Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Well, I am . . . this time,” I intone cryptically. “But there’s no telling what could happen next time. That’s why I need the ring. You gotta help me. Please!” I grab his arm, shaking it in desperation, and suddenly realize that beneath his designer tracksuit, Mad Dog is jacked. His bicep is so large that my hands don’t fit around the muscle.
He jerks out of my grip with a grunt, his whole vibe changing. Looming over me, he has me attempting a backbend to get away from his finger, which is pointed right in my face. “Bitch, don’t you fucking touch me. Nobody touches Mad Dog.”
My heart racing and my breath stuck in my throat, I hold up my hands in surrender, realizing how severe of a misstep I’ve made. I mean, approaching a criminal named Mad Dog was scary enough to have me second-guessing my life choices, but he’d seemed nice enough to listen to my story, and my hopes had risen exponentially that, while the pawnshops had been a strikeout, this was going to work.
I was wrong. Dangerously wrong.
“Sorry. Sorry, Mr. Mad Dog, sir. I just really need the ring. My bad. Sorry.”
He takes a slow breath, and I can virtually see him packing the threatening aura back behind his facade of chill. When he leans back, giving me some space, I feel like I can breathe again. Shallowly, but at least my oxygen isn’t being choked by fear.
Mad Dog glances up and down the street, then pins me with a look. Or I assume he does, because he’s pushed his sunglasses back up his nose, and I can’t actually see his eyes, but I freeze all the same. “I don’t have your ring. Honestly. It looks like more than I’d handle from an unknown source I haven’t personally vetted, you get me?”
I nod. He doesn’t know the thief, so he wouldn’t trust him. My hopes dash into ruins again.
“Not everybody has the same scruples I do, though. Who else you got on that list of yours?” He jerks his head toward my phone. When I first approached Mad Dog, I showed him the picture I sneakily took of the list Paul gave us to explain how I found him. He hadn’t been happy about it, but it’d at least gotten him to talk to me.
My eyes widen and a smile blooms on my face. “Really?” I quickly pull up the picture again and show him.
Mad Dog isn’t nearly as forgiving as I am, though, and warns, “Don’t get your hopes up, girl. None of these guys are gonna want to talk to you, but if you’ve got balls enough to hit me up, I think you’ll be all right.”
I should take the compliment, but my mouth does what it does best—talk shit. “I don’t have balls. Those sensitive, useless little things? Pshaw. I’ve got ovaries. Tough as a mother, explode on a monthly basis, and like a Timex or a bomb, keep on ticking.” I tap my hips with my hands like take that. “Tick, tick, boom!” I make an explosion move to emphasize my point that I’m totally a badass who can talk to a few fences who don’t want to talk to me.
Mad Dog stares at me like I’m weird as hell. Unfortunately, it’s a look I’m all too familiar with from receiving it on a near-daily basis my whole life, and I worry I’ve gone too far. But he refocuses on the list, then hums. “Shit. If it was me, I’d ask Johnny K. He’s got a hard-on for diamonds. If I had one to move, he’s who I’d go to.”
I check the list myself, finding Johnny K. “Thanks, Mad Dog! You ever want to see a Hawks game, let me know. I’ll get you a couple of tickets. Cheap seats, but I’ll make it happen. I can be your secret ticket source.” I wink like we’re a couple of old friends conspiring together. Then think better and hold up a finger. “One time offer, no playoffs,” I amend.
“Better.” He laughs proudly. “Be smart, girl. You’re diving in shark-infested waters. And save the Hawks tickets for Johnny K. He’s the hockey guy. I’m more of a basketball guy myself.”
It’s not until after he’s wished me luck and I’ve walked away that my bravado fades and it fully hits me how stupid what I just did was—approaching a known criminal, asking questions about his business, grabbing him.
What the hell was I thinking?
I was thinking about the credit card bill I’ll have to pay. I was thinking about the potential buyer who could make all that a moot point.
But when Mad Dog squared up at me, not one person on the street blinked an eye or made a move to help me. In fact, I think they actively pretended not to see, completely unwilling to get involved in what could’ve been a really dangerous situation.