Read Just One Look (2004) for Free Online Page B

it was still legal--Rocky guessed that they had different sensibilities over there--but he didn't go. Rocky still believed that the NFL was within his grasp. He just had to work harder. Get a little bigger, a little stronger, a little faster.
    Jack Lawson's minivan pulled onto Route 17. Rocky's instructions were clear. Follow Lawson. Write down where he went, who he talked to, every detail of his trip, but do not--repeat not--engage him. He was to observe. Nothing more.
    Right, easy cash.
    Two years ago, Rocky got into a bar fight. It was typical stuff. Some guy stared at Lorraine too long. Rocky had asked him what he was looking at, and the guy responded, "Not much." You know the drill. Except Rocky was juiced up from the 'roids. He pulverized the guy--put him in traction--and got nailed on an assault beef. He spent three months in jail and was now on probation. That had been the final straw for Lorraine. She called him a loser and moved out.
    So now he was trying to make it up to her.
    Rocky had quit the junk. Dreams die hard, but he now realized that the NFL was not going to be. But Rocky had talents. He could be a good coach. He knew how to motivate. A friend of his had an in at his old alma mater, Westfield High. If Rocky could get his record cleared, he'd be made varsity defensive coordinator. Lorraine could get a job there as a guidance counselor. They'd be on their way.
    They just needed a little set-up cash.
    Rocky kept the Celica a decent distance back of the minivan. He was not too worried about being spotted. Jack Lawson was an amateur. He wouldn't be looking for a tail. That was what his boss had told him.
    Lawson crossed the New York border and took the thruway north. The time was ten P.M. Rocky wondered if he should call it in, but no, not yet. There was nothing here to report. The man was taking a ride. Rocky was following him. That was his job.
    Rocky felt his calf start cramping. Man, he wished this piece of junk had more legroom.
    Half an hour later Lawson pulled off by the Woodbury Commons, one of those massive outdoor malls where all the stores were purportedly "outlets" for their more expensive counterparts. The Commons was closed. The minivan pulled down a quiet stretch of road on the side. Rocky hung back. If he followed now, he'd be spotted for sure.
    Rocky found a position on the right, shifted into park, turned off his headlights, and picked up his binoculars.
    Jack Lawson stopped the minivan, and Rocky watched him step out. There was another car not too far away. Must be Lawson's girlfriend. Strange place for a romantic rendezvous, but there you go. Jack looked both ways and then headed toward the wooded area. Damn. Rocky would have to follow on foot.
    He put down the binoculars and slid out. He was still seventy, eighty yards away from Lawson. Rocky didn't want to get any closer. He squatted down and peered through the binoculars again. Lawson stopped walking. He turned around and . . .
    What's this?
    Rocky swung the binoculars to the right. A man was standing to Lawson's left. Rocky took a closer look. The man wore fatigues. He was short and squat, built like a perfect square. Looked like he worked out, Rocky thought. The guy--he looked Chinese or something--stood perfectly still, stonelike.
    At least for a few seconds.
    Gently, almost like a lover's touch, the Chinese guy reached up and put his hand on Lawson's shoulder. For a fleeting moment Rocky thought that maybe he had stumbled across a gay tryst. But that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all.
    Jack Lawson dropped to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut.
    Rocky stifled a gasp. The Chinese guy looked down at the crumpled form. He bent down and picked Lawson up by . . . hell, it looked like the neck. Like you'd pick up a puppy or something. By the scruff of his neck.
    Oh damn, Rocky thought. I better call this in.
    Without breaking a sweat, the Chinese guy started carrying Lawson toward his car. With one hand. Like the guy was a briefcase