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    One Bad Job: Billy Jensen, #2
    One Bad Job: Billy Jensen, #2
    One Bad Job: Billy Jensen, #2
    Ebook113 pages1 hour

    One Bad Job: Billy Jensen, #2

    By Travis Hill

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    About this ebook

    Career criminal Billy Jensen and his pals have plotted for more than a year to take down Gennady Konovalov's jewelry store. When the plan doesn't work out exactly as planned, the survivors go into hiding.

    Not only are the Dolgoprudninskaya, the second largest Russian organized crime syndicate in the world, searching for Billy and his crew, but the Dolgo's biggest rivals, the Solntsevskaya, have joined forces with them in an attempt to recover the seven million dollars' worth of stolen jewelry, cash, and bearer bonds.

    After Alexi Nikolayev Petrovski, head of the Solntsevskaya in Houston, captures Billy's long-time girlfriend, the crew is left with no choice but to meet the Russian mobster on his turf. Billy learns that Petrovski isn't interested in recovering the stolen goods as much as he is in recruiting a new employee...

    "One Bad Job" is the prequel to the free short story "One Last Job."

    26,309 word / 69 page novella
    Adult language / situations / violence

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTravis Hill
    Release dateDec 10, 2015
    ISBN9781519905581
    One Bad Job: Billy Jensen, #2
    Author

    Travis Hill

    I'm an author in the Pacific Northwest. I live with my five completely worthless but awesome cats. I write stories I want to read that no one else is writing. My mailing list: https://www.angrygames.com Writes: Science Fiction / Fantasy / Horror / Adult Fiction / Drama / Humor

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      Book preview

      One Bad Job - Travis Hill

      ONE BAD JOB

      By Travis Hill

      Copyright April 2014

      Cover art by: Heather Senter - www.bookcoverartistry.com

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

      ONE - Heist

      I stood at the pay phone arguing with Dave. It wasn’t a real argument, but we found something real to argue about in semi-hushed tones to make it seem real. The mall cop standing ten feet down the hallway gave us the stink-eye, and for good reason. David Pearson and I looked like trouble, though these days most normal citizens figured we were lawyers or doctors having a midlife crisis by wearing the leather, sporting the long mustaches and goatees, and getting a shitload of tattoos to complete the part.

      Except lawyers and doctors pretending to be members of a hardcore biker gang didn’t have giant swastikas and lightning bolts on their necks, and plenty more odes to Hitler and his Gestapo crews on other visible parts like forearms and biceps. Dave and I had dressed the part perfectly, authentic enough to fool even a real Death Angel member if we should happen across one (not likely since they were mostly out in California, not here in Houston), and we acted the part perfectly as well.

      Dave was a tall, skinny but chiseled criminal in his mid thirties. I’d known him since doing a sixteen month stint for B&E at Briscoe Correctional over in Dilley. Like me, he could act almost any part. He was smart in ways that were amazing, but kind of stupid in others—the main one being his temper. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would get pissed off and put a gun in your face, but he’d take a swing at anyone he thought was fucking him over. And if you didn’t fight like a man, if you brought a knife or a gun or a gang, he’d find you later and make you pay. On good days, payback meant a trip to the trauma ward at the closest hospital to stop the internal bleeding. On the bad days… it meant a ride in the back of the coroner’s wagon.

      He had on a do-rag with graying pig tails hanging from the bottom, big sunglasses, a huge, white, bushy mustache that seemed to cover half of his face, and a mean looking white goatee that hung down almost eight inches and ended in a sharp point. It had taken him a year to grow all of his hair out like that. The man was serious about his business. The unmistakable swastikas riding up out of his shirt and wrapping around his neck made me cringe a little, but that was the effect we were looking for. If it worked on me, and I’m the one who had Tanya airbrush them on, then they’d be even more authentic for anyone not in the know.

      You know what, Billy? Fuck you. Dave’s grin was hiding real anger, and I knew it. She’s got great tits and a fantastic ass, but she’s as dumb as a broken rock. You’re the idiot for dragging her around behind you all these years.

      I could feel real anger bubbling up as well and tried to show exude enough to make anyone looking our way think it was a serious argument and not to get in the middle of the two white supremacist bikers who looked like they might come to blows any second.

      Listen, asshole, I said through clenched teeth, I didn’t ask for your opinion, so keep that shit to yourself.

      Look at this fuckin’ mall cop, Dave said, glancing up for only a second before turning his glare back to me.

      I looked behind me and gave the rent-a-cop an eat shit scowl, then turned back when the cop’s eyes shifted to the door between us and him.

      I think it’s time, I said.

      Regardless, Dave said, reaching into his leather jacket for his .45, you need to get rid of her. She’s going to get you caught up in some shit one day that you can’t get out of. And she’ll use your stupid puppy love against you, or whoever has you in a bind will, once they find out you can’t live without her.

      Fuck off and die, I said, hearing the click of the security door behind me.

      I pulled out my own automatic and held it against my stomach. If anyone looked at me, they’d think I was texting on a mobile phone. If they looked at me twice, they’d have a third eye.

      I’m just sayin’, Dave growled, his face pointed at me, but I knew his eyes behind the sunglasses were watching the door like a hawk.

      And I’m just saying ‘fuck off and die,’ I said, keeping my head down like I was texting, but my eyes were watching the scene behind me reflecting from Dave’s sunglasses.

      Two suits exited through the door, standing guard in front of it until it snicked shut completely. They gave us hard looks, at least that’s how I interpreted it through the tiny, almost fish eye view I had.

      Bullshit, you fuckin’ liar, Dave said, a random yet angry phrase.

      The suits looked the mall cop up and down, the mall cop still staring absolute daggers at us, his hand on his two-way radio as if he were about to call for backup. The cop nodded to the Russian suits and then gestured with his chin toward us, as if to let them know he’d been keeping an eye on us. The suits glanced back one more time then walked by the mall cop. Ten feet beyond, they stopped at the double doors leading to the outside. One of the suits spoke into a mobile phone that had a two-way radio feature.

      The door behind us clicked again as the security lock disengaged and swung open silently. Two more suits stepped out. One of them looked like a bull that had been shaved, dressed in an Armani, and told to look like he wanted to eat unborn babies right out of the womb. The other was a standard thug type as well, but he had a black briefcase in his right hand and a small duffel bag draped across his chest, the strap over his right shoulder. The mall cop gave a short nod to the two newcomers as they passed by, never taking his eyes off us.

      The instant the two Russians stepped beyond the mall cop, he raised the hand that had the two-way radio in it. Two chunks of black plastic fell away from his hand, revealing a small .380. He fired two shots into the back of the bull, then two into the one carrying the briefcase. The two Russians at the door were caught by surprise, but the one on the left was quick. He had his pistol out and pulled the trigger four times before clutching his stomach and rebounding off the door frame behind him. I shot him twice more, his gun falling out of his hand as he pitched forward. Dave’s Russian was down as well. Comrade Henchman hadn’t been as quick as his partner and died with his hand on the butt of his pistol.

      Oh shit, you guys, Gally cried out. He’d played the part of the mall cop so perfectly that the Russians had never suspected. It helped that he’d been a familiar face for almost six months as a real employee of the mall’s rent-a-cop team. Oh fuck. I think I’m hit. Guys?

      Dave shoved me forward and I ran to the suit with the briefcase. I grabbed the handle and pulled it next to me, my gun still at the ready. It took me two tries to get the duffel bag’s strap around the Russian’s head. The bull stirred next to the briefcase guy. I shot him in the side of the head, the noise from the gun no longer noticeable after thanks to the dozens of rounds exchanged seconds earlier. Gally was sobbing behind me while Dave whispered to him.

      Got it, I said, standing up.

      I looked at Gally. Blood seeped into his shirt and through his pant leg. It looked like he’d taken one right above the knee and another in the guts. The worst. I couldn’t imagine the pain of it. Just getting slugged in the stomach could make you lose your lunch and shit blood for a week.

      Help me up, Billy, Gally said to me, his eyes pleading.

      We have to go, Dave said, standing up.

      Billy… Dave. Help me! Gally’ s voice rose to a shout.

      It was a pathetic, sob-filled sound that tore me up. I’d started to take a step toward Gally to help him

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