Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel by Neal Griffin Page B

awaiting further instruction.
    “Now I gotta unfuck one more thing because of your dumb ass.” McKenzie pushed past with a look of irritation etched on his face and signaled for Tyrone to follow along. He walked the short distance to where the silent associate sat stone still. McKenzie stood outside the passenger door, and signaled for the man to put the window down. Reluctantly, he obliged.
    “Never caught your name, son?” McKenzie thought he came off sounding damn near fatherly.
    “Eldon.”
    “I have to say, Eldon, Tyrone here didn’t do you any favors by bringing you to this meet, but you probably figured that out for yourself, didn’t ya, boy?”
    “It ain’t nothin’, man.” Eldon’s voice shook. “We were just kickin’ it, so I came along. That’s all. Whatever you guys got goin’ ain’t nothin’ to me.”
    “That’s a real nice attitude for you take, but in this business it’s all about risk and reward. You know what I’m sayin’?”
    The man shook his head back and forth. He used his thick tongue to wet his lips; a layer of sweat had formed along the edge of his red do-rag. McKenzie looked on and estimated he might be nineteen or twenty. Too bad.
    “You see that car, Eldon?” McKenzie jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s the reward of this life. You, on the other hand, you’re the risk.”
    McKenzie had been bent at the waist to speak through the window. He stood up, pulled his weapon, and fired two quick shots dead center into Eldon’s chest. The man was dead before the echoing sound of gunfire even cleared the air.
    McKenzie finished his conversation with Tyrone’s now silent partner. “You gotta eliminate the risks, Eldon.”
    McKenzie turned and saw Tyrone standing statue still, mouth hanging open, arms stiff at his sides. The bag slipped from his fingers and fell with a soft thud onto the asphalt.
    McKenzie laughed. “Shit, Tyrone. You’re damn near white.”
    McKenzie’s gun went back to his jacket but with his hand still around it. He wanted Tyrone to know he wasn’t planning to kill him, but it was a possibility.
    “That shit is on you,” he said. “Now maybe you’ll be a bit more mindful about the serious nature of our arrangement.”
    McKenzie closed in on Tyrone, who still stood like a stone.
    “Listen up, homes. From now on your name is ‘Alone-Tyrone,’ you hear me? You don’t need to be reestablishing your old lifestyle. I got enough to worry about without you adding to the mix.” He picked up the bag and jammed it hard into Tyrone’s chest. “Now get your ass down to Beloit and sling that shit. I’ve taken care of the competition. The market is wide-open. You should be able to move it pretty quick.”
    Tyrone stared at the dead man in his car. McKenzie reached out and gave the drug dealer an openhanded cuff to the face.
    “Answer me, Tyrone. I need to know you hear me on this shit, boy.”
    “I … Jesus Christ … it’s cool, McKenzie.” Tyrone looked as if he might pass out on the spot, but he held it together. “Shit … I get it, dog. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”
    McKenzie sauntered to his car and revved the Trannie’s engine to full strength. His cell phone buzzed, and like before he looked at the blocked number and punched Ignore. With the window lowered, he called out to Tyrone, who was still hugging the bag with both arms as if it were a security blanket, staring at the corpse in his car.
    “There’s a rest stop on the Fifty-one just before you get to Beloit. Dump your boy there. I’ll see that state patrol picks him up and that the investigation ain’t all that inquisitive. Now get your ass outta here and stay off the radar. I’ve got another half a kilo ready to go out, so get on it.”
    McKenzie punched the accelerator, kicking up rock and sand and fishtailing away without waiting for an answer. He still had three more stops to make, and dealing with Tyrone had put him behind schedule. The voice mail alert