Sharks, Matt Rogers [shoe dog free ebook TXT] 📗

to go. You won’t find someone else to do this tonight, and if I don’t do it he’ll get spooked and go to ground. You need me.’

‘You’re making a big mistake.’

‘I’m only upping it by ten grand,’ Vince said. ‘I want an even fifty k for my troubles. Besides…’

He trailed off.

Battled down the guilt.

‘…he’s my friend,’ he finished.

The voice said, ‘Fine. Fifty grand. But I don’t want to hear a sob story. If you cared about him that much you wouldn’t have taken the job.’

‘You didn’t leave me much of a choice.’

‘There’s always a choice.’

Silence.

The voice said, ‘Fifteen minutes.’

The line died.

Vince returned the phone to the drink holder in the centre console and tapped his shoe restlessly in the footwell. He realised he should have asked a dozen more questions — Where do you want the body? Do I leave it here? Do I make a statement? — but now it was too late. The cogs were turning, and the wheel was spinning.

No going back.

He figured his heart rate was one-forty when he spotted headlights in the rear view mirror, which only jacked it up further. Intrusive thoughts flashed through his mind. What if your palm is too sweaty to keep hold of the gun?

He forced it all aside.

The approaching hatchback pulled onto the shoulder behind Vince’s Crown Vic. The headlights died, plunging the road back into moody lowlight. By now it was almost fully dark, but yellow security lights in the construction aggregate lot spilled out past the gate, giving all objects mountainous shadows.

Marlon got out of the hatchback. He smiled his trademark smile — big gums, narrow eyes, like a happy beaver — which didn’t exactly gel with his job description. But he got the job done all the same, maybe because he was so unassuming.

‘What, brother?’ Marlon said as Vince got out too. ‘What’s so important?’

Vince needed to buy time to cross no-man’s-land. ‘You meet your quotas today?’

‘Don’t I always?’ Marlon said. ‘Ten thousand in vig, two thousand in principal.’

‘That’s good,’ Vince said. ‘Dylan will be happy.’

Marlon grinned that innocent grin. ‘When’s Dylan ever not happy with me?’

Maybe that’s why the kid was so appealing — Marlon was perhaps the only jovial person in this underworld. He was no kid, in his late twenties, but everyone thought of him as one. He rarely ever became violent, rarely ever resorted to shakedown strategies, just happily laid out the consequences of failing to pay. The debtors he chased always paid, mostly because they liked the loan shark doing the chasing.

That was Marlon’s strategy: Why intimidate when you can get better results by being nice?

Now, Vince shrugged.

Marlon looked around. ‘So, my brother, what’s the big secret?’

Quiet.

Marlon swept a hand over the surrounding fields. ‘We’re way out here. Better be important.’

‘It is.’

Vince knew if he kept stalling he’d end up crippled by nerves. Stagnation couldn’t happen. Not now.

He took out his Ruger and shot Marlon in the face.

The kid died with his mouth frozen in that contagious smile. It happened so fast Marlon didn’t even have time to change his expression. He took his happy-go-lucky nature to the grave. His body fell backward, eyes wide, arms and legs splayed. He hit the sand harder than Vince thought possible. The kid’s bones rattled, his face contorted, his weight let out a thump.

Vince almost broke a molar he was clenching his teeth so hard.

He swore, turned, got back in the Crown Vic, and drove away.

The next morning…

Eric never got tired of people watching.

Even in the stressful times, even when the job caught up to him, he could always find solace in gazing at strangers from afar.

He was perfectly content sitting in his old Toyota hatchback in the parking lot of the church in Hawksbill, west of Freeport. This car was probably the most expensive thing he’d ever own — a wealthy couple from one of the affluent suburbs inland had laid it off for five grand, no questions asked, no paperwork or insurance included. That was fine by him. He knew his lot in life. Knew exactly what he had to do to get a couple of steps ahead, and he was determined to stay ahead for the rest of his life. Other men had grandiose visions, goals and ambitions for greater things. He didn’t kid himself. He wasn’t smart, or really all that tough, either. But he could collect payments from the junkies and degenerates who borrowed money from his superiors, and he could do it consistently.

That much he could do.

Now he phoned Vince. The boss would want a check-in. It was a common courtesy.

When the man answered, he sounded rattled, like he was still half-drunk. ‘What you want?’

Eric checked his watch. ‘It’s seven a.m., bro.’

‘I had a rough night.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You need a lil’ something?’

Vince sighed. He knew all about Eric’s smack habit, and didn’t condone it, but every now and then the job stress got to him the same way it got to Eric and he took a hit on the down low. It wasn’t a problem, of course. Just to steady the nerves. ‘Yes, actually. I think I put a target on my back last night, Eric.’

‘What’d you do?’

Vince ignored the question. ‘You collecting payments this morning?’

‘Waiting on three thousand right now.’

‘Where?’

‘Church parking lot. Hawksbill.’

A long pause.

‘What’s up?’ Eric said. ‘You ain’t acting normal.’

‘Can you chase that payment another day? I think I need you here.’

‘Your house?’

‘Yeah,’ Vince said. ‘I can’t shake the feeling someone’s coming for me.’

‘What’d you do, Vince?’

‘Just come over. And bring a gun.’

‘I’m not packing.’

‘Then get one.’

Eric said, ‘Alright. You’d better explain what’s going on.’

‘I will when you get here.’

‘Should I be worried?’

‘No,’ Vince said. ‘I should be.’

He killed the line.

The car was suddenly stifling. It was a hot morning, but Eric’s body heat sent the interior temp soaring. He wiped sweat off his brow. Tried to swallow but couldn’t. Anxiety made the glob stick in his throat.

He needed air.

He stepped out into a gorgeous Bahamian sunrise, perfect golds and oranges reflecting off the water