No Justice: A Michael Sykora Novel

by Darcia Helle

  “Fuck.”

  “Anyway, you had her killed for nothing. Isabel didn’t tell Nicki a thing.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing that would have hurt you,” Michael said. “She told Nicki that you saved her from the streets. That she stayed with you despite the beatings because deep down you were a good guy. She said she’d had an abortion when she was 15 and it haunted her every day. And she said that you told her someday you’d have kids together. That kept her going through the rough times.”

  “Isabel said all that?” Lott whispered.

  “Yeah. And you killed her for it.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Lott muttered. “Isabel…”

  Michael pulled the trigger. The crack blended with the rumble of thunder. A streak of lightning illuminated Lott’s face, forever frozen in grief.

  Chapter 64

  Michael steered the Toyota slowly down Green Street, past the old brown apartment house. A light burned in one window on the first floor. The rest of the place was in darkness. It was just after one a.m.

  Outside the storm raged on. A river of water ran along the sides of the road. Puddles almost deep enough to swim in collected in the low spots. Michael had turned the heat on in the car in an attempt to at least partially dry his clothes. The effort was futile. All it did was fog up the windows and make him sweat.

  He pulled into a 24-hour grocery store and parked in the back of the lot. Taking his cell phone from his sopping wet pocket, he was mildly surprised to find that it still worked. He dialed Sean’s number. While he waited for his friend to answer, Michael tugged at his wet t-shirt. He used to love rainstorms. After tonight he was considering a move to the desert.

  Sean answered with his usual gruff, “Yeah?”

  Michael said, “Mind if I ask a few questions?”

  “Sure. Keep it simple.”

  “Do you know a guy by the name of Frankie? Forty, ponytail, thin.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Had a guy by the name of Razor working for him.”

  “Razor I know,” Sean said. “Psychotic bastard.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Yeah? Good for you.”

  “Frankie’s the head freak in the mix. That little business I was looking into.”

  “Ahh,” Sean said. “I see. I’ve got a few contacts I can check with. Meet me in 45 minutes.”

  “It’ll have to be in the parking lot.”

  “That works.”

  Michael disconnected the call. He considered calling Nicki to let her know he was okay. But he didn’t want to give her too many details. Not yet. And he wasn’t quite finished with the night. So he tucked the phone back in his pocket and headed for The Rusty Anchor.

  ***

  Sean slipped into the passenger seat, took one look at Michael, and said, “You’re soaked.”

  “Thanks for the update,” Michael said.

  “Rough night?”

  Michael considered the question for a moment. “No, not really,” he said. “Not yet anyway.”

  “This Frankie guy?” Sean said. “He’s pretty well insulated. Aside from Razor, he has a bodyguard who’s practically a permanent fixture. From what I hear, the guy is massive, shaved head, tattoo of a mermaid of some such shit on his neck -”

  “He’s dead,” Michael said.

  “Yeah? Hell, you’re on a roll tonight.”

  “One more to go.”

  “You don’t want to try taking Frankie at the apartment house,” Sean said. “The place is heavily guarded at all times. I know the place. Just didn’t know what when down there.”

  “I want him tonight. Before he figures out his men are dead.”

  “I’m told he spends many evenings at a private club. A place called Industrial Securities on Willow Ave in Tampa. Anything goes there. Works well for his teenage fetish.” Sean wrinkled his nose. “Makes me feel dirty just thinking about it.”

  “I hear you,” Michael replied. “Thanks for the info.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve got nothing going on,” Sean said. “You need help, call me.” Then he slipped out of the car and jogged into the driving rain.

  Chapter 65

  The private club was a large brick building set 500 yards off the road. A gate with a guard shack closed the driveway off to unwanted visitors. It was nearly 2:30 in the morning. Chances were good that if Frankie was inside, he’d be leaving soon. That would work well if Michael could hang out nearby, then follow him when he left. But Michael had no idea what Frankie drove.

  He did have Frankie’s number and Lott’s phone. Of course Frankie would hear his voice and know immediately that he wasn’t Lott. That would send up an alert. Michael would never get him to meet somewhere alone. So it would have to happen here.

  Michael left his car on the side of the road about a block and a half away. He cut through backyards until he came to the club. The entire place was surrounded by chain link fence with razor wire on top.

  Michael stood in the pouring rain, knowing he should go home but not ready to give up. Once Frankie found out his two men had gone down along with Lott and Wiz, he’d be on full alert. He’d add security. Maybe even leave town, start his business up elsewhere. Michael didn’t want to chance letting the slimy bastard get away.

  He had one idea, and only one, that would give him a chance of taking Frankie out and walking away from it all tonight. As crazy as it was, it might work. He jogged around to the other side of the building. A light glowed over the side door. That had to be the main entrance. Invisible from the road, privacy going in and out, and a direct path to the back parking lot.

  Michael positioned himself between the entrance and the parking lot. He stood back under the minimal shelter of a cluster of palm trees. At least the force of the rain had let up so it wasn’t pelting him quite so hard in the face. And the lightning had stopped. Small miracles.

  He dug Lott’s phone from his pocket, pulled up the contact list, and found Frankie’s name. Unlike Pete, Lott didn’t bother with codes. Michael clicked the button to dial and listened to the ring on the other end.

  “Yeah?” a voice answered.

  Hesitation in the voice. Maybe suspicion. Lott was supposed to be dead by now. Michael said, “Razor told me to call.”

  A longer hesitation, then, “Who is this?”

  “He needs your help. You want him to live, you need to get to the apartment house.”

  “Who the fuck is this?”

  Michael disconnected the call. Then he took aim and waited. No doubt Frankie had to be smart enough not to run blindly to the apartment house. He had to know some sort of setup was in the works. Still, that place was his goldmine. And his obsession. He wouldn’t continue partying the night away while it all went up in smoke.

  The problem wasn’t whether Frankie would come rushing out. Nor was the shot an issue. From where he stood, Michael could easily get a few shots off clean, then disappear into the night before anyone had a chance of finding him. At least that’s what he told himself.

  The real problem was how many men would come rushing out of that building along with Frankie. One more he could handle. Two would be tolerable. More than that and he’d be dodging more bullets than he could comfortably avoid.

  Two minutes later the side door popped open. A large man dressed in a high-end suit stood in the entrance. Security for the club? The man stepped aside and out came another guy; young, shaved head, lots of muscles and holding what looked like a Glock. He glanced around, peered into the dark. Michael held his ground, hoping he was as invisible as he felt.

  The shaved head stepped to the edge of the walkway. He stared out at the parking lot, surveyed the area once again. His gaze skirted the line of the fence. Apparently satisfied, he motioned toward someone inside.

  Michael had a brief moment of satisfaction. So far it was working. He hadn’t expected much trouble getting Frankie out of the building. The place was a pri
vate club. Lots of security. Frankie would feel relatively safe leaving.

  A moment later Frankie emerged. Ponytail, skinny, wearing what looked like designer silk. Beside him was a girl no more than 15 years old. She wore a mini skirt and a tight top that showed off her flat stomach. She stood close to him, looking scared. Michael would have liked to get her away from the scene before it all erupted. But he couldn’t. He told himself that the danger she’d be in was worth the end result.

  The bald guy nodded to Frankie, letting him know all was clear. Frankie walked out into the night with his teenage plaything beside him. Michael breathed deep. Almost over.

  The group strode along the walkway toward the parking lot. Frankie was a good six inches taller than the girl, which helped a lot with the shot. The bald guy stayed about two feet ahead, scanning the area. The side door had closed. All was quiet.

  Michael took aim at the side of Frankie’s head. He pulled the trigger. The flash from his gun glowed bright. Thankfully it was also quick. Frankie fell, the girl screamed, and the bald guy spun around. Michael hovered in the darkness.

  The young girl ran around the back of the building. Frankie, now sprawled on the ground, twitched. The bald guy swung his gun around wildly. The side door opened and the suit peered out.

  Michael squeezed off three more shots. One at Frankie’s prone body and two into the bodyguard. Then he ran.

  ***

  The shouting carried through the night air. Nearby house lights flicked on. Michael zigzagged through a few yards and out onto an adjoining road.

  Puddles swallowed his feet and the slick pavement slowed him down. The streetlights glowed bright here so he dodged into a backyard. A stockade fence blocked him. He wove around and into the neighbor’s yard.

  A dog barked. A light flicked on. Michael ran past, his sneakers barely finding traction on the slippery grass.

  Finally the shouting faded. No shots followed him. No footsteps chased him. At least none that he heard. The rain slapping through the trees made it hard to hear much of anything.

  Michael had wound his way back to the street where he’d left his car. He slowed in an open lot where the darkness shielded him. The streetlights along the road gave away no signs of life. Michael waited, gun in hand, breathing hard. Fifteen seconds. Twenty. Still nothing.

  Off in the distance, sirens blasted. A neighbor, or more than one, had called the cops. Michael doubted the call would have come from the club. A place like that would not want police attention. They would have disposed of the bodies themselves.

  Soon patrol cars would be searching the neighborhood. Michael did not need to be found hanging out here, dripping wet, with a Beretta in his hand. He didn’t want to leave the gun behind because it was too likely that kids would find it before the cops.

  “Now or never,” he muttered to himself.

  Keys in one hand, gun in the other, he jogged toward his car. A part of him expected a shot to rip through his chest. But a moment later he found himself safely inside.

  As he turned the key, he breathed a sigh of relief. He’d made the insane plan work. He shifted into park just as a figure came racing around the corner straight at him. Michael stomped on the gas. The wheels spun on the wet pavement. A bullet slammed through the windshield.

  “Fucking hell!” Michael yelled as a bullet raced past his ear and glass sprayed over him.

  Finally the tires caught and the car jerked forward. Michael ducked low and sped past the man running toward him. Had to be security from the club. They probably didn’t appreciate the attention Michael brought them.

  Another shot shattered the back window. The bullet grazed Michael’s arm as it passed through. Then he was taking the corner on two wheels and heading away from the club. One more turn took him onto a quiet street. He slowed, listening to the sirens grow closer.

  Chapter 66

  Getting the car back to Sal’s was an ordeal Michael did not care to relive. When he’d gotten a comfortable distance from the club, he’d pulled into an empty lot and removed the remaining glass shards from the windshield and rear window. He hoped it would be less obvious that the glass was missing if the jagged pieces weren’t jutting out. Then he’d driven back roads as much as possible, kept a good distance from the other cars, and diligently watched for cops.

  When he finally pulled into Sal’s, Michael let out a long breath. It was after five in the morning. His skin had become a wet wrinkled prune and his arm stung like crazy. But he was very much alive, while the bad guys were not. That made him smile.

  He put the gun and Lott’s phone in his Porsche. He didn’t want to take them but had no options at this point. Then he left the keys to the Toyota in the drop box by the back door. He dialed Sal’s cell phone. When voice mail clicked on, Michael said, “Ran into a little trouble. I’ll bring some cash by later to cover the cost.”

  Back in his Porsche, Michael drove out to a nearby industrial area. A few factories and office buildings were scattered about. Lights glowed in the lot but no cars were around. He found a Dumpster and tossed the gun and phone inside. As he headed back to the highway, Michael finally breathed a sigh of relief.

  ***

  Nearly 6 a.m. now. Michael was tired and hungry. His emotions had run the gambit these past few days. One thing he finally admitted to himself as he pulled into his garage was that he couldn’t walk away from Nicki again. Definitely friends. Maybe lovers. He wasn’t sure yet. All he knew was that he cared too much and that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  Nicki met Michael at the door. “It’s done,” he said.

  She wrapped her arms around him and he held her close. After a moment she pulled away and said, “Are you okay? You’re a mess. And you’re bleeding!”

  “It’s just a scratch,” Michael said glancing at his arm. “No big deal.”

  “What happened? Do you want coffee? Or maybe a beer would be better?”

  “Coffee,” Michael said. “And no details. Not right now.”

  For once Nicki didn’t argue. Instead she said, “Thank you seems a ridiculously inept thing to say.”

  Michael winked and said, “Seeing you in my t-shirt makes it all worthwhile.”

  Nicki took a step back and struck a pose in the t-shirt that barely covered her hips. Michael said, “My t-shirts have never looked so good.”

  “I’ll make us coffee,” Nicki said.

  “How about I shower, then take you out for breakfast instead?”

  “I would love that.”

  ***

  Over Belgian waffles covered in syrup, Michael said, “So what will you do now? Any ideas for your new career?”

  “I haven’t thought about it much,” Nicki said. “But it’ll work out. I have a degree with a major I won’t use and no job history I’d care to mention on a job application. What company wouldn’t want to scoop me right up?”

  They both chuckled. Then Michael said, “You can use me.”

  “Use you? Wow, I don’t know what good that’ll do me in finding a job but, baby, I am all for using every bit of you!”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Calm down,” he said. “I meant use me as a reference. Say you worked as my secretary. I’ll give you rave reviews.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well that’s not as good as what I had in mind. But it’ll be a huge help. Thank you.” Nicki shook her head. “There I go with another inept thank you.”

  “We’re friends. No thanks necessary.”

  Nicki flashed Michael one of her brilliant smiles. Her eyes lit up in that way that sucked him in deep. Was it even possible to remain just friends with Nicki? He’d have to see. And this time he’d play it out until the end. If there was an end.

  “What about you?” Nicki asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you go back to your day job now? Back to a normal life?”

  “I don’t know about normal,” Michael said. “But yeah. I guess for now. I’v
e been thinking though…”

  “What?” Nicki prompted.

  “I’d really like to find my sister before my dad passes. That’s going to take some time.”

  “I’d love to help.”

  “Yeah?” Michael couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like that.”

  Nicki swallowed the last of her coffee. “I guess this crazy ride is over,” she said. “I can go home now.”

  Michael would have his house back to normal. His solitude, his peace and quiet. Before this, he hadn’t even liked the occasional female to spend the night. Seeing Nicki go back to her own apartment should be a relief. It wasn’t.

  “You haven’t slept,” Michael said.

  “Neither have you.”

  “How about we both go back to my house and get some sleep. Then I’ll help you clean up your apartment. The place is a disaster.”

  “I forgot about that,” Nicki said.

  “I don’t clean well without sleep.”

  “Me either.”

  “Then it’s a plan.”

  “You know,” Nicki said with a mischievous grin. “We make a good team.”

  “Yeah,” Michael said. “We do.”

  ###

  About the Author:

  Darcia Helle lives in a fictional world with a husband who is sometimes real. Their house is ruled by spoiled dogs and cats and the occasional dust bunny.

  Suspense, random blood splatter and mismatched socks consume Darcia’s days. She writes because the characters trespassing through her mind leave her no alternative. Only then are the voices free to haunt someone else’s mind.

  Join Darcia in her fictional world: https://www.QuietFuryBooks.com

  The characters await you.

  Other Books by Darcia Helle:

  Enemies and Playmates

  Hit List

  Beyond Salvation (A Michael Sykora Novel)

  Miami Snow

  The Cutting Edge

  Into The Light

  Quiet Fury: An Anthology of Suspense

  Bonus Content:

  Interview With Darcia Helle

  Do you perform extensive research prior to composing your books?

  I actually do very little research before I write. I read a lot of nonfiction, which helps me along the way. But, honestly, I often don’t have a clear idea of where the story is going. Therefore, I’m not sure what to research ahead of time. I go where the characters take me. Once I’ve completed the first draft, I will go back and research things I need to fill in the gaps.