Jerry Langton Three-Book Biker Bundle by Jerry Langton Page A

has such a sweet face and he’s underage anyway, so no big deal—who takes the product to bars.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThe bartender or some other employee or associate then distributes the product in the bar,” he continued. “Only to people he knows.”
    â€œSo how do you get paid?”
    â€œThat’s where you come in.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI need someone to go to all the bars and collect the cash.”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    â€œThat’s it—and you get five percent. I’d figure it out to be about eight hundred dollars a week.”
    â€œI had no idea you made so much money.”
    â€œDon’t kid yourself, I have lots of expenses.”
    â€œAll I have to do is go to bars, grab bags of money, and bring them back to you.”
    â€œYeah, and once you get the hang of it, you can get your own customers—and I’ll only take ten percent of that, plus my expenses, of course.”
    â€œWhat’s the catch?”
    â€œThere isn’t one. But there are rules,” André stopped the truck by the side of the road and put on the hazard lights. “You treat all my customers with respect, and you give me every penny I deserve.”
    â€œOf course I would.”
    André continued as though he hadn’t heard him. “That means if the package is supposed to be $10,000, I get $9,500, no matter what.”
    â€œMakes sense.”
    â€œIf the package is light, that’s got nothing to do with me; if I am expecting $9,500 and you get less than that, it’s your responsibility to make it $9,500,” André continued. “No excuses, no credit, no ‘I’ll pay ya later’—you give me my money, all of my money, on the date due.”
    â€œWhat if they don’t want to pay?”
    â€œWell, that’s why the job pays so well—those fuckers never want to pay—your job is to convince them to pay.”
    â€œHow do I do that?”
    â€œThe easiest way for you,” André said as he started driving again, “would be to remind them who they are actually paying. Believe it or not, I have a little bit of respect in this town.”
    â€œSo when do I start?”
    â€œHow about next week?” André answered. “I’ll take you on a little tour, introduce you around.”
    â€œThen I can start?”
    â€œThen you can start,” André grinned. “You can use your bike or the bus at first and, if you do well enough, I’ll see what I can do about getting you a set of wheels.”
    â€œThat would be awesome.”
    â€œAlright, big fella, don’t mess yourself,” André laughed. “Anyway, school’s out, where do you want me to drop you off ?”
    Ned really wanted to go home, but he knew his mom would freak if she saw him come out of André’s truck. “Here’s good. I was going to go to Cameron’s anyway,” Ned said. “Which reminds me . . . could you spare a little cake of hash?”
    André laughed and stopped the truck. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll do better than that,” he said. “Why don’t you take this package—but don’t open it up until you get into your buddy’s house.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œNo, really, is that clear?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œGood, then get the hell out.”
    Ned laughed and took the package. It was a sealed manila envelope with no markings. As Ned felt it, he was relieved that it was spongy and not lumpy. “Great,” he thought. “Weed, not hash.”
    As soon as Ned shut the door, André sped off. Ned, happy, began to walk home when a patrol car pulled up to the curb, then stopped. Two cops emerged from the car and approached him.
    One of the cops was a fat bastard who needed a shave. The other wasn’t much older than Ned himself.
    â€œDid you just exit that vehicle, sir?” the fat