Murder in the Magic City

by G. P. Sorrells

  The light turned green, and it forced Micah to make a quick decision. He could sit in that spot and wait, feign car troubles and hope that the ire of his Dade County brothers and sisters didn’t draw too much attention to his whereabouts. Or he could move to a more obscure location with reasonable visibility of the restaurant. It took little convincing for him to choose the latter as a procession of horns heralded the bounds of his stupidity at not immediately punching the gas the instant the red light transformed into a green beacon.

  He quickly accepted the demands of his fellow motorists and darted over to the shoulder drop-off of a nearby condominium. It was early enough in the afternoon that most of the homeowners, those who were in town anyway, were likely out and about, enjoying all the city offered. The chances of an angry homeowner lambasting him for loitering outside their building seemed low. That and he expected Castillo would exit from the restaurant before his current parking spot became a problem.

  Micah scrolled to the call log on his phone. He stared at the number he had dialed seemingly from muscle memory, contemplating the use of this newfound power. It was also unnerving that this person’s existence was a mystery to him, as was his connection to them. The who on the other end wasn’t nearly as important as the intel they seemed able to provide. But why did she call me Mr. Sheridan? Those dreams I keep having, they seem so real, almost as if they’re from another life, from his, but why would they be so clear… why would…

  Before his spiral into philosophy could continue, Castillo strolled out of the restaurant and into a newly parked limousine. It was nondescript, black paint with plain wheels and an incredibly dark tint on the windows. Had he not watched Castillo step into the vehicle, he wouldn’t have paid it any attention. It almost looked like something he’d seen ferrying kids off to prom each year.

  Two other men entered the limousine from either side. Micah hadn’t noticed them previously, but they weren’t anyone he shared even a passing familiarity with. The limousine lurched forward, and Micah followed. He kept his distance, so as not to arouse suspicion, but he kept the black hole of a car in his sights the entire time. Eventually, the limousine stopped in front of a large home on the outskirts of Little Havana.

  The structure was most curious. Compared to the standard fare of single-family homes surrounding it, the building stood resolute behind the safety of a large, brick wall with barbed wire placed atop. The front gates rolled into the wall to let the limousine in, before immediately rolling shut behind it. As he drove past, Micah could see two men at the front door, armed with assault rifles.

  “What are you up to, Jimmy?”

  Chapter 50

  Micah parked at the end of the block and strolled back toward the compound. He hadn’t the foggiest idea who the place may have belonged to. Although he couldn’t be certain until he got a better look at the operation behind the heavily guarded walls, it appeared Castillo was playing for two teams. Or at least entertaining the idea.

  Two homes away from the entrance, Micah found himself unsure of how best to proceed. Going in guns blazing wasn’t an option–he lacked the firepower necessary to stand a chance. Even if the guards were only passingly capable of using their rifles, it was probable he would suffer at least a few wounds before he could take them out with his peashooter. Stealth would be considerably trickier since he would need to first discover a way into the compound–preferably one which didn’t involve waltzing through the front gate.

  He could come back later, once he armed himself, and take out anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. This, he reasoned, was the plan most likely to result in his arrest. Or subsequent shootout with law enforcement. Neither outcome was ideal. A large part of him wanted to catch Castillo amidst whatever deeds the man had now become entangled. Eventually, Micah opted for something approximating the stealth approach.

  Once Castillo had been in the home for about twenty minutes, Micah walked over to the front gate. He approached it haphazardly, much in the way one might expect to see a drunk Spring Breaker meandering over to a shiny object.

  “Hey, you,” boomed a voice from across the front lawn, “get the hell away from that gate.”

  Micah absentmindedly fiddled with a locking mechanism on the left side of the gate. He took his car keys out from his pocket and pretended to place them inside the lock to wiggle it open. All the while pretending to be oblivious to the world around him.

  “I’m warning you, scumbag.”

  The steps were getting closer, but the gig wasn’t up just yet. Micah needed to provoke the guard to step out past the gate. Out from the confines of the four walls protecting his boss and into a more level playing field. The trick was doing something just dumb enough not to require lethal force as a response. Micah kept his head down, humming the intro to All Along the Watchtower as he glanced upward at the advancing guard. The other guard wasn’t visible, but Micah couldn’t waste time waiting to see what had become of the other man.

  Besides, if I can get Tweedle-Dumb out of here before Tweedle-Dee comes back, I’m golden. He continued to fiddle with the keys, but slowly retracted his hand as the gap between the two men shrank.

  “Final warning.” The guard was mere feet away now. “Step away from the gate. If you stick around, you’ll be in for some shit you really will not want to experience.”

  “Thanks for playing,” Micah said in an odd sing-song manner meant to insinuate a level of intoxication befitting of his actions. He stepped back and pulled out his phone, snapping copious amounts of pictures of nothing while acting as though there was indeed some sort of method to his madness that could cause a metaphorical headache for the guard. During it all, he swiped a couple times and began rolling footage on a video he would never watch. “See you later, asshole.”

  And with that, he ran. Like clockwork, the guard punched a button on the wall near the gate, a sort of failsafe meant to open the rolling behemoth in the event a quick exit was vital. He was out before it slid three feet.

  When he first crossed the threshold from the fortress to the city, his eyes met with nothing particularly strange. It wasn’t until he turned the nearby corner that he glimpsed Micah’s leg darting beside an abandoned home a block away. The guard chased after him, slowing as he reached the home. It was eerily quiet as the guard made his way inside.

  “Where you at, you little sonofabitch?” The man seemed uncertain, as though for all the time spent in the gym, he still found himself terrified of unfamiliar places. Even more if they were dark and foreboding. All that greeted his question was silence. He took a few steps forward, examining the surrounding room, hoping to gather some intel that might help him figure out who the hell he had been chasing. Perhaps even provide him with some inclination as to his current whereabouts. Content the main floor was empty, he walked up a set of stairs, turning the corner into more emptiness. “I’m going to give you to the count of…”

  Micah cut his demand short, pistol raised. “Drop the gun.”

  “Calm down, man,” the guard pleaded. He hadn’t ever stared down the barrel over a gun, and he hoped he’d live long enough to have nightmares about this one moment.

  Micah fired a shot at the wall near the guard’s head, causing the man to jump. “I’m the one who makes demands around here, not you.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” the guard said. He tried to maintain his composure but felt a trickle in his pants as he set the rifle on the ground. “I just thought maybe we could come to some sort of agreement. You know, maybe you go wherever you wanted to go, and I’ll act like I never saw you.”

  “We’re past the stage where amicable agreements are normally possible, wouldn’t you agree?” The guard sulked, resigned to an end he somehow hadn’t envisioned when he traveled down the road of his chosen profession. In some ways, he likely knew death was an inevitability, but it hadn’t ever fully registered with him. “How often does he come here?”

  The guard looked up, quizzical. “He? I�
�m not sure I know who you’re looking for. We’ve got a lotta guys come through here every day.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Blart,” Micah seethed.

  “I’m not, man. Honest. It’s just, I’m not used to having a gun pointed at me, so it’s taking me a minute to wrap my head around it is all.”

  “Well, isn’t that just precious?” Micah let the pistol slowly drift down, careful to adjust his aim. Motion ceased with an obvious line of sight of his heart.

  The guard jumped back. “Hey, hey, hey, you don’t need to do that! Just refresh my memory and I can try to help you out.”

  “Jimmy Castillo. He just rolled into your compound inside a limo with a few guys I didn’t recognize.”

  “He’s been here a few times over the past two weeks. I never talk to him much, outside of maybe opening a door and telling him where the boss is at, but that’s it.”

  Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Micah knew he had to continue pushing, but he also needed to get something concrete out of the guard. “Any idea what they talk about?”

  “No, I only ever hear bits and pieces. The boss usually… wait, what am I telling you any of this for? I don’t have to let you know a damn thing. Besides, the boss would kill me if he found out I squealed.”

  Micah tightened his grip on the pistol. “What makes you think I won’t do the same if you keep your mouth shut?”

  “True… but,” the guard said, shifting uneasily in place.

  “No buts. Either you tell me what I want to know, or I’ll be sending you to an early grave. Your choice.”

  “Ok, let me think.” The man stared around the room, a mixture of genuine thought and fight-or-flight response, desperate to find an exit. “I think Castillo has been working on a deal with the boss. He usually brings something with him to ease things, almost like an offering. He doesn’t stay awfully long either. It’s almost like he just does it for show, to give off this impression that he cares, but you know he doesn’t actually give a damn.”

  “That sounds like Jimmy.”

  “Honestly, the way things have been happening around here lately, it almost feels like the gun deal with the Good Ole Boys was rigged. It always felt too good to be true, you know.” The guard shifted his weight, ruminating about his favorite conspiracy theory of recent times. “At least what we heard about it. Like here’s this gang of hillbillies running drugs and guns and shit. They’re somehow smart enough to do it all without getting themselves caught by the cops, or at least get the cops in on it, but they’re also dumb enough to get wiped out by two raft-riders who walked onto their turf with a death wish. It just doesn’t add up.”

  Micah felt his hold on reality falter, the façade drift from unwavering to something approaching uncertainty. The information poured in and he slowly drifted away from the present, toward a sequence of events he had already lived through. He watched as the past version of himself stood on a balcony, focusing on a phone call that would ultimately see him wind up down a road he would rather not have traveled. He walked close to his old self, drifting through his house as though it existed on another plane entirely. The noise of the world around him ceased momentarily.

  All but Castillo’s voice announcing, “I’ve come across an interesting business opportunity. Could be pretty lucrative.” Interesting how? It had made little sense in the moment, but it set off many red flags now.

  “You okay, man?” The guard had expected Micah to reply to his revelation, not drift off into a strange meditative state. He waited a few more seconds, uncertain that this wasn’t all part of some elaborate scheme to catch him off guard. The seconds creeped by sluggishly. Content that Micah wasn’t all there, the guard lunged at him, tackling Micah to the ground. The blow sent the gun careening across the room. As if on cue, the man rose and pummeled Micah in the face with a fierce one-two punch that split his upper lip.

  Micah gradually came back to the world of the living, kicking his feet out hard in protest. The strike sent the guard flying halfway across the room. Both men stood up, their faces full of contempt. Micah wiped blood from his mouth as the guard struggled to regain his breath. Like two titans embroiled in a battle for the ages, both men knew only one of them was likely to leave the building whole. Micah rushed forward, putting the bulk of his strength into a devastating blow which landed on the guard’s jaw.

  The man dropped to the ground, blood pouring out of his mouth. He touched his jaw and grimaced. The pain bordered on unbearable, but standing still wasn’t in the cards. A quick glance around revealed just how limited his options truly were. His eyes locked onto a stray brick, left possibly as part of an improvement project in the works within the building. For the guard, it represented his chance at living to see the sun rise once more. He grabbed hold of the brick and pulled his arm back, ready to throw it or rush forward and maul his assailant.

  Micah could sense the precarious nature of his current predicament growing more unstable with each passing moment. He watched as the man reached for a brick paver and knew he had to act quick. Suddenly, he rushed forward, and shoulder thrusted the guard into the large window behind him. Glass shards exploded out in all directions as the man’s body disappeared into the void. Moments later, a loud crunch signified the result of their bout. Micah disappeared long before the other guards arrived to discover the grisly scene.

  Chapter 51

  Vivian had found the thread connecting Medina to Jennings but sensed it wouldn’t be enough to solicit a warrant to do much outside of making the higher ups aware of this previously unknown connection. Well, unknown in a figurative sense of the word, at least. If the lead up to Osteen’s murder were any sign, the tendrils of the conceit necessary to tie all the murders together likely passed by a seat or two among the top brass.

  “Hell, they could be in on it, for all I know,” she reasoned. “Better find something a bit more stable. Tie this all together so tightly Medina’s web won’t be able to prevent justice from doing its damn job.”

  Vivian sat still in the uncomfortably rigid office chair in front of her desk, compelled to roll around until a spark of inspiration hit her. Something to push her into the direction necessary to get past the wall she now found herself stuck in front of. Fun as it may be in theory, antics like that wouldn’t do her any favors down the road.

  She pulled out her phone and clicked the messages application. A quick scroll brought her to the conversation that she used to have pinned to the top because of its constant additions. Things were one-sided now, but she couldn’t bring herself to delete the old messages from Osteen. Vivian stared at the last message he sent her. At the winking face that followed his eye-rolling Jesus Christ joke.

  “Told me something interesting about these bodies.”

  Easy, Jennings, and Cagney at that point. Wonder what the interesting part could be? Maybe he just discovered the conclusion I reached the hard way.

  And then it hit her.

  “Even mentioned some new ones. Something about the CCCP in a crematorium and that tech at the Seaquarium.”

  CCCP was Osteen’s sly way of referencing Russia. He always loved his spy movies. Connecting that to a crematorium was likely a lead to a murder they hadn’t worked. Or one that hadn’t yet been listed as a homicide and, therefore, didn’t warrant further investigation.

  As for the tech at the Seaquarium, she could only imagine he was talking about the guy who had Lolita had eaten. The implications of those two cases, whatever they were, somehow being part and parcel to mapping out the greater conspiracy was enough to make her head spin. For once, Vivian was glad she was sitting.

  She thought back on the files she had seen among Osteen’s belongings at the precinct. A who’s who of all the people he had interviewed, interrogated, and arrested over the many years of his storied career. But nothing about anyone at a crematorium or an aquatic center. Though, that wasn’t all too surprising given her newfound knowledge.

  He didn’t seem surpri
sed to find out about them. These other deaths, maybe murders, that may or may not have something to do with everything else that’s been going on. It’s only a text, she thought, but his manner of speaking was consistent with his jokes. Almost like he was trying to tell me something. And is still trying to.

  Chapter 52

  Micah strolled into the Cherry Popper, his mind on something vastly different from every other horny soul within those sad, four walls. Something in the deep recesses of his mind pushed and pulled at the thoughts careening about, vying for his complete attention. The thought was hazy at first, like the thin strand of something important, but not considered in so long that it slowly fades, eventually resembling something quite different from what it was originally. A once coherent thought was now a jumbled mess of memories, none of which made sense. He tried desperately to appear calm, to give off the impression that nothing outside of the ordinary had taken place recently. That the events of the past few hours were really setting him down this confusing path.

  Had he just pushed a stranger out of a window with enough force to kill him? Perhaps, but it was just as likely that the guy would wind up with a sore back. Or something a bit more painful. Paralysis wasn’t out of the question. It wasn’t quite how the situation had played out in his mind when he had drawn up his plan of attack, but Micah always knew the possibility existed for things to take a sharp turn Southward. Some way or another, life forced matters down the least desirable road.

  Now Micah dealt with thoughts and feelings that didn’t seem to belong to him. Almost as though his mind had normally existed within the fleshy carapace of another, and he was only borrowing it for a while.

  I’ve got to do something about Castillo. He needs to pay for what he’s done. That much was certain. Micah could never forgive him for the horror inflicted upon Valerie at Castillo’s command. But, strangely, that didn’t seem to be the driving factor behind his rage. Behind his desire to end the life of the man who had caused so much pain to the woman he loved.