Dead Peasants by Larry D. Thompson Read Free Book Online

for selling heroin. I’ll bet he’d know someone from his prison days, and he’d keep his mouth shut for a couple of grand.”

13
    The customer parked in front of Nico’s Diner around three in the afternoon, just about closing time. He noted that the parking lot was deserted. When he entered the empty diner, Nico was at the cash register, counting the day’s receipts.
    “Hey, Boss. Good to see you.” Nico called every male customer boss, even the little kids who got a big kick out of it. “We’re about to close. You want some coffee?”
    “That would be great, Nico. I know where it is. I’ll help myself. When you get finished, I have something I want to talk with you about.”
    Nico nodded as the customer poured black coffee and took a seat at a corner table by the window. When Nico finished, he made his way to the table, stuffing his pants pocket with a roll of money. “Good thing about being the owner is Uncle Sam doesn’t know what goes into my pocket every afternoon, and I damn sure ain’t going to tell him.” Nico took a seat across from his customer. “Now, Boss, what can I do for you?”
    The customer hesitated and then plunged ahead. “Nico, what I’m about to say has got to remain between you and me. If you can’t help me, just say so and forget I ever asked.”
    “Don’t worry, my friend,” Nico replied. “I’ve got a very convenient memory, and I can forget a lot of stuff.”
    “I’m in over my head with a loan shark. He’s threatening me and my family. I’m looking for someone that can get him off my back. I figured you might know someone from your days in Huntsville.”
    Nico nodded and thought about the proposition. He also weighed how much his customer would pay for his services. “I think I know just the man. Him and me shared a cell for a while. He’s out now and also living in Fort Worth. My finder’s fee’s gonna be ten grand. That too steep for you?
    “I can handle it.”
    “Nico pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here’s my bank account and routing number. You get that to my account first thing in the morning. Once I know it’s there, I’ll call my friend. Plan to meet him at Sly’s Place out on the Jacksboro Highway tomorrow night about nine. Give me your cell number. I’ll call you if there’s a problem.”
    The next night, the customer pulled into a gravel parking lot in front of a dimly lit bar. “Sly’s Place” was hand painted on a small sign. When he got out of his pickup, he decided he would tell the man to call him Boss and thanked Nico for the idea. He entered the bar. Three men were playing pool. He walked up to the bartender. “Give me a Bud.”
    The bartender put a bottle on the bar and took a five dollar bill in exchange. Boss moved to an empty table at the back and took a seat. He was half an hour early. He ignored the beer and counted the minutes. About ten after nine the door opened, and a man approached his table. The man had hair down to his shoulders, a neatly trimmed beard and wore horn-rimmed glasses. A baseball cap covered his eyes. A gunfighter from a western movie came to mind.
    “Name’s Hawk. I hear you’re looking for some help.”
    Boss nodded. “Call me Boss. What do you do for a living, Hawk?”
    Hawk lowered his voice as he glanced around the bar. “In the daytime I saddle my horse and ride around the stockyards amusement area. Kids like to pose for pictures with me. Otherwise, I take on an occasional job if it strikes me as the right thing to do and the money’s good. I presume you’re not wanting me to pose for pictures.”
    “You ever killed anyone, Hawk?”
    “That’s really none of your business, Mr. Bossman.” Hawk scratched his beard before he continued. “I can tell you that I’m not opposed to the concept.”
    “I want someone eliminated. I should have the information you’ll need on him in another day or so.”
    Hawk nodded his head. “What’s in it for me?”
    Boss rubbed his hands on his