Read Online Levon's Trade (Levon Cade Book 1) by Chuck Dixon - Free Book Online
Authors: Chuck Dixon
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but more of a rocking beat. Levon didn’t recognize it.
A skinny girl in an aloha shirt worn open over a bikini top stepped away from where she was talking to two guys in straw hats.
“Help you?” she said neither this way nor that. She could be Hattie. From the age of the sign out front more likely Hattie’s granddaughter.
He asked what was on tap. She told him. He ordered a tall Yuengling. She put it in front of him, slid a bowl of boiled peanuts within his reach and returned to her conversation with the straw hat pair.
Three in the afternoon on a weekday and the place was a quarter full. He walked his beer and peanuts to a table and took a seat. Nobody seemed curious about him. But then they were all still mostly sober.
The music mix shifted from country rock to heavy metal favorites as the sky outside darkened. A big screen in the hall blinked on for a mixed martial arts pay-per-view ticket. The pickups departed and more cycles rumbled onto the lot. Levon ordered a second beer and a BBQ sandwich and side of slaw. He took his time finishing that before heading to the men’s room in the back. The rest rooms were marked BOARS and SOWS.
He was washing up when one of the bikers joined him in the two-sink, two-stall head. The guy was wearing a Jack Daniels t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. It showed off arms covered in tats in a spider web theme. The guy leaned back against the door. No one was coming or going without getting past him first.
“You a jumper?” The guy nodded at the chute and wings inked on Levon’s forearm.
“A few times here and there,” Levon said. He leaned back on the sink shelf, making no sign that he was eager to leave.
“LALO? HALO? Or just enough to qualify?”
“I’ve seen the stars in the daytime. Best three minutes of my life.”
“Screaming Eagles,” the guy said and pulled his collar down to show part of a tat of the eagle head of the 101st Airborne.
“I jumped with them once at Fort Campbell. They mostly stay in the planes these days.”
“What brings you to Cotton Lake, brother?” the guy said without brotherly warmth.
“You the official greeter?”
“Nobody comes here unless they mean to. Nobody stays unless they’re looking for someone.”
“I don’t know anyone here.”
“And nobody knows you,” the guy said.
“You think I’m a cop.”
“What am I supposed to think?”
Levon held out his hands. They were big hands on thick wrists and rough with layers of callus.
“Ever see a cop with hands like that?” Levon said. He’d worked two years of construction with Wiley and Manners before moving into security two months prior.
“So you’re not looking for someone. But you’re looking for something. Am I wrong?”
“I’m looking to buy.”
The guy studied Levon’s eyes, searching for some kind of truth in them. He nodded and took his back off the door.
“Give it ten minutes and come on out to the picnic tables,” the guy said and left the room.
23
----
The scent of spiced pork still hung in the air even after the barrel grill was shut down for the night. The portico was outside of the lake of white glare a single pole lamp created on Hattie’s lot. The only illumination from inside was the glow of a cigarette. Levon took his time walking to the picnic tables, allowing his eyes to adjust to the change in light.
The guy from the men’s room sat at a table with another man and a woman. The other man was an older, heavier biker with a dense beard and brittle gray hair held back with a leather-thonged pony tail. The older guy said something and the woman got up and wobbled back to Hattie’s, carrying longneck empties.
Levon stood regarding the two men. A scuff of boot soles on gravel behind him. He held his hands out from his side as hands expertly patted him down. They came to the long slide in a pancake holster at the small of his back.
“That stays where it is, hoss,” Levon said, eyes on the older man who nodded. The hands
A skinny girl in an aloha shirt worn open over a bikini top stepped away from where she was talking to two guys in straw hats.
“Help you?” she said neither this way nor that. She could be Hattie. From the age of the sign out front more likely Hattie’s granddaughter.
He asked what was on tap. She told him. He ordered a tall Yuengling. She put it in front of him, slid a bowl of boiled peanuts within his reach and returned to her conversation with the straw hat pair.
Three in the afternoon on a weekday and the place was a quarter full. He walked his beer and peanuts to a table and took a seat. Nobody seemed curious about him. But then they were all still mostly sober.
The music mix shifted from country rock to heavy metal favorites as the sky outside darkened. A big screen in the hall blinked on for a mixed martial arts pay-per-view ticket. The pickups departed and more cycles rumbled onto the lot. Levon ordered a second beer and a BBQ sandwich and side of slaw. He took his time finishing that before heading to the men’s room in the back. The rest rooms were marked BOARS and SOWS.
He was washing up when one of the bikers joined him in the two-sink, two-stall head. The guy was wearing a Jack Daniels t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. It showed off arms covered in tats in a spider web theme. The guy leaned back against the door. No one was coming or going without getting past him first.
“You a jumper?” The guy nodded at the chute and wings inked on Levon’s forearm.
“A few times here and there,” Levon said. He leaned back on the sink shelf, making no sign that he was eager to leave.
“LALO? HALO? Or just enough to qualify?”
“I’ve seen the stars in the daytime. Best three minutes of my life.”
“Screaming Eagles,” the guy said and pulled his collar down to show part of a tat of the eagle head of the 101st Airborne.
“I jumped with them once at Fort Campbell. They mostly stay in the planes these days.”
“What brings you to Cotton Lake, brother?” the guy said without brotherly warmth.
“You the official greeter?”
“Nobody comes here unless they mean to. Nobody stays unless they’re looking for someone.”
“I don’t know anyone here.”
“And nobody knows you,” the guy said.
“You think I’m a cop.”
“What am I supposed to think?”
Levon held out his hands. They were big hands on thick wrists and rough with layers of callus.
“Ever see a cop with hands like that?” Levon said. He’d worked two years of construction with Wiley and Manners before moving into security two months prior.
“So you’re not looking for someone. But you’re looking for something. Am I wrong?”
“I’m looking to buy.”
The guy studied Levon’s eyes, searching for some kind of truth in them. He nodded and took his back off the door.
“Give it ten minutes and come on out to the picnic tables,” the guy said and left the room.
23
----
The scent of spiced pork still hung in the air even after the barrel grill was shut down for the night. The portico was outside of the lake of white glare a single pole lamp created on Hattie’s lot. The only illumination from inside was the glow of a cigarette. Levon took his time walking to the picnic tables, allowing his eyes to adjust to the change in light.
The guy from the men’s room sat at a table with another man and a woman. The other man was an older, heavier biker with a dense beard and brittle gray hair held back with a leather-thonged pony tail. The older guy said something and the woman got up and wobbled back to Hattie’s, carrying longneck empties.
Levon stood regarding the two men. A scuff of boot soles on gravel behind him. He held his hands out from his side as hands expertly patted him down. They came to the long slide in a pancake holster at the small of his back.
“That stays where it is, hoss,” Levon said, eyes on the older man who nodded. The hands
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