Running Hot by Jacob long (13 ebook reader TXT) 📖

a second to set the drink down while the kid hunched down and started punching him in the ribs. With the drink safe, Reed pounded his fist hard on the back of the kid’s neck. The kid shouted in pain and took a step back to massage the area. Reed propped himself up on the counter and dropkicked him in the chest. The kid tumbled backwards and fell against a table; knocking it over on his way to the floor. The four people sitting at it jumped out of their chairs and backed away; shouting surprised expletives.
Red shirt had gotten up and rushed at Reed, a crude battle cry escaping his lips. Reed quickly adjusted and elbowed him in the nose. The boy drew back; holding it as it began to gush blood. Reed kicked him in the stomach and struck him on the back of the head in two swift motions.
College sweater got back to his feet and rushed at Reed again. Reed sighed and rolled his eyes. Then he noticed Red shirt’s pool stick on the floor. He scooped his foot up under it and kicked it at College sweater. He stopped to shield his face and the pool stick bounced off harmlessly but the hesitation gave Reed just enough time to grab one of the bar stools by the legs and swing it as hard as he could. The stool smashed across the kid’s head and the kid fell onto a table; unconscious. The kid in the red shirt fought to gain his footing and staggered, deliriously, toward Reed. He used the counter to steady himself. As he moved he reached out and grabbed the air as if Reed were closer. Reed snatched up the whisky sitting peacefully on the counter and fired it down; then smashed it over the boy’s head. The strike was insignificant but the boy still toppled against the bar.
Reed arched his back and cracked his spine; letting out a pleasurable grunt. He then turned to the bartender and reached behind himself; slipping his hand under his jacket. The bartender dropped the tray he was holding and began scrabbling behind the counter for his revolver. He couldn’t find it!
Reed calmly pulled out a wad of bills and threw some of them on the counter. “For the whisky,” he said.
Reed walked out the front door and into the cool night air. Once the door was closed, Reed rubbed his ribs and other tender areas. He took a second to look up at the moon. It was large and shone brightly in the starry night.
“La luna del cacciatore,” he muttered.
Reed continued out across the parking lot in silence; staring down at the ground as it passed under his feet. He was pondering why he was taking so long getting out of Jersey. He hated it here. The culture appeared to be stuck in the 80’s. Of course, with Reed’s taste in cars and music he really couldn’t judge people for liking old things. Still, most of the people were either the really pissy kind of mean, or the creepy, take-a–fruitcake-over-to-your-neighbor kind of nice. Reed blew out a bunch of air and dismissed the thoughts; stepping out onto the empty road.
Reed walked along the long stretch of highway for some minutes before coming to the Whyndam Hotel where he was staying. As he was crossing the parking lot, a sedan pulled in and crossed his path on the way to its spot. A nearly middle-aged woman was driving and her young daughter was in the back. As Reed waited patiently for the vehicle to pass, he saw them both turn to look at him on their way by. Their expressions were cold, judgmental stares. What was no more than two seconds felt like an eternity to him. He didn’t know why people had to look at him like that. Did he really look so detestable? Why couldn’t they just mind their own damn selves?
The vehicle passed and Reed was allowed to continue on his way. He went inside and passed the clerk on his way upstairs. To compound Reed’s frustration with his inability to leave the state, he’d actually paid for a two day stay; which had eaten up the rest of his money. This was his second day.
He went into his room on the second floor and immediately opened the window. Then he removed all of his old clothes and placed them all on the sill. He hadn’t brought any changes of clothing and was hoping the clean air would help with the smell.
Reed sighed, moseyed around the room for a moment, and then fell onto the bed. He would call Devlin at his garage later and tell him to bring a car. He was going to leave tomorrow; for sure.

2)
“I didn’t kill anybody!”

Reed woke up the following morning when his alarm went off at 10:00. He was still a little tired and it took a bit of self encouragement to get up. As he sat up in the bed, he realized that he was sweating profusely. It was a hot day and he had started sweating as he slept. Reed got up and retrieved his clothes. The sun wasn’t hitting them and they had lost none of the frigidness of the cold night. The change in temperature was nice as he slipped them on but they still smelled funky. Only now they also possess the overly fresh scent of morning air. Reed didn’t complain though. The room didn’t care about his problems.
Reed left the room and locked the door behind him. As he was turning he noticed the two girls from last night walking down the hall toward him. It took all of his strength to pretend that he didn’t see them. He tried to look as casual as possible as he turned and walked the opposite direction down the hall; while in his mind, he was running as hard as he could.
When he got to the front desk, he slid his key across the counter top and quickly slipped on his sunglasses. As the two passed behind him he imagined them still burning a hole in his back with their eyes. The supposedly innocent little girl was judging his merit; and how dangerous he could potentially be to her. He just wanted to turn and scream that he wasn’t going to hurt her. Reed cursed himself for his weakness. How could a little girl instill so much shame in him?
“Thank you for staying at The Whyndam!” the clerk smiled.
Reed didn’t say anything in response. He just walked away. What was he supposed to say anyway? You’re welcome?
He walked through the parking lot and onto the bare shoulder of the road. The long stretch of road ahead and the sun beating down so fiercely made him sigh before starting his journey. After roughly twenty minutes of walking, Reed took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder; pulling his shirt over the gun in his belt to hide it. Reed then pulled out his cell phone and dialed the garage’s number.
Devlin was waxing the royal blue, 1969 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray when the phone rang. The phone that rang was Reed’s private line that only Reed and Angela knew the number of so he dropped what he was doing straightaway and snatched up the phone. At three-thousand bucks a month he was expected to jump to whatever whim that they ordered him to fulfill. Devlin was slightly chubby with serious five-o’-clock shadow and a thick mustache. He liked to wear Hawaiian style shirts.
“Angela, for the last time! There is no way I can put Nitrous Oxide in your Bug! Reed specifically forbade it!” Devlin yelled.
“This isn’t Angela, Devlin.” Reed said flatly.
“Oh, Reed. What can I do for ya?” Devlin scratched his stubble.
“I need a car delivered to New Jersey.” Reed continued to walk.
“Where?” Devlin asked.
“Camden.”
“Okay, but where?”
“I don’t know where exactly yet. Just get a car here.”
“Which one? Do you want me to bring anything extra?”
“Yeah, I’ll need a set of clothes and some money... a thousand.”
“Um, Reed, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you keep everything locked up; your safe and your safe house.” Devlin said.
“There’s a pack of bills in one of my top desk drawers and… well, forget the clothes!” Reed shouted with impatience. The heat was making him irritable.
“Okay, hang on a second.” The phone was one of the old wire connected ones; so Devlin dropped the receiver and weaved through the dozens of cars on his way over to Reed’s desk in the corner. He opened one of the drawers and found the stack of money wrapped up in a rubber band sitting right on top of everything else. He grabbed it, closed the drawer again and walked back over to the phone.
He picked the receiver back up and said, “Yeah I got the money; now which car?”
Suddenly a brown Oldsmobile sped by Reed with several police cars in pursuit. The noise from the sirens forced Reed to pause until they passed. The last squad car in the pursuit team pulled up alongside Reed, though.
“Hold on a second,” Reed said.
“Do ya need a ride?” the cop asked.
“No, I’ll be fine,” Reed answered.
“It’s mighty hot out here. Come on, I’ll take you to into town.”
Suddenly an idea struck Reed and he brought the phone back up to his ear. “Bring the black 1970 Plymouth Barracuda convertible to…” he took a second to read the policeman’s precinct, “the Camden police station; second precinct.”
“The Cuda? Expecting trouble?”
“Yes,” Reed answered coolly.
Devlin grabbed a pad of paper and wrote everything down. “…Okay, I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Good,” Reed said, hanging up the phone.
Reed bent down to open the front passenger door but the officer stopped him.
“Sorry, you’re gonna have to get in the back.”
“Why?” Reed puzzled.
“The front’s for officers only,” the cop answered.
This was highly irregular and Reed knew it. Why did he stop in the middle of a pursuit just to talk to him? Did this guy recognize him? What was his game?
“I’m sorry; I didn’t get your name,” Reed said.
“Oh, I’m Officer Hutchison; Tom Hutchison.” He stretched his hand out the window.
Reed reached down and shook his hand. He didn’t think he knew the name.
“I’m Reed,” he said.
“Nice to meet ya Reed,” he smiled. “So you want that ride?”
Reed hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Yeah.”
He opened the back seat door and slid into the seat; closing the secure door behind him. As they were driving, Reed continued to try and remember if he’d seen the cop before. He couldn’t pull up the memory if he had. In fact, the officer looked very plain to Reed. He was built like a cop. He possessed the mildly athletic form of a cop used to being on the beat. His red hairline was in an advanced stage of recession; and like all the other cops in this state (who again, appeared to be stuck in the eighties) had a bushy mustache growing on his tough face.
“So where ya from Reed?” the officer suddenly asked.
“New York,” Reed answered cautiously.
“Got a last name?”
“Yes,” Reed said; pulling his jacket back on.
“…Well, what is it?” Hutchison laughed.
“Smith.”
“Okay; fine. I guess you don’t have to tell me.”
In no time they were in the city. As they were coming down the final street before the police station, Reed noticed a large congregation of news reporters and cameras standing on the front steps. Reed looked at his watch and set the alarm to go off at one o’ clock in the afternoon
“What’s going on?” Reed asked;