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datatime: 2022-09-29 23:28:31 Author:NHLYurUf

Bud, I don't like this.

You don't miss a trick.

We give 'em to the old man and nobody else.

Danny Pogue wasn't paying attention. He was talking about a TV program that showed a male baboon killing a zebra, that's how strong they were. A monkey that could kill something as big as a horse Bud Schwartz was tuned out entirely; he was sizing up the two new men. The tall one, God Almighty, he was trouble. Built like a grizzly but that wasn't the worst of it; the worst was the eyes. Bud Schwartz could spot a doper two miles away; this guy was buzzing like a yellow jacket. The other one was no prize, dull-eyed and cold, but at least he was of normal dimensions. What caught Bud Schwartz's eye was the Cordovan briefcase that the smaller man was carrying.

Now, said Pedro Luz,where's the damn files?

In the parking lot, Pedro Luz and Churrito got into a heated discussion about bringing the IV rack. Churrito prevailed on the grounds that it would attract too much attention.

What if they dint?

You don't miss a trick.

They did. Now be quiet.

You don't miss a trick.

I told you, said Bud Schwartz,we're through with that. We got a new career. He didn't sound as confident as he would've liked. Where the hell was Kingsbury?

But that ain't Kingsbury.

Fifty is what I told him. Bud Schwartz couldn't get the tremor out of his voice.Fifty thousand, if he ever shows up.

Churrito held up the briefcase. It was plainly stuffed with something, possibly fifty thousand in cash.

I'm gonna be straight about this, said Bud Schwartz,I don't know shit about guns.

Bud Schwartz was glad the children weren't watching. After the Japanese had moved on, Danny Pogue said:That was two hundred bucks right there, a Nikon with autofocus. I got a guy in Carol City fences nothing but cameras.

I'm gonna be straight about this, said Bud Schwartz,I don't know shit about guns.

Where's the files? asked Pedro Luz.

The first thing they noticed about Monkey Mountain was the stink, which Churrito likened to that of a mass grave. Next came the insistent clamor of the creatures themselves, clinging to the chicken wire and extending miniature brown hands in hopes of food. Churrito lit up a Marlboro and handed it to a rhesus, who took a sniff and hurled it back at him. Pedro Luz didn't think it was the least bit funny; he was sinking into one of his spells-every heartbeat sent cymbals crashing against his brainpan. An act of irrational violence was needed to calm the mood. It was fortunate, then, that the monkeys were safely on the other side of the chicken wire. Every time one appeared on the mesh over his head, Pedro Luz would jump up and smash at it savagely with his knuckles. This exercise was repeated every few seconds, all the way to the Baboon Tree.

What if they dint?

What if they dint?

Churrito held up the briefcase. It was plainly stuffed with something, possibly fifty thousand in cash.

What if they dint?

The burglars-and it had to be them, greasy-looking rednecks-were sitting on a bench. Nobody else was around.

You don't miss a trick.

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