Read Online The Lovely Chocolate Mob by Richard J. Bennett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard J. Bennett
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“I’m doing well, thanks. Haven’t seen you in a while either, but then again, I don’t know where to look!”
Walter liked that and laughed a bit.
“I understand you wanted to see me,” he said. “Got something needs handling? Something broke? What?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep up with him, hoping he wouldn’t get too far ahead of me. “I did and I do. But first… how did you get my cell phone number? It’s brand new, I upgraded only last week, and it came with a new number!”
“Heh-heh-heh! Trade secrets, Randy boy; I can’t be telling all I know; in my business, knowledge is money!”
“Hmmmmm” I pondered. I got that cell phone so I’d have a little more privacy from work; they only had my hard line number, and I haven’t had the chance to share my cell number with friends yet. Walter somehow got it, but at least he knows how to keep a secret. “Okay, you,” I finally sputtered. Walter laughed a little more and kept driving.
Walter’s a strange creature. Although I find him easy to get along with, those with a certain social standard cringe when they’re around him. They know his priorities are not shared around the “upper-crust, high-society” minded, so they tend to avoid him. He also speaks his mind, which has gotten him into trouble more than once. I suspected he was currently between jobs, and probably living in this RV.
“Why did you have me walk all over the neighborhood? I appreciate the exercise, but it’s dark outside, and you don’t always know who’s lurking around out there.”
“Don’t worry Randy,” he grinned. “I had you in sight most of the time.”
I thought back quickly, and said, “I didn’t see you, and this vehicle would be hard to miss.”
“I didn’t have you in eyesight,” he replied, “but you were on the screen right here,” and reaching towards the dashboard, he turned on a built-in screen display, which showed a bird’s-eye satellite view of the neighborhood I had just walked. I could see the tops of people’s heads as they moved on the sidewalk nearby what I took to be the Dairy Queen. Even at night people were visible, their body-heat making a glow on the screen.
I studied it for a moment and heard myself say, “Impressive.” With that Walter grinned; he was waiting for that; he wasn’t hard to please.
We drove in silence for the next few minutes, until we turned onto a gravel road, which led down a path between trees and tall grass, and pulled up to a country bar and grill, with a neon sign which read “Estella’s,” whom I assumed to be the owner. The place was so far away from the city that it was probably frequented by bikers and ranchers, farmers and country folks. From the looks of the parking lot, it didn’t seem very crowded, and Walter parked near the road. The parking lot was also made of gravel, and we had a long walk to the building. I saw a few motorcycles, and hoped there wouldn’t be any young toughs looking for trouble. I asked Walter about this, and he remarked that the bikers here were older fellows who liked peace and quiet like most people in our age group.
I admired the motorcycles for a moment but made sure not to touch them. As we turned to enter the establishment, I asked Walter about the silent treatment in the city. He said, “I don’t like to talk much on the city streets; cops have radar guns, and sound guns, like the ones used in televised football games, exist. It wouldn’t be too hard to put the two in one contraption. There are lots of cops in the city but not many out here.”
This made sense, in a way. “So when did cops become the enemy?” I asked.
“Cops aren’t the enemy per se,” answered Walter, “They work for the enemy, the government. The Man. The Elite. Big Brother. The Watchers. The…”
“I get the idea,” I said, interrupting his flow. “You don’t like being monitored. Well, nobody does.”
We walked into the bar and took a booth far away from anybody. The
Walter liked that and laughed a bit.
“I understand you wanted to see me,” he said. “Got something needs handling? Something broke? What?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep up with him, hoping he wouldn’t get too far ahead of me. “I did and I do. But first… how did you get my cell phone number? It’s brand new, I upgraded only last week, and it came with a new number!”
“Heh-heh-heh! Trade secrets, Randy boy; I can’t be telling all I know; in my business, knowledge is money!”
“Hmmmmm” I pondered. I got that cell phone so I’d have a little more privacy from work; they only had my hard line number, and I haven’t had the chance to share my cell number with friends yet. Walter somehow got it, but at least he knows how to keep a secret. “Okay, you,” I finally sputtered. Walter laughed a little more and kept driving.
Walter’s a strange creature. Although I find him easy to get along with, those with a certain social standard cringe when they’re around him. They know his priorities are not shared around the “upper-crust, high-society” minded, so they tend to avoid him. He also speaks his mind, which has gotten him into trouble more than once. I suspected he was currently between jobs, and probably living in this RV.
“Why did you have me walk all over the neighborhood? I appreciate the exercise, but it’s dark outside, and you don’t always know who’s lurking around out there.”
“Don’t worry Randy,” he grinned. “I had you in sight most of the time.”
I thought back quickly, and said, “I didn’t see you, and this vehicle would be hard to miss.”
“I didn’t have you in eyesight,” he replied, “but you were on the screen right here,” and reaching towards the dashboard, he turned on a built-in screen display, which showed a bird’s-eye satellite view of the neighborhood I had just walked. I could see the tops of people’s heads as they moved on the sidewalk nearby what I took to be the Dairy Queen. Even at night people were visible, their body-heat making a glow on the screen.
I studied it for a moment and heard myself say, “Impressive.” With that Walter grinned; he was waiting for that; he wasn’t hard to please.
We drove in silence for the next few minutes, until we turned onto a gravel road, which led down a path between trees and tall grass, and pulled up to a country bar and grill, with a neon sign which read “Estella’s,” whom I assumed to be the owner. The place was so far away from the city that it was probably frequented by bikers and ranchers, farmers and country folks. From the looks of the parking lot, it didn’t seem very crowded, and Walter parked near the road. The parking lot was also made of gravel, and we had a long walk to the building. I saw a few motorcycles, and hoped there wouldn’t be any young toughs looking for trouble. I asked Walter about this, and he remarked that the bikers here were older fellows who liked peace and quiet like most people in our age group.
I admired the motorcycles for a moment but made sure not to touch them. As we turned to enter the establishment, I asked Walter about the silent treatment in the city. He said, “I don’t like to talk much on the city streets; cops have radar guns, and sound guns, like the ones used in televised football games, exist. It wouldn’t be too hard to put the two in one contraption. There are lots of cops in the city but not many out here.”
This made sense, in a way. “So when did cops become the enemy?” I asked.
“Cops aren’t the enemy per se,” answered Walter, “They work for the enemy, the government. The Man. The Elite. Big Brother. The Watchers. The…”
“I get the idea,” I said, interrupting his flow. “You don’t like being monitored. Well, nobody does.”
We walked into the bar and took a booth far away from anybody. The
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