Rob Cornell - Ridley Brone 02 - The Hustle by Rob Cornell Read Free Book Online

Two different cons. Both marks who had recently connected over a case that tied into the first con.
    Really? I mean, Really? What kind of messed up shit had I stepped in?
    I’d have to sleep on it. Tomorrow I could head back to the library, look at the research from a grifter’s perspective.
    I hadn’t expected a morning visit to slow me down.

Chapter 6
    The pounding woke me up from a perfectly good and dreamless sleep. A rare commodity ever since I learned I had a daughter out in the word somewhere, sold like a discount appliance. I thought the pounding might be my head. But I didn’t have a headache. I felt pretty well rested, in fact.
    When the pounding came again, I figured it out. Why, I wondered, couldn’t people learn to use the doorbell? I could sleep through that.
    I threw on my pants and did the wobbly walk of sleepiness down stairs to answer the door. I had forgotten what month it was. I wasn’t wearing a shirt and the winter wind sent a shock of cold straight through me, doing a better job of waking me up than chewing on raw coffee beans would.
    I jerked back from the open door and wrapped my arms around me. Only after that initial blast of freeze, did I take note of my guest. Eddie. He had himself bundled in a parka, a snow crusted scarf, and a knit cap pulled down so low it covered his eyebrows. A swirl of snow blew in behind him.
    “Jesus Christ,” I shouted. “Get in here.”
    He stepped in, and I swung the door shut, shivering like a hype in need of a fix.
    While Eddie stamped the snow off his boots, he said, “Aren’t you cold?”
    Well, duh. I rubbed my arms, trying to work back some feeling. “Is it storming out there?”
    “Supposed to get six inches today.” He pulled his cap off and began unwinding his scarf. Clumps of snow dropped to the runner at his feet. “Roads already suck.”
    “I’m going to get a shirt on, maybe some thermal underwear. Then you can tell me why you’re here.”

    Like I said, I don’t use too many rooms in the house. I led Eddie back to the kitchen, where I ate most my meals and, more importantly, kept the coffee pot. My parents left me with this fancy Bunn coffee maker. At first, I looked at it askance. Then I discovered how fast it could brew a damn good cup of Joe.
    I used the heavy stuff that morning. The darkest blend I could find in the cupboards. Nothing like a caffeine shock to the system to help get you through a cold, blustery day.
    Coffee brewed, I offered some to Eddie, but he refused. So I poured myself a cup and was about to sit down when—
    “He called me again.”
    I jerked to a halt. A wave of hot coffee rolled over the top of my cup and splashed my hand. I used some of the more choice curses in my arsenal while I set the cup down and rinsed my hand in cold water.
    “You okay?” Eddie asked.
    “Not the most coordinated guy in the morning.”
    “You do realize it’s ten o’ clock.”
    “Still morning, right?”
    He flashed a smile, not very convincing. “How do you do that?”
    “Do what?”
    “Turn everything into a joke even when everything sucks.”
    “Takes practice. Tough making new friends, though. I doth quip too much.”
    He shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or amused. Didn’t matter.
    I eased into my chair at the table. “Your con man called again?”
    “I don’t think he’s conning, Ridley.” He stared me in the eye, his eyes rimmed red with dark circles underneath. “I really don’t.”
    “We’ve been through this. All the details he knows were in—”
    “He knows about the sticker.”
    The smell of my coffee turned bitter. The inset lighting along the kitchen’s ceiling grew too dim. I craved sunlight. Great big blasts of genuine UV. Wasn’t going to happen in the midst of a typical gray Michigan winter. “Did you ever tell anyone else about that?”
    “Just the police.”
    That didn’t sit well with me. I’d had my trouble with the local cops after one of their own—and an old