"Judith Lamb - A Good Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lamb Judith)

A GOOD BOY
By Judith Lamb

Jack Kaprowski shivered inside his knee-length black leather "gangsta" coat. His swollen, bruised right hand throbbed, yesterday's nasty warning from Louie The Squeeze of what bodily damage Jack could expect if he didn't pay back the five hundred dollars he'd borrowed from Louie. Sweat streaked down Jack's face, not from the pain and not from the suffocating heat of the muggy summer night. Pain and discomfort were nothing compared to what would happen if Sister Mary caught him stealing St. Margaret's festival money.
"So, Jack, what's the deal?" Frankie The Truck asked. "We gonna do something or just sit in your Plymouth dripping salt or what, man?"

Jack glared at his friend. "Keep a lid on it, Truck, I gotta think."

"Jeez, we'll be here all night." Truck laughed his barking dog laugh. "You shoulda brought Bobby if you was gonna do thinking."

Yeah, sure, Jack thought, like brother Bobby's gonna step down from his big lawyer's office at Dudley, Dudley, and Price and help. Like it wasn't Bobby who'd disdainfully said, "Get a job, kid," when Jack begged him for the money last week.

Jack narrowed his eyes to slits and brought his face within inches of Truck's. "Don't be a wise ass," he threatened.

"Aw, jeez, stop with the look, you're making my eyes water," Truck said.

Jack felt the heat rising in his face and he pulled back and looked out his window before Truck said anything. No one was impressed with his bad guy squint. No one except Molly Corrigan. Thinking about Molly now made Jack's hand throb more. If it hadn't been for her he wouldn't be in this mess. Ah, Molly. When she'd batted those big blue eyes at him and asked him to take her to St. Margaret's highbrow charity dance at the downtown Hilton, well, what was a guy to do.

He'd certainly impressed Molly all right. A C-note for dance tickets, two C-notes for the limo, and another one to rent the tux. After the dance he'd dropped a hundred for the grand six course meal at Le Petit Chateau where everything was petite except the prices. He could still see Molly's beautiful eyes practically bugging outta her head when he'd flipped a twenty for the waiter.

"So, come on, what gives, huh?" Truck asked, bringing him back to the present.

"We're gonna rip off St. Margaret's festival," Jack said.

"We're gonna what?" Truck spluttered, spit hitting the windshield. "Are you crazy? You know who's guarding the dough?"

"Yeah, I know but,,,"

"Sister Mary the Terrible, that's who," Truck yelled, "and I ain't ready to die."

"Will you shut up and listen? I got the whole thing worked out."

"Yeah, sure, like you worked out stealing Fat Freddie's bike and we spent years grounded, in case you've forgotten. Jeez, I even got an A in math 'cause I couldn't do nothing but study."

"We were ten years old."

"Yeah, well we're only sixteen now and we ain't gonna live much longer, stealing from Sister Terrible." Truck sniffed and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his long skinny neck. "And it don't matter she's your aunt, she's gonna kill us."

"Ain't nobody gonna die unless I don't get Louie his money," Jack said.

"So, how you gonna do that?"

"I told Louie to come here tonight and I'd have his five bills for him."

"Five bills for a date. When I think of it I gotta grit my teeth to keep from laughing. Jeez, what a dope."

"Would you just shut up about it?" Jack growled. "I convinced Sister Mary somebody ought to be in the office while she closes up tonight."

"Oh, I get it. While she's out scaring the customers away you're gonna lift five bills. Like she won't know who took it with us sitting there."