I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1) by Tony Monchinski Page A

that shit. Have your hands and feet growin’.”
    “Nah, Blind. The shit to look out for’s the
insulin. ‘Slin will fuck you up. I mean, it’ll put twenty pounds on
your like that.” Boone snapped his fingers. “But it’ll fuck you
up.”
    “Give me a call in a couple of days. Should
have those kits for you by Friday. Then we can watch your chin
grow.”
    “Will do, Blind.”
    “Oh, and I got those CDs for you up front
too. Ask Keisha.”
    “I will. Mind if I take another bip before I
go?”
    “Help yourself,” invited the old man.
“Customer satisfaction what we strive for ‘round here. Or some
shit.”

 
15.
10:20 A.M.
     
    Keisha took one look into Boone’s dilated
pupils and shook her head. She held out her hand.
    “Hey there, Kee,” Boone handed her a roll of
hundred dollar bills. “How you been girl?”
    “Don’t try to talk what you think is black to
me, Boone,” she said. She handed him a paper bag with the record
store’s logo on it. “As a matter of fact, don’t try to talk to me
at all. Next.”
    Boone turned but there was no one on line
behind him. When he turned back around Keisha was busying herself
with something.
    “Okay, you be good then.”
    The woman didn’t say anything.

 
16.
10:45 A.M.
     
    Gossitch pulled a towel off the rack and
dried himself in the shower. He was tired.
    He stepped onto the cool tile floor and into
his house slippers, wrapping the towel around his midsection. He
wasn’t fat but he was thickening with middle age.
    The house was quiet. Had been for a long
time.
    He reached to the sink and retrieved the 9mm
in its shoulder rig, slinging it over his arm.
    In his bedroom, he put on a pair of boxers
and a white t-shirt.
    He’d eaten a meal and finally calmed down
from this morning’s work. That vampire walking around outside, what
had that been about?
    He stopped in the kitchen to hock and spit in
the garbage pail. Damn cigarettes were killing him.
    In his spartan living room, he popped a
cassette into the tape deck. Solomon Burke filled the room.
Gossitch sat down on his papa sahn chair, the shoulder rig and the
gun on his lap. The three briefcases were lined up next to the
chair.
    “… When your baby leaves you all alone / and nobody calls you on the phone …”
    Gossitch fired up a Marlboro and sat back in
his chair.
    He didn’t know why he did it to himself. He
missed Renee. Gossitch was in his early fifties. It wasn’t too late
to start again, start a family even. He just had no desire. The men
he worked with were his family. He’d recruited each one. They got
together a few times a year, put in some work, went their separate
ways.
    Tonight they’d meet at a club Gossitch knew
the owner of. He’d divvy out the money, they’d drink too much,
maybe a few of the guys would go home with women. Then they’d
disperse and not see each other until the next job.
    He tapped his ashes out into an ash tray on
his lap.
    Gossitch didn’t encourage fraternization
outside the job. Better each man kept his own life. Learn too much
about each other and the minute one got in a jam he became a
liability to all the rest. Only Gossitch had contact information
for each guy in his crew. He knew Madison, Hamilton, and Jay hung
out outside of work, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He
himself spent more time with Boone than any of the other men in the
crew. Sure Boone was rough around the edges, but he had potential
and was good to have around.
    He wondered if the kid had meant to shoot
that vampire in the trailer. He’d have to talk to him about that.
Maybe it was a good thing the kid couldn’t shoot worth a damn. Give
Boone a scattergun or machine gun, the kid could inflict some
damage. And he had hands. But when it came to a pistol, well…
    Gossitch studied the glowing tip of his
smoke. It had burned down, almost to the filter.
    Santa Anna had comported himself well.
Gossitch had been a little worried that prison might have softened
Carter, but he’d