Sallow City

by Jim Heskett

  Rourke could feel his temperature rising. Yes, they were running out of time, but making everything into a debate wasn’t helping. “There are actual people that work at the hockey store. If we walk in there all casual, then go downstairs and start shooting, they’ll have seen us. If we walk in there with pantyhose covering our faces or masks or hoodies, they’ll warn the mob downstairs. And we’re not going to kill the employees for the crime of working at the hockey store. No, going in the front is not an option.”

  “Then how the hell do we open that back door on command, eh?” Carter said.

  Rourke sighed. “I don’t know. Crowbar, maybe, if it comes to that. Even though they’ll probably hear us doing it and spoil our surprise.”

  A twig snapped.

  “Spoil your surprise of what?” said a voice to their left, one thick with an Irish accent.

  All three of them spun around to find a man with a shaved head twenty paces away, leaning out from behind a tree. Shotgun cradled in his hands.

  “Get lost,” Ethan said. “Who the hell do you think you are, listening to our conversation like that?”

  The man shook his head in disgust. “Oh, come on, now. That’s just rude.”

  Ethan reached toward his back pocket and the man cocked his shotgun to stop him.

  “Ethan, don’t,” Rourke said. They’d left the assault rifles back in the car. Pistols weren’t a good match for a shotgun. This guy could blast all three of them with one pull of that trigger before Ethan had his weapon out and pointed.

  “Yes, Ethan, how about you don’t?” said the Irish man. He inched out from behind the tree, keeping his legs spread far apart as he walked. Maintained the shotgun at Carter, who was standing in the middle of the three of them.

  Carter stood quite still, seemingly untroubled. Ethan just looked mad. Rourke didn’t quite understand how his two friends dealt with this kind of pressure. Rourke didn’t like having a gun pointed at him.

  Rourke wore a hunting knife strapped to a sheath on his belt, but he couldn’t remember if the safety strap that held it in place was buttoned or unbuttoned. Having to unbutton it would add too much time. The man’s finger was wrapped around that shotgun trigger.

  Ready to fire.

  Irish Man kept advancing. “Exactly what are the three of you doing back here staring at the mall? This wouldn’t have anything to do with the casino in the basement would it? Planning on getting a payday, are we? You think you’re the first to engineer a shakedown?”

  Carter pursed his lips. “We’re not into candy bars.”

  Irish smirked. “Payday. Oh, that sure is clever.”

  Ethan balled his fists.

  Rourke knew that at any second, Ethan was going to try to rush this guy and steal his shotgun from him. And that Ethan wouldn’t get five feet without having a hole punched in his stomach. Then there’d be no reason for the Irish guy not to blast Rourke and Carter, too.

  And Rourke couldn’t help but feel responsible for his two friends. This casino job had been his idea. He’d encouraged his friends to join him. He’d been the one to fill his friends’ heads with promises of making so much money they wouldn’t have to work for years.

  He couldn’t worry about that now.

  “It’s none of your business why we’re out here,” Rourke said.

  The Irish man, toothy grin on his face, pivoted the barrel toward Rourke. “Oh, but it is. I work in that establishment. And keeping ruffians like you in check is part of my job.”

  “Ruffians?” Carter said. “Who are you, Charles Dickens?”

  Irish man laughed.

  Ethan growled and took a step forward. This caused the Irish man to pivot back toward him, a little too quickly, and he wobbled, off balance. The shotgun barrel tilted up.

  Rourke had only a second before the man would right himself. He snatched at his hunting knife. The safety strap was on, but he yanked on the hilt to pull it free.

  He whipped the knife forward, and it sailed ten feet, then pierced the man’s side. Just the tip of the blade had sunk into his gut, but he still howled and fell backward. The shotgun tumbled into the grass near his head.

  He tried to grab at the shotgun.

  Rourke and Ethan were on him in a flash. Rourke snatched the shotgun away from him as Ethan drew his pistol and pointed it at Irish Man’s face.

  “Ethan, no!” Carter said. “No guns. They’ll hear it.”

  “He’s right,” Rourke said as he pulled the knife from the Irish man, which caused him to shudder and moan.

  “You little shit punks,” Irish Man said. “Harvey is going to cut off your balls and feed them to his dog when he finds out about this. You want to mess with Crossroads? Do you have any idea who you’re trying to rob?”

  Rourke wasn’t sure if he knew the answer to that question anymore. But they’d attacked someone who worked there. They were committed to going all the way.

  And he was also committed to dealing with this current situation. This man on the grass, he had to be eliminated or everything they’d worked for would fracture into pieces.

  Rourke dragged the blade across the Irish man’s neck to silence him. Rourke couldn’t believe how easy it was; just a little pressure and then a swipe of his hand, and the sharpened blade did the rest of the work.

  A trail of red followed the knife, his neck splitting open to reveal the inside of his throat. He squirmed and flailed, his hands trying to stem the tide of blood rushing down over the collar of his shirt.

  But it was pointless. Rourke had cut him deep. There was no amount of pressure that could close that wound. The Irish man stopped working his mouth open and closed as his breathing halted. He spasmed a couple times, then motionless. The only sound coming from him was the faint seeping of blood coming from the gash in his neck.

  Rourke didn’t stop to think about how it was the first person he’d ever killed. In his head, he’d rehearsed the casino break-in scenario so many times, he felt as if he’d already killed those skinhead assholes a dozen times over.

  But this was real. He’d ended a life.

  “Holy shit,” Carter said. “He’s dead.”

  “Yeah, he is,” Ethan said, then he spit on him. “Nazi shitbag.”

  “There’s going to be a lot more of this when we get inside that casino,” Rourke said. “Are you guys okay with that?”

  Ethan nodded, no fear or hesitancy in his expression.

  Rourke faced Carter, who was still standing behind them. Raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay with this,” Carter said. “We had to do it. He would have killed us. I have an miniscule amount of sympathy for these racist pieces of garbage.”

  Rourke had no sympathy either, but he was beginning to understand the weight of these actions. How deeply involved they were now.

  He stood, and a bolt of panic gripped Rourke’s chest. Parked forty feet away from the dumpster was a small sedan. And a man stood next to it, car door open, just staring.

  Rourke squinted. “You.”

  The man raised his hand in a meek wave. “Hi, guys.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Micah parked his car behind the mall just as Rourke whipped the knife at the bald man’s gut. Rourke had some skill with the knife, but luck appeared to guide his hand. The odds of a perfect throw like that had to have been slim.

  Micah watched as they wrestled the shotgun away from him and then slashed his neck open. In one quick motion, Rourke ended this man’s life. The man on the ground kicked a couple times, but he had a quick and clean death.

  While it had been a brutal and decisive move, they still appeared hesitant, both before and after. Micah could see the conflict written the eyes of the one who had used the knife. Rourke.

  This had been an impulsive and unexpected development. The dead man had probably surprised them. Maybe they were inexperienced enough not to account for patrols in the woods behind the mall. This shotgun-wielding man was probably a casino guard out on watch, had caugh
t them on the property, and hadn’t anticipated these kids being armed or being willing to defend themselves.

  After they’d killed the guard, they all stared at the body for a few seconds, mute and wide-eyed. These guys had never done this kind of thing before. That much was plain. That made them dangerous, because now they had skin in the game and a lack of knowledge about how to handle themselves.

  Regret would lead to carelessness. Micah knew all about that.

  He got out of the car and kept a hand on the pistol in his waistband. He’d thought these three would-be casino robbers to be harmless, but they obviously weren’t. Needed to make sure he didn’t startle them, so he shut the car door carefully.

  Rourke turned to ask his longhaired friend something, and his eyes jumped wide open when he saw Micah.

  Micah waved.

  “You were here yesterday,” Rourke said.

  “That’s right. Isn’t it funny how so much seems to revolve around this broken-down shopping mall behind me? This crazy building full of a lifetime of carnie junk?”

  “I don’t think it’s funny at all,” the longhaired one said.

  Micah ignored this and nodded at the one he assumed was the leader. “You’re Rourke, but I didn’t catch your friends’ names.”

  The heavy one lifted the shotgun and pointed it at Micah. This one knew better than to put his finger on the trigger, at least. “My name is none of your goddamn business.”

  “You must have to use tiny print on your business cards, then. That’s got to be a pain in the ass.” Micah took the hand off his pistol and relaxed. Despite the dead man in the grass, the shotgun wielding big guy, and Rourke holding a bloody knife, Micah didn’t get the sense that he was in danger.

  They all looked scared shitless. Aware that they were now in deep and not sure what to do about it.

  “What do you want?” Rourke said.

  Micah took a step forward and the big guy eyed him. He remembered he had heard this one’s name the other day. Ethan.

  Ethan cocked the shotgun and snarled. Now he did wrap his finger around the trigger, and Micah had no reason to think he wouldn’t shoot. Ethan was clearly the brazen one of the group.

  Micah halted. Maybe they were scared shitless enough to keep acting on impulse. Maybe they thought Micah was another employee of the casino, and they would have every right to shoot him.

  Perhaps he was in danger, after all.

  “Look,” Micah said. “I tried to tell you guys yesterday that I don’t care what you’re into. I can only assume you’re casing the casino here to do a break-in. And this poor dead guy on the ground caught you, just like I did. The thing is, I don’t give two shits what you guys want with this place. I don’t work for the casino people. I’m not here for anything related to that.”

  “Then I’ll ask you again,” Rourke said, “what do you want?”

  “When I saw you before, you asked me if you knew me.” Micah pointed at the longhaired one. “You did.”

  “So?” the longhair said.

  “Who do you think I look like?”

  Rourke and his two companions exchanged a few uneasy glances, all of them reluctant to speak. Seconds dripped by in silence. Ethan maintained his dagger eyes with Micah, but Rourke appeared to be considering the question, at least.

  “If we tell you who you remind us of,” Rourke said, “what’s it worth to you?”

  Micah mulled it over. They had to believe he had some kind of angle in all this, and they had no good reason to trust him. He could offer to keep quiet about the dead body on the ground, but then they might realize that they’d be better off shooting him to keep him quiet. They hadn’t looked like the type of crew to do that, but Micah now realized he might be putting too much faith in his own intuition. That hadn’t often worked out so well in the past.

  His best bet would be to come clean about what he wanted, but he also had to offer them something in return. Something he could do for them that they hadn’t been able to do themselves.

  Micah tilted his head back at the mall, and they were in a clear line of sight to the back door that led down into the casino.

  “Have you guys been out here for a while, watching that back door?”

  Rourke nodded.

  “Trying to figure out a way to get in?”

  Rourke nodded again.

  “Do any of you know how to pick a lock?”

  Ethan said nothing, and the longhair averted his eyes. Rourke shook his head.

  “Then today’s your lucky day,” Micah said. “I can teach you exactly how to pick the lock to that back door.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Parked near the back of the mall, watching from the side view mirror, Olivia saw the whole thing. Those three young men getting caught snooping, then killing their assailant, and then Micah rolling up on them. Then, him showing the three of them something near the back door. She couldn’t tell what he’d shown them, but it was a game-changer. The three men had gone from pointing guns at him to shaking his hand before Micah went on his way.

  Micah certainly was a charmer. On the doomed flight from Fresno, twisting into certain death, she’d almost felt safe in his embrace. Even with everything she knew about his past, she hadn’t considered his danger in the moment. That was the power of Micah Reed’s persuasiveness.

  Even though sitting next to him on that airplane and the flirting had been by design, the WitSec ex-criminal formerly known as Michael McBriar had a certain amount of appeal to him. A kind of socially awkward little boy cuteness. Mixed with that bad-boy dangerousness and manipulation, that made for a red-flag-topped cocktail.

  Jeremy leaned over her and adjusted her mirror so he could see. “What do you think that was about?”

  “No idea. Some kind of exchange of services, I would guess. Had to be something significant, for them not to kill Micah after seeing what they did to that guy on patrol.”

  “Should we follow Micah? I don’t like that he’s back here at the casino.”

  Olivia chewed on it. She did want to follow him and see where he was going, but that wasn’t what they were supposed to be doing. All their efforts were supposed to shift away from Micah Reed and move toward the Crossroads gang.

  But, she had to admit that she felt a small rush of excitement seeing Micah again, even though he had shaved his head, which was not a good look for him. And those thick glasses changed his face quite a bit. He was trying to disguise himself, obviously.

  Something about him had stuck with her, and she didn’t like that. Made her feel not in control.

  “No,” she said. “We don’t need anything from him. He didn’t kill Logan King, so we’re done with him.”

  Olivia knew they should probably kill him. Get him out of the way. But, for some reason, she resisted what she knew to be the right course.

  “It’s good to have a name to finally put to the John Doe,” Jeremy said. “Even though it was difficult to extract the information.”

  She pivoted in her chair. “You’re the one who plucked the eyes out of that gangster in Grand Blanc. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Well, we knew Micah was on his way. There wasn’t much time.”

  Olivia patted his hand and offered a reassuring smile. “I know. I’m not angry with you. We do need to be careful about the footprint we leave, though. This isn’t Kabul.”

  “Understood.”

  He moved his hand so his index finger was on top of hers. He stroked her finger and gave her that look. Her instinct told her to pull her hand back and say not now, but it felt good. She wanted more.

  “Maybe we stop by the hotel after this?” he said.

  “That sounds like a good idea.” She cleared her throat. Needed to focus. She turned back to the side view mirror and adjusted it again so she could watch the three unknown men get back into their car. “Did you ever figure out what was on Micah’s thumb drives? What those spreadsheets were?”

  Jeremy put his hands back into his lap, not pouting
this time. The anticipation of getting laid would be enough to ensure his happiness, for now. “Nothing definitive about the spreadsheets. Best I can figure, it’s stolen cartel data. From their books, maybe, to use as leverage. I don’t know.”

  Stolen, probably like that business card with the image of the wolf. No way a mid-level thug in Luis Velasquez’s drug army would earn an El Lobo calling card like that. Unless he’d been more important than she’d been led to believe. Some of his files were above her security clearance, after all.

  “Good enough,” she said. “Maybe we can use that data to our advantage.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged. “No idea, but we’ll keep it in our back pockets for now. I think our next step is finding out who these three yokels are, and making sure they don’t mess everything up. With all of this cloak and dagger stuff they have going on, I have a feeling they’re trying to rob the casino.”

  “They could make all of it blow up in our faces,” Jeremy said. “Burst in at the wrong time and alert everyone.”

  Olivia played with a chunk of her hair, checking it for split ends. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re exactly what we need.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Micah drove along the streets of Flint with one name dancing on his mind. Logan King. That was the identity of the John Doe who had been surgically altered to look like him. The name at the heart of this whole mess, the mutilated corpse that had set everything in motion.

  Logan King. A dead man with Micah’s face.

  The three break-in guys from the mall had known him in high school but hadn’t seen him around for years. He’d been a couple years older, and not in the same social circle as Rourke, Carter, and Ethan. Rowdy guy, apparently in and out of trouble for most of his life. Quite a bit like Micah had been until his life flipped upside down after the cartel.

  But the casino break-in kids still knew Logan’s mother’s address, and Micah was on his way there now. There had to be answers in that house. Had to be something that could make sense of all this mess.