“You make it sound so simple, but I’m not even certain I could make it past step one. With my history, it’s not likely they’d be all that trusting of welcoming a newcomer into the fold.” If Sheridan were being honest with himself in that moment, he wasn’t sure what it was about his history that would cause issues. He just liked the sound of it.
“That’s the beautiful thing, Ross, your history doesn’t matter. Well, not the one you’re concerned with, at least.”
“I don’t understand,” Sheridan said. He shifted uneasily in the chair. The way Hurst had responded didn’t come across as an accident. The one you’re concerned with? As if I had a basket of histories to draw from?
Hurst flipped past the first two pages of the folder, settling on a picture of a man Sheridan had never seen. Dark skin, cobalt eyes, and a crew cut with olive green Army fatigues covering a burly frame. There was some text next to the picture about whoever this man was, but someone had erased the pertinent information. Redacted. “Before you can do anything, you need to become this man.”
“Become him? Who the hell do you think I am? Gandalf?”
“Not even Gandalf the Grey could shape shift. Thankfully for us both, it’s not something you’ll need to worry about doing either. At least not in the traditional sense.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ross, I need you to focus on the task at hand. The greater whole is unimportant. Instead, it’s vital that you do as instructed when the call comes your way. You need only concern yourself with what lies ahead in the immediate future.”
“Which is?”
“Your next task is to kill this man. We will arm you appropriately and place you in an advantageous position in which to carry out the task, but it will be up to you to follow through.”
“What did he do to deserve this kind of attention? Is he part of Medina’s crew?”
“That all depends on who you ask. The multitude of answers won’t change the fact that everything else I have tasked you with will be impossible to complete without you first following through with your part in this macabre performance,” Hurst said. He retrieved the folder and glanced at a confused Sheridan. “He’s a career criminal. One wrong step away from getting locked up for life. He’s also worked with a man in Miami who will become one of your contacts in the future.”
“I think I’m getting a handle on this all.”
“All I need to know is whether I can count on you. If not, let me know now. There’s more to this than any reservations you may have. Your role may be the most vital part of the whole, but a lot is riding on your cooperation.”
“Just, uh,” Sheridan trailed off. He stared at the opposite wall, unsure of the right move. Feeling like he lacked anything resembling free will. “Just show me where to go.”
“Good man,” Hurst said. He pivoted and walked out of the room, leaving Sheridan to wonder just how drastically his life was about to change.
Chapter 31
Sunlight crept through the blinds in Micah’s living room window, striking him directly in the eyes. He valiantly fought the urge to open them, but it was of no use. Sleep had evaded him much of the night. Heavy drinking and passing out on a sofa smaller than one’s own body rarely results in restful slumber. It had been quite a while since he drank like he did the night before, and he was paying for it dearly. The rhythmic pounding in his head became more pronounced as he opened his eyes, rubbing his head and looking around. The apartment was quiet, nothing more than a low hum from the air conditioner as it cooled down the rooms within.
Need something for this damn headache, he thought, walking over to the bathroom. Three white pills later and Micah knew he had to do something else to ease the pain. He walked over to the kitchen and rummaged around. Moments later, he had a few pans out, cooking eggs over medium and a package of thick cut bacon. The latter was anything but healthy, but it was a guilty pleasure of his. And the grease was sure to do something for his hangover. As he flipped the first egg, his bedroom door squeaked open and Valerie stepped out. She strode over, wearing the same clothes she had on the night before.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Micah said.
“Morning,” Valerie replied. She placed a hand on her head and grimaced. Micah set the pan off the burner and walked out of the room. When he returned, he offered her the bottle of pain relievers and continued cooking.
“These should help.”
Valerie sat down on a stool behind a modestly large kitchen island and swallowed the pills. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to make me an egg or two?”
“First plate is yours. There’s coffee too.”
“Thank you,” Valerie said. “Not just for the eggs, but for being a gentleman.”
It took Micah a moment to realize she hadn’t been referencing his willingness to give up his much-needed grease. “Don’t mention it. I’m not one for taking advantage of others when they’re down.”
“Was I that bad?” Valerie blushed. Normally, drinking in excess wasn’t an issue. Moderation had always been her motto. And it had kept her out of more than a few hairy situations. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more, that she had let herself blow past the goalposts so far, or that the man before her hadn’t made a move on her when she was nearly powerless to resist. Perhaps there was more to him than she thought initially.
“Well, on a scale of one to obliterated, I think the top end would have been a solid place to stop.”
“Oh, come on, I couldn’t have been that far gone.”
“Do you remember leaving the bar, hopping into the ride share?” Valerie’s quizzical look confirmed Micah’s suspicions. “Didn’t think so.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, dejected. “I try not to let myself get that far gone.”
“It’s okay,” Micah said. “Happens to the best of us.”
Valerie smiled, pouring herself a cup of coffee. The mug set aside for her had the Miami Vice inspired logo of the local professional basketball team, the Miami Heat. She thought it predictable that Micah enjoyed sports. It seemed most men did. She was glad his sport of choice appeared to be basketball instead of something more mundane like baseball. It may be the country’s pastime, but she could never quite get into it. Why it mattered, she wasn’t sure. There was no guarantee she’d even see him again after they shared a meal. The disparate thoughts vying for top billing within her mind took a backseat to the curiosity that jumped to the forefront when the sound of a phone ringing broke the silence. It wasn’t hers.
Micah answered the phone quickly and appeared to regret it almost immediately as bacon grease chose that precise moment to launch an attack on his unprotected arm. He jumped, nearly dropping the phone before answering. “What’s up, Jimmy?”
“I hate to break up your date, Micah, but I need to meet with you. Pronto.”
“Wait, how the hell did you…?”
“It’s my job to know what goes on with my own. Now get down here.”
The phone clicked before Micah planned a more succinct argument. He instantly felt uneasy at the prospect of Castillo having such intimate knowledge of his comings and goings. Paranoia took over and Micah walked over to a nearby window. It overlooked the street in front of his apartment, showcasing a steady stream of subjects for people-watching enthusiasts. There was also a plain, white van parked across the street at a strip mall. Its lights were off, but there appeared to be someone inside. Micah couldn’t quite make out any features from his distance, but a pit welled up inside his stomach.
“Everything okay, Micah?”
“What? Yea, it’s fine,” he said, turning to face Valerie and coming back to the world around him. “I’ve just got to head out for an unexpected meeting.”
“You should call in sick. Take the day off and let me make up for the fact that I was so far-gone last night.”
“As much as I’d love to take you up on that, this isn’t something I can skip out on. Here,” Micah said, fi
shing a key out of a drawer in the island and sliding it across to Valerie. “This is a spare key to my place. I know we just met each other, and it may seem kind of crazy for me to trust you like this…”
“Yea, no kidding.”
“… but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. You can stay here until I get back or use this if you’ve got something else to do but want to see me later.”
“You could just give me your phone number.”
“True, but it’s easy to lose those. Or forget them. The key gives you something tangible to hold on to, to remember me by.”
“Makes sense,” Valerie said, pocketing the brass key.
“Besides, if it doesn’t work out between us, I can just change the locks,” Micah said. He laughed and served her a plate of eggs and bacon.
Chapter 32
They had cooped Sheridan up inside the walls of the OrCA facility for so long he had forgotten how great it felt to have the wind blow through your hair while driving. He couldn’t leave the windows down much longer, but the point at which his presence would be an issue hadn’t yet arrived. Hurst had given him a simple task. Go to the target’s house, infiltrate through whatever means necessary, and take them out. All the intel had shown the target was often alone and not afraid to open the door to strangers. OrCA had tested the latter out by sending agents dressed as Jehovah’s Witnesses once a fortnight to his home. He opened the door every time.
Sheridan was confident he could complete the task with minimal tools. He had gone to the equipment locker and requested only a pickup truck adorned with a fake pest control company’s logo and a matching set of coveralls. The target didn’t look all that imposing in the picture Hurst had shown him, even with Sheridan himself coming off a physically draining ordeal. Someone had scribbled various health statistics beside the target’s picture, but nothing of significance jumped out to him. However, when Sheridan signed off for the requested gear, making note of the codename associated with the hit, he received a black duffel bag with contents vastly different from what he had expected.
Instead of coveralls, they decked him out in a polo shirt and cargo shorts. The keys to a pickup truck were but a fading desire. His pocket held a small keyring which belonged to a gray, Sprinter van full of packages. Elsewhere in the duffel bag was an MP5 submachine gun, enough rounds to take out a platoon, black face paint, tactical gloves, and night vision goggles. Sheridan unlocked the van and sat inside. A tactical vest and a satellite phone rested on the seat beside him. What had once seemed like an easy kill was gradually feeling like a battle to test his abilities prior to venturing into the big leagues. Aware that dwelling on the unknown was a fool’s errand, Sheridan drove to the last known location of his target.
The home in Alexandria, Virginia, was a mere 14 miles away from the OrCA facility in Langley. With decent traffic, Sheridan could be there in twenty minutes. He assumed the nearby satellite phone would alert him to any changes in the target’s whereabouts. As he drew closer to his destination, Sheridan rolled the windows up and placed a hat on his head, careful to partially cover his eyes. In the event someone looked into the car as he drove past, their view needed to anything but clear.
Sometime later, Sheridan rolled to a stop outside of the house. It looked like every other house in the neighborhood. Every light on the first floor was on, the windows were open, and people milled about their lives, unaware of his existence. Wait, people? There’s only supposed to be one person in this house, he wondered to himself. It occurred to him he may have misunderstood the task. He retrieved the satellite phone and pressed call. The phone rang twice before clicking on. There was silence on the other end, but he could hear breathing.
“This is Sherry. Working on delivery some packages to the Library of Alexandria,” Sheridan said. The code made sense, in its own way, but that didn’t make it easy to remember.
“Go ahead, Sherry. This is the Scribe,” said the voice on the other end. Though he heard it through a voice simulator, Sheridan knew he was speaking with the boss.
“The Library was only set to receive one book, but there’s three here. One sports novel and a couple romance.” Though he was making parts of the code up on the fly, Sheridan hoped his meaning wouldn’t get lost in translation.
“You’ve got a Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf to go along with the J. D. Salinger slated for that delivery?”
Though it was put forth a bit differently than he had posed, the result was the same. Two women were in the house with the one man expected to be there. “Can confirm. Request an update on the approach.”
“Proceed as planned,” Hurst said.
“Co… copy that,” Sheridan answered tentatively. He tossed the satellite phone on the other seat and gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring into the large front window of the target’s house. Inside, a man brought a heaping plate of food to a modestly sized table. A woman followed close behind with a few glasses in her hand, saying something inaudible to a small girl beside her. A knot formed in Sheridan’s gut. Killing the man was one thing, killing the entire family was something else altogether. He stared at them for a time, lost in a trance as he tried to talk himself out of it. Every fiber of his being wanted to believe there was another way to go about it, but he couldn’t land on an answer about what that way looked like.
Eventually, when he was certain the surrounding area was clear of nosy parties, he retrieved the supplies and walked up to the house. The subsequent moments happened in an instant and slowly, all at once as his mind worked to erase the horror from his memory. A doorbell dinged. Oak slid back to reveal the warmth emanating from inside, his gun raised, and a chorus of gunshots rang out.
Chapter 33
Castillo ruminated at his typical booth at La Cantina Sucia, appearing a bit more strung out than usual. He gulped his mojito as Micah approached. “We’ve got a bit of a problem, my friend.”
“What’s that?”
“You remember Marco?”
Micah wasn’t sure what he had expected when he sat down, but the conversation dovetailing to the crematorium hit wasn’t close. “The old Ruskie I torched? What about him?”
“Turns out your stealth abilities weren’t up to par that night.”
Micah was puzzled. He hadn’t left behind any evidence of his presence. Then it hit him. “There was another guy working that night at the crematorium. I actually had to use him to get ol’ Marco to come down,” Micah shrugged, “but I knocked him out before he had the chance to make a move. I didn’t kill him…”
“Maybe you should’ve. I got word from some of my people that an old detective has been looking into some cases for which you are the prime suspect,” Castillo said, motioning to his personal server for another round. “Naturally, he’s been chasing a ghost since there’s been zero trace of you specifically at any scene. The most he’s had is a blurry camera shot of you coming out of Crandon Park.”
“This shit has been going on for that long and you’re just now telling me?”
“Need I remind you; it is not my job to ensure you’re brought up to speed on the goings-on in the city. It’s fine if you want to keep tabs in your free time, but otherwise, you follow the lead I set. Questioning my decisions is not a wise move.”
“Look, Jimmy, I’m just saying it would’ve been nice to know that I had a target on my back. It would completely alter the way I approach a job.”
“If I thought it posed a problem before, you wouldn’t just be finding out about it.”
“So, what changed?”
Both men stared hard at one another, Castillo, to determine how much trust his hired gun was still worth, and Micah in a benign display of machismo. The server brought over their drinks and placed them on the table. Neither man looked up, but both nodded their gratitude before taking a swig.
“Early on, your hits were methodical. The work of a master. You went about it all effortlessly. The research beforehand into your target’s m
ovements, where they were likely to be, who they were likely to be with. That information pushed you forward into the next phase where you took care of business, and the results made it challenging for the authorities to do much but chalk it up to powers outside their control. Hell, even your work with Christensen hasn’t been discovered. Not quite to the same degree as the other moves you’ve made. He’s still just a missing person.”
“Did they find him?”
“They kept that one somewhat quiet at first. The Seaquarium didn’t want to let the news out that an orca killed another one of their own. PETA would have had a field day with that kind of story,” Castillo said, leaning forward in the booth, hands steepled as though he had to give some thought about how best to proceed in the conversation. “They kept it on ice for a while; still haven’t leaked to the media, even in passing. At first the cops just knew a worker fell into the orca tank and was likely eaten. It wasn’t until the detective started looking into things further that he started making some unfortunate connections.”
“Still doesn’t sound like much other than someone trying to make a case where there isn’t one. Some hotshot trying to make a name for himself at the expense of whoever he can find who looks guilty enough.”
“I thought that too, but you’re wrong. He was spot on about Cagney’s murder, knew why it may have happened even though you set it up to look like a murder-suicide. We even had the Medical Examiner try to push him off the trail. It didn’t work. The guy found out about an unsanctioned cremation a couple weeks back where the only person in the building had been assaulted by an unknown assailant. Not only that, but they found part of a titanium knee in some receptacle near that bastard’s ashes. This guy digs deep.”
“Motherfucker.”
Murder in the Magic City Page 13