The Long Game by J. L. Fynn Read Free Book Online Page A

goes.
Kid’s costing me a fortune, and it ain’t even been born yet.”
    The lie rolled off my tongue as easily as the
thick twang I used to speak it. I glanced at Jimmy Boy, who flashed
an amused grin before putting up a hand to hide it, pretending to
scratch at the scruff on his jawline.
    Feeling bolder, I pressed on. “You wouldn’t
believe what doctors charge just to keep us waiting for an hour,
and that’s a bargain compared to the price of this fancy baby
carriage my wife wants. I’ll be broke in a month if I don’t pull in
some more money soon.”
    “That’s just awful,” the man said, though
nothing in his tone indicated he actually felt sorry for me. He
continued his appraisal of the trailer as he spoke. “So if you
ain’t got money for the baby, where’d you get a trailer so
state-of-the-art?”
    From a scrapyard, I thought, though obviously
I wouldn’t tell him that. In truth, the trailer was only worth the
five to six hundred that had been put into making it appear as
though it were worth thousands. This was why it was so important I
made the sale quickly before the buyer decided to take a closer
look.
    “Wedding gift,” I said. “From my in-laws.
They’ve got money and offered to help with the baby, but I don’t
take charity.”
    The man finally looked at me. I knew I had
him on the hook, and now all I had to do was reel him in. “So, you
get a good deal, and I get to buy my wife all the baby stuff she
wants. It’s win-win.”
    “Women, eh?” he said, and I grinned.
Something had told me this particular buffer didn’t think much of
the fairer sex, and I was glad to see I’d been right. “Well, son,”
he went on, “it looks like she’ll be getting her over-priced buggy.
Though if you were smart, you’d tell her I jewed you down some and
pocket the difference.”
    I forced a laugh as I took his greasy hand in
mine again. We shook on the deal, and as soon as he handed me the
money, I jumped in the truck and slammed the door, happy to be out
of his company.
     
    ***
     
    “Brother, you are slicker than owl shit.”
Jimmy Boy shot me a look filled with both pride and wonder before
returning his eyes to the road. “I thought you’d lost him at first,
but he sure came around fast.”
    “Yeah, well, imagine what I could do if you
actually gave me a heads up before I made the sale.”
    “It’s good practice for thinking on your
feet. Quick thinking is a Traveler’s best asset.”
    The first few notes of “Brown-Eyed Girl” came
through the truck’s speakers. My hand shot out and turned it off
almost as a reflex.
    “What was that?” Jimmy Boy asked. “I thought
you love Van Morrison.”
    “I do.”
    “Then why’d you turn it off?”
    “The man had almost forty albums, but somehow
‘Brown-Eyed Girl’ is the only song anyone knows. It makes me
sad.”
    “Aww, how sensitive. You gonna cry about
it?”
    “Shut up.” I smacked the thick envelope in my
palm, wanting to change the subject. “This is the biggest score
we’ve brought in so far. How much you think Pop will let us keep? A
thousand—maybe two?”
    “I wouldn’t go making any big plans just yet.
We weren’t much more than errand boys. We’ll be lucky if we get
back the gas money we used getting down here and back.”
    I made a faint noise of disgust at the back
of my throat. “Seems like a waste if that’s the truth. I know it
wasn’t our trailer, but we should get paid for our time at
least.”
    “You should be happy Pop trusted you to do
this at all. You’re never satisfied, Shay, and that’s going to get
you in trouble.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    I STOOD ON the postage-stamp-sized front deck
of the trailer and stretched muscles that were stiff from another
night spent in the foldout bed I’d outgrown years ago. The events
in Terrebonne Parish had boosted my confidence. My indiscretion
with Rosie hadn’t come back to bite me in the ass, and my
reputation as a buffer was fading, too. My cousin, Pete,