White Trash is a new novel from Author Dell Sweet.
By Dell Sweet
Copyright © 2018 by Dell Sweet
PUBLISHED BY: Dell Sweet; all rights reserved
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.
This novel is Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the authors permission. All rights are retained by the Author.
Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.
Cover art Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet
Jimmy West looked at his watch, 3:15 AM. He had been in the sleeping city of Glennville for two hours. He had spoken personally with Murphy’s man in the Sheriff’s department, and another he had in the city police department.
It was no mystery to him what had happened now. He had driven out to David Cross’s trailer. The cops were all over it. The kid was missing. And a young girl from down the road that had supposedly witnessed the crash was also missing. The money. The drugs. All gone. Blood, brain tissue and bone, found in Cross’s bedroom. The head and hands and the rest that was in the duffel bag that had been found in the woods behind the kid’s trailer, he knew about that. He knew who Carlos Sanchez was, and he knew how he ended up in the duffel bag and why. It didn’t concern him.
What did concern him was that he had turned up behind the kid’s trailer. The duffel bag should have been down the road at the Toyota crash site, or still in Neo’s car. That meant someone had moved it, taken it. And that said to him that someone had taken everything they could grab from the Toyota before it caught fire and took it down the road to the kid’s trailer, as well as the stuff from the Ford. That was the only thing that made sense.
He had pushed his thinking a little further: The girl had told the cops she had witnessed the wreck, but she had said nothing at all about seeing anyone take anything from either car. The kid, Cross, had also said he had seen part of the chase, and heard the wreck. They were both lying, had to be, because neither one of them had mentioned seeing anybody taking the drugs and money from the two cars, yet they were missing. And the head and hands had turned up right behind the kid’s trailer. That was not coincidence.
The cops had found the duffel bag behind the trailer, but they did not find the girl’s body or Cross’s body. They thought he had killed her in the trailer, but Jimmy knew that the blood and the brain matter that had been found with it had more than likely come from the bags, not Cross killing the girl, or the girl killing him, for that matter. Thus the two of them were working together: Had to be.
There had been a girl’s body found in the woods nearby, and that had thrown him for a bit, but that, he had found when he asked, had been two days prior. That girl and this girl had nothing to do with each other at all. No. The girl and Cross had to be in it together. He had wondered how that might have happened. Had they both come upon it and hooked up? Had they known before hand? He doubted the later. Most likely they had both come running at the sound and made some sort of alliance right there on the spot. Jimmy smiled. He knew he had it figured out right and the cops had it all wrong. It was pretty hard to slip something by him. Let the cops sniff down their dead end road. He was already well on the way to getting some real information about where they might have gotten to.
Jimmy sipped at his coffee. He was sitting in front of an all night doughnut shop on State Street, drinking his coffee and eating a pastry. It was where the cops hung out. His window was partially down. The air was cold, crisp, and it helped to keep him alert. It had been awhile since he had slept and would probably be a while more. He dug two more small pills from his pocket, and popped them into his mouth. That would help. In about ten minutes he would be back on his game.
It only stood to reason, in his mind, that if the two of them had cleaned out the Toyota, then they had cleaned out the Ford that Neo had been driving too. After they had realized what they had stumbled into, it was only a matter of seconds, most likely, before they had figured out the rest. And they had to know that someone would be on their tail, and soon. It was too much money: Too much heroin; too much cocaine. And they had to have taken all of it with them too. The cops had found nothing at all. And cops would maybe take a little here or there, but this was a lot more than a little. No cop had taken it.
They would be searching the girl’s trailer soon, but Jimmy was convinced that they would find nothing there either. They were gone. They were gone together. And wherever they had gone to they had everything with them.
The money couldn’t be traced. It was all clean. The cocaine and heroin could be traced. That would be a lot to turn up in one place. The pot, so so, it was a lot, but any small city could easily absorb that much without a blip coming up on radar. The cocaine and heroin would make a splash no matter where it came down, if it came down all together. He wondered if the kids would know that, or be smart enough to think about that.
He finished the pastry, stuck the napkins and waste back into the bag, crumpled it up, rolled down the window and tossed it toward the steel can that sat on the sidewalk. It missed. Jimmy sighed.
He sat his coffee on the dashboard, got out, picked up the bag and tossed it into the container. He lit a cigarette and pulled the smoke deep into his lungs.
New York, Syracuse, Liberty, Buffalo: One of those four places. If he had to narrow it down even further, he’d choose Syracuse or Liberty. They were the closest. If you we’re here and needed to hide, those would be the two places to choose from. Narrow it further and you’d come up with Liberty. Syracuse would seem too close. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and punched in a number…
This Smashwords book is listed as ADULT… Sexual content. Drug Use. Graphic Violence.
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