"Blue, J Michael - The Danger Refugee" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blue J Michael)

= THE DANGER REFUGEE
By J. Michael Blue


Larry Michaels had been on the road less than seven hours, but the ball of panic he'd carried in his gut since the day he arrived in Miami had begun to shrink and fade away. He felt better already.

"If you didn't walk around with every dollar you own, you wouldn't have to be afraid all the time," Angela had told him on the last day they spent together. "This is a city, not some wide spot burg like the one you're from."

"I don't like having my money in one place and me in another," he replied.

"So go live in a bank vault, or buy yourself a big gun."

He hadn't told her about his new Kel-Tec 9mm automatic. She'd laugh at the peashooter size of it. "Why do you want to stay here, anyway? We've had four shootings within a mile of our front door."

"It's a bunch of gangbangers!" she said. "They ignore everybody but the idiots wearing the other "colors," and who cares if they all kill each other?"

"Tell that to Mr. Volstein. They tore up his place and put him in the hospital. I mean it, Angela, this town is full of animals."

She walked out on him without leaving a good-bye note, and though he should have been angry, all he felt was relief. At last he could leave town and not look back. "Good riddance, Bitch," he said as he slammed his front door for the last time.

* * *

The rest stop near the Florida state line had no food service so Larry bought coffee and a sweet roll from the vending machines and leaned against the front of his car while he ate and drank his afternoon snack. He had parked in the only available shade, far from the comfort station buildings and the other cars. The heat and the solitude warmed him and calmed his nerves.

"You got any money, Man?"

Larry had not heard anyone approach and the voice of the tall kid with the mirrored shades and the sideways baseball cap made Larry jump. "Where'd you come from?" he said.

"From my ride, Bubba. Where'd you think? You got any money?"

"What're you talking about?" Larry slid off the car and took a half dozen steps toward the populated end of the rest area.

"Money, Man. Bread. Have you got any you can give me?"

"No. Why should I give money to you?"

"Cause I need it! Why else? Me and my posse're traveling a long way, Man, and we're broke. Chee-cago, we got to get there by Friday." The boy waved lazily to his left where three other teenagers stood beside an ancient Cadillac convertible, watching their cohort make his pitch.

Larry studied the trio and then turned back to the one who had approached him. "You're from Miami, aren't you?" he said.

"Miami? No." The boy shook his head. "I'm from Dallas, Texas, man. Big D."

"But you live in Miami."

The boy smiled. "Do I know you"

"I know your kind. I've got no money for you," Larry said.

The boy gave Larry a wide slow smile. "I asked you nice. You don't want to make a mistake about this."