SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense by LOU HOLLY Page A

trying to put a positive spin on getting shit-canned?”
    “Forget it. I’m casting pearls …”
    “Pearls? What do pearls have to do with anything?” Ginger took a deep drag, blew smoke out of her nostrils and extended her palms out upward like she was checking for rain. “I’m not giving you back those pearls you got me.”
    “Oh, my God. Are you really that …” Trick hesitated and turned to see little Pat stumbling toward them rubbing his eyes.
    Pat stopped and looked up at his father. “Are you fighting?”
    Trick knelt down and patted his son’s shoulders. “No, no. Me and Mommy were just having an intelligent conversation.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Kind of.”

CHAPTER 9
    Pulling away from Ginger’s apartment, Trick didn’t know where to turn and started driving aimlessly. He knew he had to do something to get out of the mess he was in.
    He traveled all the way to the Village of Willowbrook before getting on Interstate 55 and starting back. Heading east and passing a sign that read Historic Route 66 , he looked in his rearview mirror to catch the last remnants of the sun disappearing behind massive purple clouds that reminded him of the Rocky Mountains. He contemplated Ginger’s weight loss as he drove along in the middle lane listening to the radio. Putting his headlights on, he took another look in his mirror to see the clouds already changing colors, losing their brilliance when something else caught his eye. A blood-red Dodge Charger was flying up from behind, darting in and out of lanes dangerously close to the other vehicles. Trick turned to see a white Chevy Blazer in the right-hand lane quickly move onto the shoulder to avoid getting clipped. After making its way past a number of vehicles driving in a pack, the Charger had room to run and flew past the First Avenue exit.
    Trick then spotted a black unmarked police vehicle, with alternate flashing headlights, speeding up from behind on the right shoulder. The police car swerved, with screeching brakes, stopping just short of slamming into the Blazer, still on the side of the road. He looked ahead in the distance to see someone in the front passenger seat of the Charger throw a large dark bag out the window. The bag landed somewhere among the high weeds and cattails of the sloping ditch next to the expressway. After the bag was thrown, the unmarked car maneuvered around the Blazer and continued pursuit of the Charger.
    Trick thought, “Did people in the other vehicles not realize what just happened?” He was in the business long enough to know what this might mean. Changing lanes, he quickly decelerated and pulled onto the shoulder. The two speeding cars were now out of sight and he carefully exited his Lincoln. He walked back about thirty yards and began looking through the tall growth and dry cracked mud that was at the bottom of the ditch. The sound of vehicles going past came in loud waves as he continued searching. Then he saw it, a fully stuffed black leather bag lying between an empty bottle of Gordon’s gin and a faded McDonald’s wrapper. Trick grabbed the zipper bag by both handles, climbed the incline and hurried back to his car with surges of wind from semi-trailer trucks nearly rocking him off his feet. He threw the bag onto the passenger seat as he hopped in behind the wheel.
    Trick made his way into the right-hand lane and drove cautiously, breathing heavily with excitement. He looked over at the bag and pulled it closer, running his hand over the cracked leather. Toying with the zipper, he was unable to pull it open with one hand. He passed a sign indicating one mile to the Harlem exit. Steering with his knees, he made a quick move using both hands and finally got the zipper open a few inches. His heart started pounding when he caught a glimpse of cash.
    Turning onto the southbound Harlem Avenue exit, Trick steered into a Shell station a short distance ahead on the street’s west side. He pulled up on the far right in