Read Online Levon's Trade (Levon Cade Book 1) by Chuck Dixon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chuck Dixon
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left him.
“Sit your ass anywhere,” the older man gestured. A patch on his leather vest read DUTCH .
Levon straddled the bench across from the older man, keeping one foot outside. The third man, the patdown man, leaned on a table top off to one side. The guy from the men’s room stayed, taking pulls from a Coors longneck.
“Dougie tells me you want to buy. What are you looking for?” Dutch said.
“A half pound to start. Price depends on quality. If it’s good I’ll want a lot more.”
“We’re talking ice, right?”
“I want anything else I’d be somewhere else.”
“How’d you hear about us?”
“Jungle internet. I hear I should go to Cotton Lake if I want to buy weight. My only question is quality,” Levon said.
“It’s Mexican. You can’t get weight domestic. Too many restrictions on the goods,” Dutch said.
“That’s been our problem. No supply.”
“Seven kay for a half pound.”
“Five kay. We can up it to twelve for a full bag if the shit is what I’m looking for. I can use five pounds a month to start,” Levon said leveling his gaze on Dutch’s eyes.
Dutch blinked at that. Sixty thousand a month. He smeared his Marlboro out on the scarred table top.
“You local?” Dutch said.
“I’m down from up north. Rust belt. Way outside your market.”
“You come off 75? There’s a Cracker Barrel at the next exit south. Have breakfast there tomorrow.”
“That’s it?” Levon said.
“That’s it. Bring the five kay. Don’t worry about the bar tab.”
And that was goodbye.
He drove back to 75 and took a room at a Red Roof near the Cracker Barrel.
The next morning the guy from the men’s room the night before slid into the booth across from him at Cracker Barrel. He plucked a breakfast link off Levon’s plate like they were old pals. Levon gestured to the waitress to fill his friend’s coffee cup. The guy wore a print shirt loose. His hair was road whipped.
“You got something for me?”
Levon placed an envelope of bills on the table. The guy took it with a grin for the waitress who loaded up his cup from a carafe. The envelope went under his shirt. The guy took a sip then put a cell phone on the table and slid it to Levon. It was new. A pay-as-you-go burner.
“That’s it?” Levon said.
“You’ll get a call then you get your stuff. We don’t know you.”
“But I know where to find you.”
“That’s right.” The guy grinned showing missing teeth. He got up and was gone.
Levon finished his breakfast and paid the check. The cell buzzed as he was walking to his truck. Dutch was on the other end.
“Your goods are under the front seat of your truck.”
“This James Bond shit is getting tired.”
“We’ll get to know each other better. Maybe I’ll let you fuck my sister.”
“What about the weight we talked about?”
“If you like the shit we can do that.”
“When?”
“You keep the phone Dougie gave you. I’ll call you tomorrow late. Give you time to confirm how outrageous my shit is.”
“Then we do a serious deal.”
“We’ll talk then.”
The phone went dead.
Levon drove north for Tampa. He pulled off at the exit for Seffner and went into the rest room at a Wawa carrying the Target bag he’d found under the front seat of the Avalanche. In the stall he opened the bag to find a paper envelope containing a sandwich baggie loaded with tiny rocks. They looked like dusty diamonds. He unzipped the bag and dumped the contents in the toilet and flushed.
Gunny Leffertz said:
“Folks see what they want to see. Never let them see what you are. Let them see what they want you to be.”
24
----
The doublewide sat at the end of Lockhaven Road. A standalone steel garage building with six bays. A primer-shot Dodge Charger sat on the concrete pad by a pair of Harleys. The place had a view of Cotton Lake off the back deck where Dutch Manklin sat counting out the last of the fifty dollar bills on a granite topped table. Dougie sat with him.
“Sit your ass anywhere,” the older man gestured. A patch on his leather vest read DUTCH .
Levon straddled the bench across from the older man, keeping one foot outside. The third man, the patdown man, leaned on a table top off to one side. The guy from the men’s room stayed, taking pulls from a Coors longneck.
“Dougie tells me you want to buy. What are you looking for?” Dutch said.
“A half pound to start. Price depends on quality. If it’s good I’ll want a lot more.”
“We’re talking ice, right?”
“I want anything else I’d be somewhere else.”
“How’d you hear about us?”
“Jungle internet. I hear I should go to Cotton Lake if I want to buy weight. My only question is quality,” Levon said.
“It’s Mexican. You can’t get weight domestic. Too many restrictions on the goods,” Dutch said.
“That’s been our problem. No supply.”
“Seven kay for a half pound.”
“Five kay. We can up it to twelve for a full bag if the shit is what I’m looking for. I can use five pounds a month to start,” Levon said leveling his gaze on Dutch’s eyes.
Dutch blinked at that. Sixty thousand a month. He smeared his Marlboro out on the scarred table top.
“You local?” Dutch said.
“I’m down from up north. Rust belt. Way outside your market.”
“You come off 75? There’s a Cracker Barrel at the next exit south. Have breakfast there tomorrow.”
“That’s it?” Levon said.
“That’s it. Bring the five kay. Don’t worry about the bar tab.”
And that was goodbye.
He drove back to 75 and took a room at a Red Roof near the Cracker Barrel.
The next morning the guy from the men’s room the night before slid into the booth across from him at Cracker Barrel. He plucked a breakfast link off Levon’s plate like they were old pals. Levon gestured to the waitress to fill his friend’s coffee cup. The guy wore a print shirt loose. His hair was road whipped.
“You got something for me?”
Levon placed an envelope of bills on the table. The guy took it with a grin for the waitress who loaded up his cup from a carafe. The envelope went under his shirt. The guy took a sip then put a cell phone on the table and slid it to Levon. It was new. A pay-as-you-go burner.
“That’s it?” Levon said.
“You’ll get a call then you get your stuff. We don’t know you.”
“But I know where to find you.”
“That’s right.” The guy grinned showing missing teeth. He got up and was gone.
Levon finished his breakfast and paid the check. The cell buzzed as he was walking to his truck. Dutch was on the other end.
“Your goods are under the front seat of your truck.”
“This James Bond shit is getting tired.”
“We’ll get to know each other better. Maybe I’ll let you fuck my sister.”
“What about the weight we talked about?”
“If you like the shit we can do that.”
“When?”
“You keep the phone Dougie gave you. I’ll call you tomorrow late. Give you time to confirm how outrageous my shit is.”
“Then we do a serious deal.”
“We’ll talk then.”
The phone went dead.
Levon drove north for Tampa. He pulled off at the exit for Seffner and went into the rest room at a Wawa carrying the Target bag he’d found under the front seat of the Avalanche. In the stall he opened the bag to find a paper envelope containing a sandwich baggie loaded with tiny rocks. They looked like dusty diamonds. He unzipped the bag and dumped the contents in the toilet and flushed.
Gunny Leffertz said:
“Folks see what they want to see. Never let them see what you are. Let them see what they want you to be.”
24
----
The doublewide sat at the end of Lockhaven Road. A standalone steel garage building with six bays. A primer-shot Dodge Charger sat on the concrete pad by a pair of Harleys. The place had a view of Cotton Lake off the back deck where Dutch Manklin sat counting out the last of the fifty dollar bills on a granite topped table. Dougie sat with him.
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