Suckers - J.A. Konrath

winded and ready to get some work done.
Chapter 3
This chapter is even shorter than the last one.
Chapter 4
George Drawbridge worked as a teller for Oak Tree Bank. At a branch office. It was only
three o’clock, and his wife told me he normally stayed until five, so I had plenty of time to grab a
few beers first. Chicago is famous for its stuffed crust pizza, and I indulged in a small pie at a
nearby joint and entertained myself by asking everyone who worked there if they made a lot of
dough.
An hour later, after they asked me to leave, I sat on the sidewalk across the street from the
bank, hiding in plain sight by pretending I was homeless. This involved untucking my shirt and
pockets, messing up my hair, and holding up a sign that said “I’m homeless” written on the back
of the pizza box.
Other possibilities had been, “Will do your taxes for food” and “I’m just plain lazy” and my
favorite “this is a piece of cardboard.” But I went with brevity because I still didn’t have a
pencil and had to write it in sauce.
I sat there for a little over and hour before George Drawbridge appeared.
He looked like the picture his wife gave me, which wasn’t a surprise because it was a picture
of him. Balding, thin, pinkish complexion, with a nose so big it probably caused back problems.
After exiting the bank he immediately went right, moving like he was in a huge hurry. I almost
lost him, because it took over a minute to pick up the eighty-nine cents people had thrown onto
the sidewalk next to me. But I managed to catch up just as he boarded a northbound bus to
Wrigleyville.
Unfortunately, the only seat left on the bus was next to George. So that’s where I parked my
butt, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand if I didn’t have to.
I gave him a small nod as I sat down.
“I’m not following you,” I told him.
George didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were distant, out there. And up
close I noticed his rosy skin tone wasn’t natural—he was sunburned. Only on the left side of his
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