Botched — a Jake Burbank Mystery work in progress

Deonte drove him to a bookie.

The house was on 28th Street, in a curve where it turned into the Old Warren Road.

Part of the road went straight back to Catalpa and the tracks beyond.

Someone running from the house, were they so inclined, could go in three different directions, each leading to a long way away somewhere else.

The tracks at Catalpa went south through the pine trees to Rison, or north up through the edge of Watson Chapel where it butted up against the Pine Bluff city limits.

And Old Warren Road twisted and curved all the way to Warren, though if Jake recalled, it connected with Highway 15 in the middle of Cleveland County.

“This is a bookie,” Deonte parked the Caprice in the driveway and beeped the horn. “You got to remember, they nervous types.”

“What’s he got to be nervous about?” Jake said as he watched the screen door on the covered front porch.

“The book makes a lot of cash, Lawyer Man. Day after a game, he lay his hands on a lot of money coming in, not as much going out. He still got to keep cash on hand though, in case he has an off night.”

Cash meant guns and the guys who knew how to use them.