By Ian Vasquez
Riley James was once small-time, only a child operating messages and cash for the Monsanto Brothers, the true avid gamers in Belize urban. Then one slip in judgment left males lifeless. The Monsantos dealt with the location for his or her younger prot?g?---but accepting this prefer placed Riley inescapably of their debt.Now, years later, he’s a professional picking out up drug drops less than the Coast Guard’s nostril and guiding boats during the reefs, which was once anything he sought after as a child yet now not anymore. He wishes out as soon as and for all, and to cancel his debt, he makes a take care of the Monsantos to do one final run. It’s Riley’s final probability to scrape again to even, to not anything, to a spot the place he hasn’t been due to the fact he used to be only a kid.Shamus Award winner Ian Vasquez is a emerging big name on this planet of noir, and he reaches new heights with Mr. Hooligan, a gripping, hardboiled tale of a guy scuffling with to flee to a brand new life---or die making an attempt.
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Extra info for Mr. Hooligan
He stops at the rodeo grounds and peers through the fence at the calf roping. He meets a young woman he knows from his neighborhood, they start chatting, flirting a little. He leaves to get her a Coke or something. When he comes back, Red Boy is there, talking to the girl, he and another man, a Lebanese known only as Tarik, a small-time drug dealer who had done some business in the past with the Monsantos. They’re rather openly coming on to the girl, especially Red Boy. Even being rude and aggressive about it, trying to hold her hand, making suggestive comments about how tight her shirt is, things like that.
He punched Riley’s arm. “Look out! J. ” Riley drew up his top lip for a buck-teeth effect. ” “So why now, Riley? ” Riley nodded, drank some beer. “One last run Monday and I’m through. Debts paid, respect given, and that’s it, me and the Monsantos will be square. One more run, make the pickup out by Turneffe reef, drop it off next day and that’s all she wrote. Me and old man Israel already had the talk, so I figured the time was right to ask Candice. ” Harvey nodded, looking a little distracted, another question on his mind.
Long T-shirt, bare legs. Was her hair damp? It looked damp. He listened to frogs bleating in the empty lot behind his house, crickets cheeping. A light came on in another room and he followed her, staying close to the fence, going into his backyard. There—another glimpse. She was folding clothes, stacking a high shelf in a bedroom closet … man, those legs. He had the perfect angle, perfect view with the lights on … and yeah, her hair was wet. Like she’d just stepped out of the shower. She turned around and he ducked, holding his breath, feeling stupid.