Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“This doesn’t concern you,” he finally stated.
“I know it doesn’t, but let’s just take it easy… take it easy. Let’s not make a big to-do about a small thing, right?” The man spoke in a calm voice. He sounds a lot like Bob Ross. I wonder if he’s going to paint some birds, trees, and then a lake for me to drown this fucker in? Nikolai found that thought rather funny, but managed to not break into a grin or all out laughter.
He regarded the man’s long fingers wrapped around his arm in a firm, but non-threatening, grip. A gold wedding band caught his eye before he decided Dolph wasn’t worth the trouble after all.
Nikolai dropped Dolph, who hit the ground with a clunk. The sack of shit groaned and rolled over onto his side. Leaving him there, he went in search of the beverages advertised on the sign. He was pleased when he spotted the Gatorades in the refrigerated section, not warm in the middle of the place on some wooden pallet. He heard a series of murmurs and chatter, then Dolph coughing and spitting up. Some curse words were wedged between the sputtering. When he looked back in that direction, the guy who’d intervened was helping the fucker to his feet.
Nikolai directed a burning gaze into Dolph’s deflated one, their eyes locking like ram horns. That was his one and only warning to the bastard. There would be no more. Dolph had been saved by a stranger—this time.
He snatched a blue and a white Gatorade bottle from the cold shelf in the icebox, then paid for his gas, a box of Parliament cigarettes, and the drinks, and headed back out to his truck. When he made his way outside, Dolph was driving out of the gas station parking lot, and the so-called good Samaritan with a subpar gas station sandwich was long gone, too. He shoved the crap behind him, wishing to just forget about it, but as he started his vehicle, he noticed a car pull up behind him.
He peered into his rear-view mirror to get a closer gander. He didn’t sense any concern until he noticed who was sitting in the driver’s seat—a Black woman with striking features. The whites of her eyes practically glowed. Her cheekbones were high and taut. Her skin was a rich deep complexion, and her lips were bowed and full, painted with dark red lipstick. Her hair was parted down the middle and appeared to be long, however a coat blocked some of his view. She wasn’t smiling or frowning, but she was definitely looking in his direction. Although not expressionless, she was undeniably hard to read.
He put his truck in drive and made his way out of there. Did someone call the cops on me? ’Cause of ‘Dufus Dolph,’ of all people? Maybe the guy at the register turned on him even though he was laughing as it happened, or maybe it was the fella with the sandwich who helped save the life of a dirty weasel who deserved to part ways with the living? Dolph wouldn’t dare call… he’d never want to admit what happened. Nikolai understood human nature all too well.
Dolph was a coward and completely spineless. In fact, he made jellyfish seem robust, but he surely didn’t want to appear that way. Running to the cops was a bitch move, and there would be no other way to explain it away. He grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and jammed it in his mouth as he took another look at the lady. She did in fact look like an undercover officer. The kind that drove around in unmarked cars and pulled folks over for speeding or running a red light. There was just something about her… it felt as if she was studying him. About to turn on her lights, and make her move.
He’d never seen her before though, and he found that strange because he didn’t forget a face. Maybe she’s a new hire? It’s possible. He went on about his way, and wasn’t surprised when she tailed him as he turned onto St. John Street. She hadn’t pumped any gas or bothered to enter the gas station store. He leaned into his seat, taking a look at her from time to time through the side mirror as he continued on to Congress Street.
Cracking the window just a half an inch, he blew smoke through the opening. He made a few turns he wouldn’t normally make, just to see what she would do. She was two cars behind, but made the exact same maneuvers. He took another draw of his cigarette, flicked it out of the window, and slowly pulled over to the curb. He suspected she wouldn’t drive by, and she didn’t. Instead, she pulled up behind him.