Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [149]
“Looking for Tiny.”
She snorted. “You mean the Tiny? He at County.”
“Heard he was out.”
“For real? Well, I know somebody who would know. Stay right there.”
Brady could hear her on the phone. “Yes, a white boy . . . I don’t know, normal I guess. Not that big . . . No, I don’t think he’s carryin’, but he might soon wish he was. . . . Okay, I’ll tell him.”
She returned to the steps. “Well, you knew something I didn’t know. My nephew says Tiny’s back where he belongs. Where you know him from?”
“County.”
“If you’re looking for some kinda revenge, you gonna be shipped outta here in a bag.”
“He’s a friend, only I don’t know where he lives.”
“Lives? He lives where he works, boy. Sixteen blocks north, four blocks east. But you better tell everybody along the way where you’re going, or you’ll never get there.”
Brady did just that, only once warned that if it turned out he wasn’t really a friend of Tiny’s, he’d get himself messed up. Everybody he talked to was on a cell phone, and by the time he got within a quarter mile of Tiny, it seemed everyone knew he was coming.
“Here he is!”
“Almost there, bro.”
“Tiny expectin’ you by now.”
He came to an abandoned four-story building with a dozen guys milling about out front. Each reminded him of guys he’d met at County. “Hey, Hollywood! You Tiny’s buddy from the joint, right? Follow me.”
As Brady mounted the inside staircase, he was glad he wasn’t up to anything, because as he followed the man up, the rest followed him. Apparently his life was in Tiny’s hands already.
Had this been a movie, Brady would have expected Tiny to be sitting on a throne, wearing bling and surrounded by beauties. It turned out Tiny was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and lounging on a dilapidated couch, watching TV. He looked even bigger than Brady remembered. Being out seemed to agree with his appetite.
Tiny grunted as he leaned over to shut off the set. “My brother,” he said, and they traded the handshake Brady had learned inside.
“How do you get cable in here?” Brady said.
“I get anything I want wherever I want. Don’t ask, don’t tell. You a brave boy, comin’ into this neighborhood.”
“Your turf,” Brady said. “That makes it mine too.”
Tiny grinned. “My man. You bring me anything? You owe me for a lot of years. You get your stash from the armored truck job?”
“Actually, I need your help on that.”
“Oh, man!”
“The guy who’s got my share has it in the suburbs and won’t give it to me. If I can just borrow a car and a cell phone . . .”
Tiny laughed, his fleshy arms jiggling. “Oh, is that all? I’m supposed to trust you with that?”
“For fifty percent of a hundred large.”
“Seventy.”
“Deal.”
Tiny nodded to one of his associates. “We got any legit rides available? I don’t want my boy pulled over for grand theft auto. And let me borrow a cell phone.” He turned to Brady. “For how long, brother? When’s this go down?”
“Tonight. I bring back everything, including your share, before midnight.”
“Cool. You need any help?”
“Uh, no. Your guys just might stand out in the suburbs.”
“What’re you sayin’?” Tiny said, laughing. “I been trying to get into the suburbs for years. What you gonna leave me for collateral?”
“I got nothin’, man. Like forty bucks if you need it.”
Tiny snorted. “If I need forty dollars, I need more help than you can give me. You know what happens if you do me wrong.”
“You don’t even have to think about that, man. I know I owe you big-time.”
“Yeah, and a lot more than this.”
“I know.”
“You gonna be carryin’, right? You don’t stand for somebody trying to stiff you.”
This was exactly what Brady had hoped for, a weapon without having to ask for it. He knew Tiny would think of everything.
“What do you suggest?”
“Got to take a piece, man. Don’t have to use it. Just wave it in his face. He’ll have to go change his pants.”
“You got something I could use?”
“Yeah. The bigger the better. You ever see a sawed-off?”
“Used