Runner by Carl Deuker Read Free Book Online

and listen carefully. You're in trouble, and I can get you out of that trouble. I'm offering you a job, kid. Very good pay; very short hours. When somebody offers you easy money, you should at least hear him out."
    "I don't want easy money."
    He smiled. "Is that right?" He reached into his pocket, pulled out a money clip, peeled off a one-hundred-dollar bill, and held it out to me. "It's your pay for hearing me out."
    I stared at the money. He shook it. "Go on, take it. Otherwise I'm going to put it back in my pocket."
    I reached out and took it. "All right," I said, sticking the bill in my back pocket. "I'll listen."
    He looked around. "I think the sun came out. This isn't a good place to talk. How about we go for a walk?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    We headed out onto the sidewalk that runs along the marina. For the first fifty yards or so, neither of us spoke. "OK," I said at last. "What do I have to do to earn this easy money?"
    He stopped and leaned against the railing. "That's the beautiful part, kid. You just keep doing what you already do. Run. I'll pay you two hundred bucks a week to run."
    "Come on," I said. "There's more to it than that."
    He bobbed his fat head back and forth. "OK. Maybe there's a little more to it, but not much. Starting tomorrow, when you run you'll be wearing a backpack."
    "A backpack?"
    He shrugged. "You'll get used to it. People run with stuff all the time. Nobody will notice. You can stick a Walkman in it if you want, or a bottle of water. Do whatever you want—I don't care. Just so long as you wear it."
    "So where do I run? And what's the backpack for?"
    "The same route you always run. Out to the locks, over to Magnolia, back along the marina, through Golden Gardens Park, and then onto the beach."
    "Have you been watching me?"
    His eyes narrowed. "You bet I've been watching you. And I'll
be
watching you. This is business, kid." He stopped. An old couple was approaching, holding hands. Everything about them seemed relaxed, easy. The fat guy nodded to them. "Good afternoon."
    "Good afternoon," the old man answered.
    We watched them make their way leisurely down the sidewalk.
    "You still haven't told me what I need the backpack for," I said when they were out of earshot.
    "You know the tree that looks like it's growing out of the boulders? The big maple?"
    He was talking about my mother's tree. "Sure. The train tracks are right above there. It's where I turn around."
    "From now on, when you reach that tree, you'll stop and stretch, do some pushups, something. While you're doing whatever it is you do, you'll be looking hard into the nooks and crannies of the boulders around that tree."
    "What'll I find?"
    "Most days, nothing. But some days there will be a package. When there is, you slip the package into your backpack. Then you run back along the beach just like you normally would. You go down to your boat and get a change of clothes just like you always do. Then you come back up to the utility room at the
end of the pier for a shower, same as usual. Before you shower, you stick the backpack in the locker. After you shower, you change into your clean clothes, stuff the dirty clothes into the backpack, but leave the package in the locker."
    "Then what happens?"
    "Then you do the same thing the next day."
    "I mean, what happens to the packages? What's in them? Where do they go?"
    He shook his head. "Bad questions. You don't know, and you don't want to find out. Understand?"
    "This is drugs, isn't it? It's a smuggling operation."
    "Didn't you hear me? You don't know and you don't want to know. All you need to know is what I've told you."
    "I'm not getting involved in drugs," I said.
    "You're the one saying drugs and smuggling. All I'm talking about is running on the beach and picking up packages."
    "I'm not doing it," I said.
    "You're going to lose your boat. You know that, don't you?"
    I didn't answer.
    He shook his head and smiled. "You're a pain in the ass, kid. A real pain in the ass. I'm throwing