Without a Trace

by Michael Cross

  “What does this matter to you?” he hisses. “I have never seen you in this community before. You don’t belong here.”

  I stare hard at him, my anger boiling just below the surface. “I don’t like seeing people like you taking advantage of good and decent people.”

  He scoffs. “And what would you know of what happens in this community? You’re not part of it—Echo.”

  “Maybe not,” I respond. “But can you really say you’re part of it, either? When all you do is prey on the people?”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I grin. “Keep telling yourself that,” I say. “Anyway, I just wanted to return your garbage to you. And to tell you that if I find out you’re still extorting people in this community, you’re going to pay a heavy price.”

  “You do not come into my club and threaten me,” he spits.

  “I think I just did.”

  His face is practically purple, and his nostrils flare with his rage. “Who in the hell do you think you are?”

  “Keep preying on these people and you’ll find out,” I say coldly. “And trust me, you really don’t want that.”

  He smirks. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”

  I shrug. “I just know what I’m capable of,” I say, shooting a pointed look at his guards. “And unlike you, I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

  With that, I turn on my heel and walk out of his club. The skin on the back of my neck is prickling, and the hair is standing on end. I know if I turn around, I’ll see Agajanian and his goons watching me. I have no doubt I’ll be facing some sort of retribution for this, so I’ll need to keep my head on a swivel.

  But it was necessary. I needed to get a measure of the man. And now that I have it, I can plan accordingly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So I’ve got good news and bad news,” Justice starts.

  “Okay, let’s have the bad news first.”

  “That’s just so quintessentially you.”

  I chuckle. “I’ve found it better to get the bad news out of the way first,” I explain. “Lets me enjoy the good news free and unencumbered by the weight of dread over the bad news.”

  She purses her lips and cocks her head as if she’s considering my words. A slow smile spreads across her face.

  “You know, that’s not bad. That’s kinda more optimistic than your usual dour self,” she laughs. “It’s kind of hopeful, which is unusual for you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m Mr. Gloom and Doom.”

  “Well… yeah. Kinda.”

  “Is that how you really see me?”

  “Pretty much,” she says. “Yeah.”

  “Wow,” I say as I sit back in my seat. “I don’t even have the words, Justice.”

  She laughs. “It’s just part of who you are,” she says. “You shouldn’t feel that bad about it.”

  “That’s almost heartwarming.”

  “That’s me. Little Miss Ray of Sunshine.”

  I nod. “Yeah, that does describe you pretty well.”

  We both laugh for a couple of moments, and honestly, it makes me relax a bit. I feel some of the tightness leave my shoulders, and the knot that normally resides in my gut loosens up a bit. It feels nice.

  But I know it can’t last. There’s work to be done. Dark work. I’m hoping it doesn’t involve killing anybody, but I can’t rule it out either. Agajanian isn’t going to let this drop, and after showing him up in his club and in front of his men, he’s going to need to make a statement to save face.

  That’s not something I’m going to tell Justice, though. She already worries enough as it is. I don’t need her freaking out on me any more than she already does.

  “Okay, so, give me what you’ve got,” I say.

  “Well, I think I need to do this in the appropriate order by giving you the good news first.”

  I laugh and wave her off. “Okay, fine. Do it your way.”

  She beams. “Well, the good news is that I cracked their system. I put in a back door I can slip through when needed,” she explains. “It’s very subtle, and only somebody as good as me could ever find it. And they’d have to know to look for it first.”

  “Excellent news. Great work.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “And now for the bad news.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “After poking around in their system, I found that I can shut it down,” she says. “But after being offline for three minutes, it triggers an automatic signal to the security company who immediately contacts the cops and the business owner.”

  “Okay, so I’ve got, say, five minutes inside,” I muse.

  “I’d say four, just to be safe, Echo,” she says. “You want to make sure you’re well away from that place before the cops show up. You really don’t want to get shot.”

  “No, I don’t want to get shot.”

  “Good boy.”

  I chuckle with her, but my mind spins. So, four minutes inside. I’ll have to move fast, but it’s doable. With the security system down, I should be able to get in, get what I need, and get out fast. Given that I still need to locate the clearing house, it’s not ideal, but it will have to do.

  “Anything new with the plans for the place?” I ask. “Anything not adding up or indicating the presence of a secret room?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’ve looked at them every which way possible, and there’s no missing space on any of the floors. Everything’s accounted for, and there are no missing dimensions, so there are no secret rooms I can find.”

  Sometimes, when somebody builds a panic room into their homes, the dimensions on the blueprints don’t quite add up. It gives the appearance of a missing, or unaccounted for room. But if she’s not seeing anything like that, then there’s only one possible answer.

  “It’s got to be a bunker,” I say. “It had to have been built underneath the club.”

  “That’s a strong possibility.”

  “I don’t see any other explanation.”

  She lets out a small squeak. I’m familiar with the noise. It’s her not wanting to say something to me—but letting me know she doesn’t want to say something to me so that I’ll ask her what it is she’s not telling me.

  “You know, you really could just come out and tell me to ask you what it is,” I comment. “No need for weird noises.”

  “Sorry. I just get excited. Um, there is one other explanation for it that you’re not accounting for,” she says.

  “And what is that?”

  “That the club is not actually the clearing house you’re looking for.”

  I shake my head. “No, I saw them offload the pallet of drugs. I know it’s there.”

  “Okay, okay. Fair enough,” she nods. “But is it possible that it was a holding pen, and they actually moved the drugs after you saw them?”

  I tap my finger against my chin. “I suppose it’s possible. But I doubt it,” I say. “I don’t think Agajanian is the type who’d let his product out of his sight. I think he’d hang on to it, keep it close until he moved it. He’s kind of a control freak like that.”

  She snorts. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

  I flash her a grin. “Yeah, pretty much,” I say. “We can smell our own.”

  “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

  “Still working out some kinks,” I say. “But I’ve got the foundation of an idea.”

  “The foundation?” she raises an eyebrow. “You’ve already pissed this guy off. You better have more than a foundation—and soon.”

  “I’m on it,” I say. “When I get it hammered out, I’ll touch base with you, and we’ll go over it.”

  “Be prepared for me to poke holes in it since I don’t think you should be doing this in the first place,” she replies. “I mean, you’re one man. You shouldn’t be screwing around with the goddamn Armenian mafia.”

  I get to my feet and stretch out. “Your objection is noted. And I wouldn’t have it any other w
ay,” I say. “Besides, you poking holes in my plan helps me make it a better plan.”

  “Yeah, great,” she mutters. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  I laugh. “Touch base tomorrow.”

  I disconnect the video chat and start to pace the room, trying to come up with a plan that isn’t going to get me killed. Agajanian is a hard man. A man who is focused and who does not take kindly to being challenged. In his world, he is the Alpha Dog, and anybody who steps up needs to be put down.

  I intend to change that.

  As elements of a plan start to coalesce in my mind, I realize I need to make some calls. There are going to be a lot of moving parts in this idea. I need to find out not only if it’s even feasible, but to coordinate it as best I can. All without drawing too much attention to Arthur, or even tripping the Tower’s interest. As far as I’m concerned, the less they know about this, the better.

  Sure, this may not have started as my fight, but it has become that now. And I intend to finish it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I get to Hushpuppies at about ten-thirty the next morning. I need to talk to Arthur about this plan and get his input on it. He’s been in the game and might see it from angles I can’t or don’t see it from. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve come to trust the man. So I value his input.

  But when I walk into the bar, I immediately know something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, maybe some sort of strange energy in the place or something, but the hair on my arms stands straight up, and my stomach knots up. I stand at the top of the stairs inside the door and look around. Nothing looks out of place, but something definitely feels out of place. Something is definitely wrong here.

  “Arthur,” I call out. “You here?”

  As I step down onto the main floor, I slip my sidearm out of the holster at the small of my back. Holding it down to my side, my finger resting just outside the trigger guard, I walk deeper into the bar. I turn in a circle and don’t see anything on the main floor.

  “Hey, Arthur!”

  Still nothing. I move toward the doors that lead to the kitchen and offices. As I move past the bar, I freeze and feel the blood in my veins turn to ice. I feel a lump in my throat, and the knot in my stomach pulls tight.

  “Shit,” I mutter. “Goddammit.”

  Holstering my weapon, I dash behind the bar and fall to my knees beside Arthur’s still, bloody form. His face has been mashed to a pulp; it barely looks human anymore. It’s black and blue, lumpy and misshapen, and covered in thick, viscous blood. His white button-down shirt is stained a deep red and is turning brown in some patches as the blood dries. That tells me he’s been here since probably after closing last night.

  I press my fingers to his neck, trying to find a pulse. A breath of relief explodes out of me when I find one. It’s weak and thready, but it’s there. But he needs medical attention, and he needs it now.

  Grabbing my cell phone, I dial 9-1-1 and press the phone to my ear. When the call is connected, I bark out the location and give them Arthur’s name. After giving them all the information, I hang up and take Arthur’s hand in mine, squeezing it tightly.

  “Hang in there, Arthur,” I say. “You hang in there. Help’s coming. Keep fighting, goddammit.”

  A few minutes later, I hear the sirens and give his hand another squeeze.

  “I’ll be right back. Just keep fighting and do not give in, Arthur.”

  I run outside and flag down the ambulance. I stand aside as the EMT’s come in and do their thing with him before loading him onto a stretcher and taking him out. I watch as they load him into the ambulance and slam the door. A moment later, it’s thundering away. I’m in my car behind the ambulance, following it all the way to the hospital.

  When I get into the waiting room, they rain down questions on me that I can’t answer. Aside from feeling a certain kinship and bond with the guy, I don’t actually know him. I don’t know if he has family, don’t know his medical history, and don’t know exactly what happened to him.

  I have a damn good guess though, and it makes my blood boil.

  Instead of coming after me, Agajanian went after Arthur. I have a feeling he knew it would get under my skin. And he’s right. This is my fault. By intervening when his thugs were trying to shake him down, instead of putting the target on my back, I put a bigger one on Arthur’s.

  I sit down in the chair and bury my face in my hands, fighting off the waves of guilt and rage washing through me. My arrogance is the reason this happened. I thought I could protect Arthur by provoking Agajanian’s ire. I was overconfident. I was arrogant. And I brought this down on his head.

  It was a rookie mistake. The kind of mistake I wouldn’t have made before losing all of my memories. Arthur was right. If my instincts are this wrong, maybe I shouldn’t be doing this at all.

  “Goddammit,” I mutter.

  I stalk the halls of the hospital, doing my best to dispel the anger that’s boiling my insides. I walk the parking lot, letting the cool afternoon air bite into my skin. I walk until daytime turns to dusk, which turns to night, my frustration and anger never seeming to dissipate one iota.

  “Sir. Excuse me, sir.”

  The voice cuts through the haze of sleep, and I come awake in an instant. I bolt to my feet, startling the nurse standing before me. She takes a couple of stumbling steps backwards, her face pale, her eyes wide with fright. I look around me and see that I’m in the waiting room. I don’t remember coming back in, nor do I remember falling asleep in one of the chairs. But I obviously did.

  “I—sorry,” I say. “You startled me. Sorry.”

  She gathers herself and takes a moment to calm down. When she’s composed, she gives me a shaky smile.

  “That’s okay,” she says, her voice quavering. “Mr. Adams is awake. And he’s asking for you.”

  A powerful wave of relief crashes down over me. I feel my body start to tremble as the adrenaline I’ve been riding for the last day finally ebbs. I take a deep breath and let it out, taking a moment to compose myself.

  “Thank you,” I say. “What room is he in?”

  “Room 402,” she points. “Just down the hall to the right.”

  “Thank you,” I repeat. “And again, I’m sorry I startled you.”

  “That’s quite alright,” she says as the color begins to come back to her face.

  I take off quickly and find Arthur’s room. He looks better than he did when I found him, but not by much. His face is still lumpy and swollen, but at least all the blood is gone. He looks something closer to human. He’s on his back, his head up on a couple of pillows when I step into the room.

  Seeing him lying there, beaten to a pulp and weaker than a newborn kitten, sends a needle of guilt straight through my heart. I look down at the ground and take a moment to push it all away. Guilt is for me. It’s selfish. And right now, I need to be strong. For Arthur. I need to be here for him.

  “Arthur,” I say.

  “I was wonderin’ when you were gonna say somethin’,” he says, his voice hoarse and weak. “Instead a standin’ there feelin’ sorry for yourself.”

  A rueful chuckle passes my lips. Honestly, I don’t know how he knew I was standing here. His eyes are swollen shut, and there’s no way he can see me. I guess what they say about losing a sense is true: it sharpens your others.

  “I would ask how you’re feeling,” I say, “but your face tells the story.”

  “Funny,” he croaks.

  He breathes in, and I hear a distinct wheezing sound, and when he lets that breath out, a deep rattle comes with it. He moves slightly and hisses in pain.

  “Arthur, I’m—”

  “If you say you’re sorry, I’ll get out of this bed and kick your ass, son,” he says. “You did what you thought was right. Ain’t your fault Agajanian’s a son of a bitch.”

  “So it was him.”

  “Yeah,” Arthur says. “He stood by and watched while his guys worked me over. Asshole. Can’t ev
en do his own dirty work.”

  “Guys like him never can.”

  “Don’t let this distract you, Echo,” he says. “Don’t use this as an excuse to lose focus. You just finish what you started.”

  “I will,” I say. “And in fact, I’m more determined than ever right now.”

  “Good,” he croaks. “That’s good.”

  “What’s the doctor saying to you?”

  “That I’m a tough old bastard.”

  I laugh. “That you are.”

  “Said I’ve got some busted ribs, internal bruising, and I’m probably never gonna win a beauty pageant,” he rasps. “But he says there are no major injuries. I’m gonna be fine.”

  I sigh and stand at the edge of his bed, looking down at him. Even though he’s beaten to a pulp, I’m glad they didn’t do major damage to him. He’s going to be in pain for a while, but at least he’s going to recover. For that, I’m grateful. It takes a little bit of the sting out of knowing he’s lying there because of me. But just a little bit.

  “You be careful, Echo,” he says. “If things get hairy, walk away. You don’t owe me nothin’.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “I said you don’t owe me nothin’. Got it?” he snaps. “You promise me you’ll walk away if it gets too hairy.”

  I say nothing for a long moment. There is no way in hell I’m walking away from anything. Not after this. Not after what Agajanian did to Arthur because of me. But I can’t tell him that any more than I could say that to Justice. They’re like peas in a pod, those two, always worrying after me when they should be worried about themselves.

  “I promise, Arthur,” I lie.

  He seems to accept it, though. He sighs, sinking back into his pillows. I think he’s fallen asleep. I let a few moments pass in brooding silence. I’m about to leave when his voice stops me.

  “When are you gonna hit him?”

  “Tonight.”

  He nods slowly, grimacing with the effort. “Like I said—”

  “I promise to walk away if it gets too hairy.”

  “Good. Be careful,” he says. “And happy hunting.”