Chapter 4 third chapter

Ordell asked one of his buddies to get him a car with a key set on it and park it in the parking lot on Ocean Boulevard on the waterfront side.The buddy asked what kind of car he wanted.Ordell said, "The kind that's big in the trunk, with a shotgun in it." He likes buddies because they're crazy.They make a living by carrying assault weapons on the streets, looting shops for valuables and change, and breaking and entering beautiful homes.Guys like Ordell because he's cool and doesn't have the manners everyone knows; Can get you a fully automatic weapon on time, even if the required deadline is only two days.So right now a bunch of buddies are working for Ordell, stealing all the guns he needs to fulfill his orders.The guy named Couch who was getting him a car called on Tuesday night where he was with one of his women and told him the car was waiting there, an Oldsmobile 98, There is a luggage compartment with a capacity of twelve cubic yards.

"That car, if you're not looking for it now, for example, you'll be looking for it later," Ordell said. Kuch said: "Never mind 'bread', it was stolen. Got it from a brother one night not long ago, he's dead. Did you hear that? The police shot him in the chest and back Killed him. We tried to get him out of that house, but he was bleeding too much to live, and we saw that, so we dropped him." "I saw it in the paper," Ordell said. "That's what the cop said. Sometimes when a guy gets shot, he'll spin around in place. It's nothing unusual, that's what it is. But where did he get hit first, the chest or the back? ?”

Kuch said, "Yeah... well said, huh?" You can fiddle with a buddy's mind, you can make him think what you want, their minds are numb to breaking and robbing. Ordell thanked him for the car, and Kuch said, "Hey, bread? There's something down there with the keys that you might need in case you need it. It belongs to the brother who was killed." Ordell raised three women in three residences. He had a house on Thirty-first Street near Greenwood Avenue in West Palm, where Sheronda lived.Sheronda was a young woman.She had met him in his car once when he was passing through Fort Valley, Georgia, on his way back from Detroit.At that time, she was standing on the side of the road without shoes, and the sunlight clearly illuminated her body in tattered clothes.Sheronda made delicious bacon rolls, black-eyed peas, and fried chicken; she tidied up the house; and in return for Ordell's escape from her misery, she gave him a chance to blow off steam at all hours of the day and night.In the small red-brick bungalow, not a single piece of furniture tells people what Ordell does for a living.About once a week, he had to explain to Sheronda how to tune the alarm system.She worried that once enclosed in the house, the windows covered with iron bars would prevent her from running out.

Simone, for her sixty-three years, was a small and pretty woman.She's a Detroit native who knows the alarm system and loves the iron bars on her windows.Ordell let her live in a Spanish-style concrete house on Thirty Street near Windsor Avenue, less than two blocks from where Sherronda lived, but they didn't know each other.Simone combs her hair with care and looks confident like Diana Ross.Her pleasure is singing to the "Modang" music records, and also with "Supreme", Martha and "Vanderlus", Gladys Knight and "Seed", Cy Rita Wright, and all the old choir dancing.Every time Ordell asked Simone to take him to bed, it was ten times better than he'd imagined.Simone could write a book on all the different ways to please a man.Ordell would temporarily stash guns in the house, semi-automatic weapons like the TEC-9 model, which Simone's hired "grass buyers" bought generously.Most of them were retired men giving an old woman cash plus twenty dollars for an assault rifle.None of these "grass buyers" knew Ordell, at least not by his name.

He also had a white woman named Melanie who lived in the apartment on the waterfront in Palm Coast, on the southern tip of Singer Island, two streets from the public beach.Melanie was a buxom blonde Ordell met in the Bahamas.He was there to meet the husband of the woman he and Louis had kidnapped.Melanie was only about twenty-one years old then, and she might be thirty-four now, but she was always flaunting and flirting and hanging out with rich guys.She was with the kidnapped woman's husband, but when Ordell went to find the man, he hid and she refused to say where he was.So Ordell simply asked his friend Mr. Volka to take them out to sea on his yacht, and then threw Melanie overboard.They drove a bit and turned around to get back to Melanie, her blond hair floating on the water, and Ordell asked her, "Will you tell us where that man is?" She gestured, and then Tell Ordell she's going to help him humiliate the kidnapped woman's husband because she likes Ordell better.She also said she certainly didn't want to die in the fucking ocean.

Since then, Ordell has kept in touch with her. After he met her in Miami this time, Melanie lived here... Melanie sometimes went out to solicit customers.She can't cook, doesn't clean well, and despite her seductive demeanor, bedtime skills are common, (Ordell wonders if she should be sent to Simone to learn Hands.) Thirteen years later, the buxom blond is even plumper.The breasts are round but not bad, the skin has turned brown, and she is always sunbathing on the balcony of the apartment facing the sea.Ordell sometimes used the place as a bargain, having the buxom blonde in her underwear serve them drinks while showing gun movies to buyers from Detroit and New York.And Mr. Volka over at the Freeport used prints to show buyers in Colombia.

That Kooch buddy called here just now to say the Oldsmobile 98 is waiting.Still holding the phone, Ordell dialed Freeport on Grand Bahama Island. "Mr. Volka, how are you tonight?" Melanie looked up from Vanity Fair, the magazine she was sitting on the couch reading.She tossed and turned, her beautiful brown thighs curled up. "I got Beaumont out. It cost me ten thousand dollars. I'm going to get my money back, and it's going to be done under my nose." Ordell said as he listened. "Yesterday. I've got to think about it." So I didn't call you right away."

Melanie stared at him.Ordell gave her a look, and she lowered her eyes to the magazine like she wasn't interested.Apparently she had been listening, which was all right.He wanted her to know some things, but by no means everything. "Mr. Volka, you beat me. I have the same idea." Cedric Volka was once a poor guide on a whaling ship, and then he went on to make a lot of money under Ordell's guidance. way.He now owns a thirty-six-foot "Kavel" of his own, with all sorts of sailing gadgets on it. "You know, drunk driving alone is a violation of Beaumont's probation. The pistol he's carrying doesn't matter anymore. . Possession of weapons is the worst. That's what the bail bondman said. ... No, I made him fill out the bail form. Max Cherry ... Yes, that's his name. Sounds like Trinidad The name of the native singer of the island, huh? Maxi Julian Cherry and his 'Oil Tank' jazz band... What? No, I can't figure it out either. They locked him up all night and he was pulling his hair .If it didn't cost me ten, I would have sent him back to Montego's house.... No, there is nothing to talk about. Mr. Volka? Melanie sends you hello." Ordell listened again For a moment, then say, "She's gonna love you for this, man. I'll just tell her. Take care of yourself, you hear me?" and hang up.

Melanie put the magazine on her lap and said, "Tell me what?" "He's going to give you a present. On the next delivery." "He was a lovely man. I want to see him again." "We could fly over there sometime. Go out to sea on his yacht. Would you like to?" "No thanks," Melanie said.She picks up the magazine. Ordell looked at her."But you know that boat is always there," he said. At two o'clock at night, Ordell left the apartment and walked along Ocean Boulevard, a bar called "Kaiser" where people gathered and danced, a restaurant called "Portofino", some shops and some fast food restaurants, There is nothing else on this long, narrow block facing the public beach.The parking lot is at the back of the boulevard, and there are only a few cars lined up in a few rows, and all the places are off-duty.He got into the black Oldsmobile Nine-Eight, found the keys and a short-barrelled . Then I drove out from there and crossed the hunchback bridge to the Riviera, which was only two minutes away.

Ordell believes that if you don't know the house in Beaumont, you can just slow down on the dark streets of the Blue Heron, and when you hear the West Indies' heady "reggae" music fill the night, follow along. The sound of that beat had reached a concrete shack that looked like a dump, where Beaumont and a group of Jamaicans lived huddled together.They started off with the volume turned up to the max while they kept smashing bottles and drinking - only tonight, if you looked inside, they looked like they were smoking weed and crowded like a bunch of happy bums. In one room, drinking sweet wine and dark rum and smoking marijuana.Just walk in, start sucking, and get numb.Most of the time, there is always the smell of cooking in it.It was a mess—once Ordell wanted to use the toilet, took one look, walked out, and pissed among the trash cans and brightly colored clothes hanging from strings.

He stood in the doorway so that Beaumont could see him.Beaumont's hair was smooth, almost brushed, with sideburns and whiskers.Beaumont waved his hand and walked out of the misty smoke. Ordell said, "Don't go back, man, let them grin their own teeth, eh?" next to the big Oldsmobile in the "You are the most thoughtful person I have ever met." At this moment, Beaumont was rubbing his chin with his hand, staring at the car, which he knew was not Ordell's car. "There's a guy," Ordell said, "that I've never dealt with before, and I want to buy something. I want to feel his bottom. Do you understand?" Ordell unlocked the trunk.He held up the back cover and said, "When I open this cover to ship, you shoot him from the inside." Beaumont frowned. "You want me to bang him?" Beaumont is no buddy.He's Ordell's face in some deals, he does mental math, and he's sometimes a backup.Mr. Volka was in charge of shipping and collection, and was in charge of arranging for the special funds to be picked up from Grand Bahama and sent to West Palm Coast.At this time Beaumont was looking into the trunk of the car, which was dark. "How long do I have to stay in there?" "We'll just drive as far as the ocean, man." Beaumont kept looking into the trunk, his hands tucked into tight trouser pockets, his shirtless, his bony shoulders slightly raised. "What's going on?" "I don't like being in there." "It cost me ten thousand dollars," Ordell said, "to get your monkey ass out of jail. And now you're putting me on terms? Man, I don't believe that shit." Listen Surprised and sad. "Nothing is going to happen, just in case." Beaumont pondered the matter slowly, and Ordell listened to the "reggae" music emanating from the house, shifting slightly to the beat, until Beaumont said, "Okay, but I have to wear top clothing." "Looks like you're straight, man. You're nice. We'll be back soon." "What do I use?" "Look inside. See that trash bag?" He watched Beaumont stoop to get it out of the twelve-cubic-yard trunk, undoing the brown plastic bag.There is no stock, and the barrel is mostly sawn off. "Don't pull the trigger yet, buddy, hold on now. I'll open the trunk when we get there. Then you pull the trigger, get it? Get that man's attention." Ordell drove back down Blue Heron Boulevard to the Humpback Bridge over Lake Worth, then turned north, crossed Ocean Boulevard, past hotels and gated condominiums, until his The headlights illuminated a wall of trees behind the wire fence on the left side of the car - "MacArthur State Park", and the other side of the car looked like a virgin forest.Ordell parked the car on a sandy patch on the left, where rows of mangroves and scattered palm trees were unpruned.There were no headlights on either side of the road.He got out of the car and opened the trunk.The hatch was lifted, and a bright light came in. Beaumont was lying on his side, holding a musket, and looked up to see who it was. Ordell said, "It's me, baby," and he said, "I was wondering if any of the FBI guys came to see you in prison, I gotta watch my ass." Beaumont raised his head again, frowning and looking out. "Even if they did, you wouldn't tell me, but I don't blame you," Ordell said, unbuttoning his double-breasted blazer, the yellow one.He was carrying a shield pistol with a barrel caliber of 0.22, which was no problem at such close range.Or he could use the one Kouch left him—needless to say, heck, he would. Beaumont was staring at the 0.38 five-shot short-barreled pistol that Ordell had drawn from his waist.Beaumont seized the sawed-off musket and cocked it with the click of an empty gun.Beaumont showed a pitiful expression, and pulled the trigger hard again, click.He pulled again, but this time before there was a click, Ordell hit his bare chest.Beaumont collapsed in the trunk as if deflated, and Ordell shot him in the head again.really loud.Dude, this gun is a nuisance, it jumps when you fire it, it feels like it's stuck to your hand.Ordell thought it would be better to use the shield gun.He pulled his shirt out of his trouser belt, wiped the gun, threw it beside Monbert in the trunk, and closed the lid. When he parked the car in the parking lot behind the boulevard, the digital clock on the dashboard read two forty-eight.He wiped down the steering wheel, the door handles, the decklid, and whatever part of the car he touched with a napkin he picked up from the ground next to the trash can, and walked home along the waterfront.The Atlantic outside was pitch black, no one was around, it was quiet, and all he could hear were the boats coming in and the wind blowing, nothing else.There was a smug look on his face. When Ordell came home, all the lights in the apartment were turned off, and Melanie fell asleep, and she was snoring lightly like a little girl from the bedroom.Even if you want to do something with her, it is difficult to wake her up.Simone snored much louder, but if you made any noise, she would stop it and say in a sleepy voice, "Come on to bed, baby." Shelonda would hear He unlocked the door, turned off the alarm, walked out of the bedroom wide awake, and asked him what he wanted to do with her big eyes. In the past thirteen years, Melanie has been a little slow to respond, and has become a person without ideas, not as daring as before.This is really bad.But she will never surprise you easily.Ordell was about to realize his dream of enjoying a rich life at night anyway, and he didn't have to do anything scary. What he needed was a replacement for Beaumont, not buddies, just smart.But don't be too clever, like Louis, he's the right guy.You can talk to Louis, you can hang out with him, play dumb if you want.They used to joke that he picked a mask to wear when he kidnapped the woman.He seemed more serious now, and less promising than before.He could use even less promising means.Perhaps, jail time would do him good.Louis said he would not attend no matter what.But Louis, you hit him right away, he doesn't know what he needs. Maybe there was a way to hold him—let Melanie stalk him. Then, when the time is right, let her go after the big one—the Nazi.