Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Right? A little sauce, a sprinkle of cheese and an eight-ball of meth.”
Rez glanced up. “Pizza any good?”
“It ain’t bad. But you better photograph everything before you eat it.”
“Damn, it is cold,” Rez bitched when he touched it.
“Yeah, because most of the customers I’ve delivered to tonight don’t give a fuck about the actual pizza. That’s not why they’re placing an order, jackass.” Decker shook his head.
Rez chuckled. “No shit.”
“Look, just document the buy, take the meth to Crew, then take the pizza home and warm it the fuck up. Problem solved, you cheap fucker.”
“Speaking of cheap,” Rez pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed over the money for the eight-ball. “A buck fifty isn’t a bad price for an eight-ball. I wonder what the quality’s like.”
“I wouldn’t know since I don’t do meth.”
“Aren’t you fucking hilarious,” Rez grumbled.
“I’m glad you finally recognize that fact. Shit. Before I forget, write something down for me, will you? I didn’t get a chance and I don’t want to forget it. Get it to Crew and email me a copy so I can include it in my daily report.”
“What am I, your bitch?”
Decker raked his gaze up and down Rez. “Sure look like it.”
“Can’t you text it to me? Or to Crew?”
“It’ll be faster for me to write it down than to type it all out as a text with my fat fingers. Does this dump have a pen and paper?”
Rez moved over to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. “King James Bible,” he grumbled, then lifted a pen. “And this. If it’s not all dried up.”
“Give me that. And tear a page out of the bible for me to write on.”
Rez’s jaw dropped open. “What?”
“Just do it. Nobody’s coming to this rat trap to read the fucking Bible. They probably rent rooms by the hour here.”
“Can confirm.” The BAMC sergeant at arms grimaced as he tore a page free, then quickly did the sign of the Holy Cross. “I’m probably going to hell for this.”
“Hate to break it to you, you were already on that track.” He snatched the page and pen from Rez’s fingers and perched on the edge of the bed to use the nightstand as a desk.
“Sure you want to sit there? There could be bed bugs.”
Decker shot to his feet and glanced at the bed. “Jesus fuck. Last thing I want is to bring home bed bugs.”
“Crew said that you already have something sharing your bed already.”
Of course he did. Cops gossiped more than Italian grandmothers. “What did he say?”
“That Sloane is staying in your bedroom and had a hickey.”
“She was already staying in my bedroom since I moved into the guest room and Crew is just stirring up trouble. She burned herself with a curling iron.”
Rez almost fell over when he burst out laughing. “A curling iron. Her fucking hair was straight as fuck when I was over there.”
“That’s why it’s straight. She’s clumsy with the curling iron and rarely uses it.”
Rez scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “Okay, stud.” He whacked Decker on the back. “Least you’re getting some.”
“Unlike you, Rez-avoir Dog, I’ve never had a problem getting some.” He moved to the dresser and leaned over it to scribble down:
Personal - Single dose - $20
Small - Gram - $80
Med - 8-ball - $150
Lg - Ounce - $350
XL - Pound - $2k
When he was done, he took a photo of his note with his cell phone and texted it to Crew with a quick explanation.
Rez peeked over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
“The code they’re using for the pizza orders.”
“You mean meth orders.”
“Damn, sometimes you just shock me with all that genius locked inside your brain. It has to hurt. So look,” he pointed to the list with the pen and explained, “pizza size, amount of meth, and the cost.”
“Guess they toss the pizza in for free?”
“Again, you’re the only one who gives a fuck about the pizza.”
“Because pizza is life!”
Decker snatched his cell phone off the dresser when it buzzed and lit up.
He read the text from Buster: Stop @ church 4 delivry.
“What the fuck?” he grumbled.
“What?” Rez asked, leaning into him and peering at his phone.
Decker ignored his nosy ass and texted the Demon back. For a pizza delivery?
Delevry 4 here, dumfuk. Juss do wat the fuk UR told. Prospex aint supposd 2 think.
“For fuck’s sake, look at this shit.” Decker turned the phone toward Rez, who scanned the badly misspelled text. “That shit hurt my brain trying to decipher it.”
“No shit. What kind of delivery does he want you to do?”
“If I had to guess, he needs to re-up the stash at Pizza Town.”
Rez’s dark eyebrows shot up his forehead. “If so, Crew’s going to do backflips since he’s been dying to get enough PC to wire up their Uniontown church. This might be what gets him that judge’s signature.”