Paul Rose.”

Jordan chuckled. “Sergeant Rose. And what exactly did thegood sergeant have to say?”

“He said you and your brother used to spend summers herewhen you were kids and that you were always getting into trouble. He said Bennymoved up here with your mother after your father's death, and you soonfollowed. He said the two of you own a couple night clubs and—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Jordan bit into the crust. “You eatthe crust, Crane?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, me too. My brother always wasted the crust. I hatethat.”

“Me too. Is that why you never got along?”

“No. That's a whole 'nother story.” Jordan finished thesecond piece of pizza and downed the rest of his tequila.

“If the two of you don't speak,” Allen asked, “how do you dobusiness, and how does that work with your mother?”

“We communicate through others, and as far as my mom, Ivisit her when Benny ain't home.”

“Seems like it'd be easier to just start talking again.”

“One might think, but if we start speaking, eventually westart yellin'. Then we start hitting, and that upsets Mother. So for now, wekeep our distance.”

“Rose said he was sending an investigator over to yourbrother's place.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Who's that?” Jordan asked.

“Probably the kid who took my dog for a walk,” Allen said.He got up and opened the door.

Frankie ran into the room.

Jacob looked over at Bobby Jordan. “Hey,” he said. His eyeswent from the bruise to the lump to the stitches.

“What's up, kid?” said Jordan.

“Nothing.”

“This guy pay you to walk his dog?”

“No, but he paid me to run to the store for him.”

“That's good kid. A man ain't a man if he ain't earning hisown dough. I was running numbers when I was twelve.”

“What's running numbers?” Jacob asked.

“Never mind,” Allen cut in.

Jordan laughed. “Different time and location, kid.” Heturned to Allen. “Why would Rose be sending someone to my brother's?”

“Because Tubbs and a guy named Myron Spoon paid me a littlevisit. They said Mr. Strong wanted to speak with me.”

“Huh. Probably wants to know what the altercation betweenyou and me was about. Nosy bastard.”

Jacob's head went back and forth, and his mouth hung open ashe listened to the two men's discussion. His curiosity got the best of him.“Who's Mr. Strong?” he asked.

Both men looked at Jacob with a smirk.

“Benny Strong's my brother, kid,” said Jordan. He leaned inclose to the young boy and showed off his best Jersey gangster impersonation.“But if any uh dis leaves dis room, you'll be sleepin' wit da