Bad Beat

by Alex Segura

  “Shit,” Ash said.

  He turned to give chase but stumbled at the curb, and the guy was like lightning, already a block away, darting between parked cars like he was playing a game of Frogger. Funny how being scared makes you move so quick.

  Ash pivoted and took a few quick strides toward Pete.

  “You suck at this,” Ash said, each word coming out slow and strained.

  He didn’t want to talk. He still wanted to hit.

  “Let’s just get moving,” Pete said, taking a step back. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Pete hoped this would calm him down—the fact that they had something up on the guys looking for Raleigh. That maybe, by not folding immediately and apologizing, this guy would gain some level of respect for Pete. Put them on some kind of equal footing.

  “You’re an idiot,” Ash said.

  Maybe not.

  The car was a few spaces away. Pete turned and got into the driver’s seat and popped the glove box, tossing the flask in and hoping his new copilot hadn’t seen it. Ash took a seat and tried to find footing among the fast food containers and half-filled notebooks strewn around the floor of Pete’s car.

  “Lovely ride,” he said.

  “It drives, and remember, you’re the one who asked me for a ride,” Pete said, starting the car. “So, where am I going?”

  Ash took out his phone and started tapping at it.

  “Not sure,” Ash said. “Christ, it smells like McDonald’s and cheap booze in here.”

  Pete grabbed a piece of gum from the driver’s side door pocket and popped it in his mouth.

  “I live a glamorous life,” Pete said, backing out of his spot and turning onto the street. “Let’s head toward Raleigh’s school and see what we come up with.”

  Pete flicked on the car stereo after a few moments of silence. He wasn’t in the mood to beg this guy for info. He was a reporter. He’d been a damn good one for a long time. He didn’t need a sidekick. The frantic, chakka-chakka opening chords of The Clash’s “I’m So Bored with the U.S.A.” blasted through the car’s cheap speakers. Pete turned it down a tad as they moved down the empty street.

  “At least you have good taste in music,” Ash said, not looking up from his phone. “If we were on a date, this might get you to first base.”

  Pete let out a small laugh.

  “Anything?” Pete said, looking over at Ash, who was still fiddling with his phone.

  “I’m going through my texts with Raleigh,” he said. “I hadn’t spoken to him in forever. But he was frantic.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “Old friends,” Ash said.

  “Obviously,” Pete said. He felt another headache creeping in. “But, like, what’s your deal? Are you a teammate? What?”

  “I’m a friend,” Ash said. “I know Raleigh from way back. He needed my help. Here I am. Even if it means coming to Jersey.”

  “Friendship is all about sacrifice,” Pete said, eyes on the road. “So, what else did Raleigh say?”

  “All I know is I was meeting him at Jester’s until you scared him,” Ash said.

  “Did he say anything after he left?” Pete said.

  “He shot me a text as he was leaving,” Ash said, reading from his screen. “‘I’m going to the library to get her.’ Maybe the school library?”

  Pete braked hard and pulled a sloppy U-Turn.

  “The fuck,” Ash said, gripping the oh-shit handle. He hadn’t bothered to put on his seatbelt.

  “They’re not at the school library,” Pete said.

  “What else does ‘the library’ mean, then?”

  “The Library is a bar,” Pete said. “It’s a joke. ‘I’m going to the library’ translates to ‘I’m going to get wrecked’.”

  “Clever, I guess,” Ash said.

  “Not such an idiot now, am I?” Pete asked, satisfied.

  “Jury’s still out.”

  Pete laughed a little. Jeez, this guy was an asshole.

  “If they’ve got her there, we’re in trouble,” he said.

  “Just get me there,” Ash said. “I’ll get it sorted.”

  “Seriously. It’s a shady spot—like Bennigan’s gone bad. Not what you’d expect at first glance. Definitely not a good scene,” Pete said. “Lots of weird stuff running in and out of there. Rumors of drugs, gambling. Cops isn’t my beat, but I’ve overheard some stuff.”

  Pete stepped on the accelerator. He felt his juices flowing a bit. They were onto something now. The dead end disappeared.

  “Another life?” Ash said. “Aren’t you a reporter? That is your life.”

  “Yeah,” Pete said. He let the words hang out to dry. He had nothing else to add.

  He made a few quick turns and pulled into a tiny, half-full parking lot.

  Ash’s shoulder bunched up as Pete pulled the car into a spot across from The Library. It was horrifying. Tasteful, well-lit, full of people wearing collared shirts and khakis. Big, high-end televisions blaring sports games.

  So the exact opposite of the bars he liked to frequent.

  “Odd place to pick to hold a hostage,” Ash said.

  “Like I said, there’s weird rumors about this place. So what kind of gambling is Raleigh into?” Pete asked, like he was testing the waters, gauging how bad this might be. Digging for info.

  “Not sure,” Ash said. “I don’t ask questions about stuff like that.”

  “What kind of people do you think we’re dealing with?”

  “I can make some assumptions. They took his sister as collateral and they hang out in a place like this. That reads to me as: huge assholes.”

  “So should we…”

  Ash shook his head. “There’s no ‘we’ here. You stay in the car.”

  “If there’s a story…”

  “Your story is my friend.”

  “I can’t just sit here.”

  Ash exhaled. Reporters, man.

  He looked over at Pete, who was a mix of confused and aggravated.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Ash said. “If these rumors you’ve heard are true, whatever’s going on in there might be bigger than Raleigh. I understand he’s made his mistakes and there’s only so much I can protect him from, but I’m willing to bet that there’s some big front-page shit in there. So how about I go in, get it sorted, and I make sure you get an inside track on whatever I find.”

  “Can you really promise that?”

  “No. But if you’re the kind of guy whose idea of a good time is to kick a hornet’s nest, then by all means, let’s both go and see how it goes.”

  Pete sat back in his seat, thinking it over. Ash could see it playing out on his face. A little part of him, maybe, wanted to play the hero. Easy way to feel when there’s a damsel in distress. But there was another part of him that realized there could be some hard guys in there who don’t want to part with Raleigh and his sister.

  Either way, it was going to be a bad scene. So when Ash saw it pass across Pete’s face, that look of defeated resignation, he was relieved.

  “I’ll stay, you go,” Pete said. “But I have to call the cops.”

  “No cops.”

  “Why not?”

  “Cops only make situations like these worse.”

  “I have an obligation…”

  Ash grinded his teeth. It sucked when people had morals.

  “Give me twenty minutes,” Ash said.

  Pete thought it over for a second, then nodded. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Good.” Ash didn’t wait for him to say anything back, just got out of the car, slammed the door, and stalked toward the front of the bar.

  He played the odds in his head. Chances are, in a place like this, anyone up to no good would want to avoid unwanted attention. They had to be in a back room or a basement. Somewhere private. The way the bar was crowded, it was both a strength and a weakness. Easier to cover up people coming and going, but leaves you with a whole lot of witnesses. If Ash played it right, he figured it might
be a quick in-and-out.

  The wild card was Pete. Ash didn’t like that there was a spectator for all this. He preferred to play stuff like this as if he were a shadow. Get the job done and gone before anyone noticed. Now there was a reporter with an itchy trigger finger for 911.

  Outside the door of The Library was a mountain of a man with an ill-fitting blazer over a black t-shirt and an honest-to-god mullet. He put his hand up, sausage-sized fingers spread. Ash pulled his wallet out and handed over his ID. The guy looked back and forth a few times, like he was confused, but handed the ID back and waved him in.

  First thing Ash did was walk to the bar and order two shots of Jay from the bleach-blonde, cleavage-toting bartender. A better class from the sort he was used to, given her lack of sloppy tattoos and an apparent hard drug habit. She nodded and looked around, expecting to see someone else there, but after the drinks were poured Ash downed them both, then threw a twenty on the bar.

  Best not be sober for this.

  The bartender made his change as Ash looked around the bar. It was packed. One of those places with platforms and mazes and heavy, lacquered wooden furniture. Probably an Applebee’s in a past life.

  Over in the corner he caught a flash of movement. Someone ducking through a door painted dark green to match the walls. He’d been in enough bars with secret back rooms to know that was something.

  Ash cut across the room, weaving around packs of preppy kids, head down, trying to stay invisible. He got to the door and lingered for a minute, made sure no one was looking, and ducked through.

  Behind the door there was a stairwell, leading down to a tight curve. He followed it down to another door, this one slightly ajar. Ash pushed through to find a scene that he half expected and half didn’t.

  It was a one big room with a flat screen television and some fancy brown leather couches, and a small bar at one end. A nice little exclusive lounge. There were two guys in pastel polos—pink and purple. The one in the pink polo had a baseball bat over his shoulder. Both of them were GAP-catalogue pretty, with stock options in hair gel. Not the type of bruiser Ash was used to.

  Seated on the couch were Raleigh and Nariah. Raleigh looked angry and confused.

  So did Nariah, but she also looked good. Skittish about this whole scene, but good. She definitely grew into herself.

  Ash nodded to her and smiled. “Hey.”

  She furrowed an eyebrow. “Who are you?”

  That stung a little.

  Raleigh said: “Ash?”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Ash turned to the voice to find a small girl walking out from behind the bar with a beer in her hand. She was petite, all straight lines and pixie hair, big trendy Warby Parker glasses nearly eclipsing her face.

  “I said, what the hell is going on?” she asked.

  “I’m here for my friends,” Ash said.

  The two guys moved toward Ash but the small girl pushed out in front of them and put up a hand to stay them.

  “If you were smart, you’d get out of here now before you got hurt,” the girl said.

  “And who might you be?” Ash asked, working real hard to stifle a laugh, not really succeeding.

  “You don’t need to know my name.”

  For a tiny girl she had a hard look on her face. Ash had seen that kind of look on men who were willing to break him in half over a made-up slight. He looked up at the two GAP goons, neither of whom looked nearly as tough.

  Though, there were two of them. And one of them did have a bat.

  “So you’re the bookie,” said Ash.

  The girl smiled. “You sound surprised.”

  “You’re not exactly what I imagined. You don’t think ‘bookie’ and come up with one of the Olsen twins.”

  “That’s presumptuous and sexist.”

  “Touché.”

  Raleigh jumped into the conversation, clearly annoyed. “Ash, how did you find us?”

  “I’m good like that.”

  The girl looked at Raleigh. “You know him?”

  “Well, I was hoping he’d help me find my sister. Not that I’m so interested in that anymore.” He gave Nariah a sideways glance, and it wasn’t a happy glance. Nariah recoiled a little.

  Interesting, Ash thought.

  “I’m sorry, Raleigh, really…” Nariah started.

  “Shut up,” the pixie said. She turned back to Ash. “I’m in a good mood. Why don’t you just leave? We’ll call this no harm, no foul.”

  “Not without my friends,” Ash said.

  “Then I guess we’re at an impasse,” the girl said. She put up her hand and snapped her fingers. “Boys. After you’re done, take him out through the back.”

  This was stupid, Pete thought, as he fidgeted in the front seat of his car.

  Ash had walked into The Library five minutes before and Pete was already feeling his anxiety levels skyrocket. What kind of reporter just sits around and waits? He used to be the guy running in first. That’s who got the story.

  What happened to that guy?

  Pete cursed himself under his breath and pulled out his phone. He dialed Bradley.

  “Sports desk,” Bradley said.

  “It’s Pete.”

  “What have you got for me?”

  “Something bigger than Raleigh,” Pete said.

  “Bigger than ‘The Gun Misfires’? Because that’s the headline I’m dreaming about here,” Bradley said, totally straight. The guy probably did dream about headlines.

  “I’m outside The Library. You know the place?”

  “Sure I do,” Bradley said. “I know I’d never be caught dead in there, for a variety of reasons. Most obvious one being that I’m a black man and I don’t shop at Abercrombie and Fitch.”

  “We—I—think Raleigh’s in there,” Pete said.

  “Now that’s a story,” Bradley said. “That place is all cover. Big money-laundering operation for a lot of different outfits—New York, a little Boston, maybe some Tampa. It’s what some people call a ‘trading post.’”

  “What?”

  “It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Bradley said. “Upfront, it looks like your run-of-the-mill middlebrow eatery. Lots of flair and shitty bands. But on the other side, there’s a lot of dealing going on.”

  “How do you know that?” Pete asked.

  “I was a reporter once,” Bradley said. “You were, too.”

  “The hell does that mean?”

  “If Davis is in that bar, right now,” Bradley said, his tone flat, as if he were reading from the phone book, “give me one good reason why you’re outside sitting in a car. That’s where you are, right?”

  Pete hung up. Not because he was angry at Bradley—he was seething —but because of what he’d just seen.

  Crossing the parking lot was Neck Tattoo.

  And he had a gun. Pete could see it, black and boxy, held down low near his right thigh.

  The guy made a beeline for the front door. The bouncer didn’t even bother to ask for ID, just nodded to him like they were buddies. The skinny guy shoved the gun into his belt at his lower back.

  Pete didn’t have time to think it over. This dude that Ash had scared shitless was back with a gun and heading into the same place where Ash was. And there wasn’t nearly enough time for the cops to get here.

  So Pete got out of the car and headed for The Library’s front door in a daze, wondering what the hell he was doing, grateful he still had a little booze left in his system.

  Just enough to give him some courage.

  “Fuck me,” Pete said. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, checking it to make sure it hadn’t been destroyed in the fall back at the other bar. He dialed 911.

  “I’d like to report a disturbance, some kind of incident,” Pete said, when the operator picked up. He was out of breath. “The Library bar, the one by Rutgers.”

  The operator sighed. “Yeah. We know the place.”

  Pete took out his wallet, preparing to show it to the
bouncer, wondering what the hell he was going to do next. Warn Ash?

  As he got to the door there seemed to be a commotion inside. Pete rushed forward just as something came crashing through the door and right into him, sending the door flying back against the building and Pete onto the asphalt.

  The air got knocked out of him as he tumbled to the concrete, smacking his head against the pavement with a sharp crack. Pete groaned as he realized Neck Tattoo was now on top of him, scrambling to get up.

  The guy with the bat charged. And he made the same mistake people make when they try to attack you with a blunt weapon.

  He reached back, as far as he could, prepared to put every ounce of his weight behind it, knock Ash’s head clean out of the park.

  But in doing so, he left himself wide open.

  Ash hopped forward and jabbed him in the throat. The guy’s eyes went wide and he dropped the bat so he could put his hands around his neck. Ash got behind him and used his momentum to push him into the wall above the couch. The guy left a small crack in the sheetrock before falling to the floor.

  Someone screamed. Ash didn’t care who, because the second guy was already on him. He caught a glimpse of Raleigh going after the guy who had the bat, to make sure he stayed down, and found himself glad was wasn’t alone in this fight. If anyone was going to give him a hand, better the jacked football player than that wet blanket reporter.

  The guy in the purple polo was backing up, putting some room between him and Ash. This one was a little smarter.

  Not smart enough to be a threat.

  Ash picked up a stool and tossed it at the guy, up high. The guy threw his arms up to reach for it, giving Ash space to duck in and plant a fist deep into the guy’s stomach. As the guy began to fold, Ash took the stool from his hands, like it was a gift, and cracked him over the back with it, putting him onto the ground.

  That taken care of, he turned to find the girl with the glasses had disappeared, which meant there might be more incoming. Raleigh was holding the pink polo guy down, not that he needed to. He didn’t look like he had any fight left.

  Ash picked up the bat. “We should go,” he said.

  But instead of getting up, Raleigh turned to Nariah. “You sold me out.”