Page 54 of Thug

“Who told you to ask about Holderman?”

“Nobody.”

“Why’d you ask?”

“Just curious,” I responded.

“How do you know him?”

“I don’t.”

“Why’d you fucking ask?” he growled.

This was going to be easy. In no time they’d determine I wasn’t a snitch, the hood would be removed, and we’d all throw a celebration. Sickening to think of, but true.

“Just curious,” I responded.

He forced a long sigh. “Why in the fuck are you nosing around about Holderman? Who are you working with? The fucking cops? The Stallions? Angels? Both?”

“Just curious,” I responded.

He stepped close enough I could hear him wheeze when he breathed. “You’re either going to talk, or I’m going to put a bullet in your head and feed you to the coyotes.”

I didn’t like his tone. Enough was enough. I wasn’t convinced at some point in time throughout the night that I hadn’t pissed myself. I needed a shower, something to eat, and a pat on the back. It was time to remove the hood, dust me off, and congratulate me for a job well done.

“I’m not fucking around,” he warned.

The unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked caused every one of my muscles to tense. “Talk or die.” He pressed the barrel against the side of my head. “Decision’s yours, bitch.”

16

Price

Convinced Gray had been trying to get ahold of me to explain matters—and couldn’t because I didn’t have my phone—I was in Verizon’s phone store attempting to resolve the issue.

“I don’t want a smart phone,” I said. “I want a dumb phone. Flip it open, use it, flip it closed. That kind.”

“We’ve got a buy-one-get-one-free special on the Samsung—”

“Listen,” I said through my teeth. “I’ve had a bad fucking day. I want a phone like my last one. Open my account, see what it was, and give me one just like it. Same phone, same number.”

“I’m not sure that we—”

“The guy over there said you could rig my new one up with the same number. You can do that, right?”

“Do you have a valid ID?”

“Yeah.”

He batted his eyes. “Maybe a copy of your most recent phone bill?”

“Why in the fuck would I be walking around with last month’s phone bill in my goddamned pocket? No, I don’t have my fucking bill.” I realized my voice had raised a few octaves and glanced around to see whose attention I’d gathered. “Get me a goddamned phone,” I seethed. “And get it programmed or whatever you call it.” I glanced at my watch. “I’ll give you ten minutes.”

He pecked at the keys on the keyboard in front of him. “Name?”

I handed him my ID. “It’s all right there.”

“Edwin,” he said as he pecked at the keys. “McNealy. Let’s see.” He looked up. “What was your phone number?”