Without a Trace

by Michael Cross

  “What do you boys want?”

  “You deaf? The man ordered drinks,” sneers Goatee. “Some hospitality.”

  Narrowing his eyes and clenching his jaw, Arthur turns away and shoots a look at me before pouring out a couple of beers for them. He looks embarrassed to be jumping at their commands in front of me. He’s a prideful man, but also a man who values his life, and isn’t going to put himself in unnecessary danger. I don’t blame him for that. I hate that he’s even being put in that position.

  Arthur sets the beers down in front of the skinheads and turns away to get back to his work. The pair of them drink half their beers in one go, laughing and joking with each other, their voices echoing off the walls of the empty bar. Whatever façade they had last time as suits collecting for charity is gone now that nobody else is in the bar. They’re crude and loud and demanding

  “Hey, old man,” calls Skull Ring.

  I see Arthur visibly bristle. He keeps his back to them, trying to keep himself under control. I can see how angry he’s getting and how close he is to snapping. And given the fact that he doesn’t want me getting involved in what he sees as his problem, I’m half-afraid he’s going to do something rash and put himself in the line of fire instead of letting me do my thing.

  “I asked for you, old man,” Skull Ring growls.

  Arthur rounds on the two boys, his face almost purple with rage. He’s breathing heavily, and his eyes are narrowed almost to slits. The two skinheads are taken aback for a moment but quickly step up, putting on their best tough guy poses.

  “No need to get so upset,” slithers Goatee. “We just want to talk.”

  “What do you want, Jesse?” Arthur spits at Skull Ring. “What are you and Brian doing in here?”

  “We were going over finances and decided to come discuss business with you directly.”

  “We don’t have business together for another week yet,” Arthur replies.

  “That’s what we’re here to discuss,” the smaller man, Brian, snickers with a gleam in his eye. “There’s been a change to your contract.”

  Arthur blanches as he stares at them, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open. I’m surprised as hell that they’d speak so openly about extorting money from Arthur in front of me. For all they knew, I’m a cop. Hell, Agajanian thought I was a Fed. But maybe they think because they’re in Agajanian’s employ they’re untouchable. Or they’re just that stupid and arrogant, and just don’t give a shit who hears them.

  Jesse and Brian giggle softly with each other, but then quickly sober up. Jesse lifts up his right hand and very purposely runs his fingers along the massive skull ring. “Now, the director, Mr. A, has done you a big favor. Thanks to your continued service, he is reducing your pledge to two thousand.”

  There’s a moment where the three of them are standing stone still, staring at one another. The air is charged with electricity and feels like the atmosphere right before a lightning strike. Except, in this case, we’re all waiting for the other shoe to drop. Agajanian is not going to cut Arthur’s fee out of the goodness of his heart.

  Brian grins. “Due weekly.”

  And there it is. Agajanian is getting greedy. My guess is he is trying to drive out the tenants on this block. Maybe he has designs on buying up the block and developing it himself. It would give him plenty of legit businesses he can launder money through. And if that pallet of drugs I saw is any indication, he’s going to need to be able to launder a hell of a lot of money. Having half a dozen new cash-based businesses like bars and restaurants would be ideal for that.

  Arthur stares at them, disbelief coloring his features. The man is absolutely flabbergasted and doesn’t seem to know what to say. In his place, I might be feeling the same thing. Eight grand a month is a huge bite. I don’t know much about how bars run or what their profit margins are like, but having to pay eight grand a month can’t be sustainable. Frankly, I don’t know how he was doing it at six grand a month. He must be essentially living paycheck to paycheck, barely getting by. It not only makes me pity him; it makes me angry as hell for him.

  “So, with that in mind, you’ve got a payment due today,” hisses Jesse.

  Arthur’s mouth fell open. “I don’t have two thousand dollars on me. I can’t get that for you today.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Brian chirps. “Jesse and I, as—business consultants—would be happy to re-evaluate your business strategy to ensure stable contributions.”

  The message is clear: if he doesn’t pay up today, these two will stay at the bar and take from the register every day until there is enough. With interest, probably.

  As I get to my feet, Arthur cuts his eyes to me. I give him a small shake of my head, silently telling him to pretend he doesn’t know me and just let me do my thing. Jesse and Brian look at me as I approach, their eyes moving up and down as they take me in. I lean against the bar beside Jesse and hold his gaze, putting as much malice into my expression as I can.

  I see him swallow hard and the uncertainty flash through his eyes. He’s scared. Good. He should be. But he puffs himself out his chest and squares his shoulders to me, putting the hardest look on his face that he can. It doesn’t help. I can see right through the facade he’s throwing up. He’s taller than me and big, but I’ve got far more muscle mass. And brain mass, for that matter. A grin quirks a corner of my mouth upward as I stare at him.

  “Is there a problem here?” Jesse hisses at me.

  “Yeah, actually there is,” I say, my tone firm. “I don’t like seeing dirtbags like you shaking down a decent, hardworking guy.”

  Brian steps up. He stares at me with a crazed light in his eyes. He’s obviously more bluster than brains.

  “Who the fuck you calling dirtbags?”

  There it is. So much for the carefully chosen words. I knew deep down these guys were just putting on an act.

  “If you can’t figure out the answer to that question on your own, you’re even stupider than you look,” I chuckle.

  Both of them bristle and puff up on me. That they think they can intimidate me by flexing like that makes me laugh more. It’s cute. Not really smart, but cute.

  “What are you, like a cop?” Jesse spits. “A lawyer?”

  I shake my head, the grin on my face genuine. “I’d think the pair of you have dealt with so many cops and lawyers in your pathetic excuse for a life that you’d be able to pick them out of a crowd.”

  Brian’s eyes narrow as he stares at me. He obviously understood my jab, whereas Jesse looks to be struggling with it, only reinforcing the idea of who the ‘brains’ in this outfit is for me.

  “What are you doin’?” Arthur hisses.

  Honestly, all I’m trying to do is take the crosshairs off him and put them on me. I want it. I can handle it. And I don’t want Arthur getting hip-deep in shit when he can’t get out of it. He’s got to live here; I don’t. And if this all goes sideways, I don’t want Agajanian thinking he had anything to do with this.

  “I’m not somebody who’s going to sit by and watch you extort a hard-working man like this,” I say.

  “Never seen you around this neighborhood,” Brian growls at me. “What’s it to you?”

  I shrug. “I’m just a man passing through who stopped for a beer,” I tell them. “And like I said, I’m not the kind of guy who’s gonna let somebody get shaken down by trash like you.”

  “Who you calling trash?” barks Jesse, angrily balling his hands into a fist.

  I chuckle. “Like I said before, if you can’t figure that out on your own—”

  Jesse interrupts me by slamming his fist on the bar, sending glass rattling. He steps up closer to me, standing a scant couple of inches from my nose. He glares into my eyes, and I have to say, he’s doing a better job of looking hard, but he can’t hide the fear in his eyes.

  “I suggest you make your way out the door and keep passing through,” pipes in Brian.

  “Sure, I’ll be on my way,” I say. “As soon as you two
get out of this bar and leave this man alone.”

  “This ain’t your business,” Jesse frowns.

  “I’m making it my business.”

  “You have no idea the kind of shit you’re stepping into, do you?”

  “I think I actually have a good idea.”

  “Then you know not to mess with us.”

  I narrow my eyes and glare, first at Brian, then at Jesse. “I’m going to count to three,” I growl. “And when I’m done, you’re either going to be walking out on your own, or I’ll be dragging your asses out of here.”

  Jesse’s laughter is a little too frantic to be genuine. “There’s two of us and one of you,” he says.

  “Congratulations, you can count,” I roll my eyes.

  “You really think you can beat the both of us?” Brian barks, rolling up his sleeves.

  “Three,” I start.

  Both of them square up before me. I take a step out to the side to direct them away from Arthur.

  “Two.”

  Jesse doesn’t wait for me to finish. Not that I expected he would. He lunges forward, throwing a punch at me, his skull ring front and center. My instincts take over in a flash. I throw my right arm up, swatting his arm harmlessly to the side and grasping his wrist tightly. At the same time, I corner in and drive my left fist straight into his lower ribcage with a satisfying crack. I pull his wrist down, and he crumples, right onto my rising knee. I hear the air explode from his lungs with an audible ‘oomph’. He falls to the ground, clutching himself, and gasping for breath.

  Brian wades in, throwing wild haymakers at me. I spin, easily sidestepping his punches, and drive my elbow hard into his face. I hear the crunch of his nose beneath my elbow, which is followed by the sound of his wailing. He presses his hands to his nose, and thick, viscous blood squeezes out from between his fingers, mixing with the grease of his goatee. I dart forward and grab his shitty suit with my hands and then toss him hard to the ground. He collapses against the chairs, sending them scattering.

  All of a sudden, I feel a fist ram into my kidneys. The burst of pain flares behind my eyes. I stagger forward. Jesse recovered more quickly than I thought he would. I stabilize myself quickly though, and spin, grabbing hold of Jesse’s arm, twisting it behind his back with one hand. I open my palm against his bald head and piston his head down. It hits the bar with a solid thud. Jesse goes limp immediately, crumpling to the floor like a dirty shirt.

  Brian, seeing his buddy out cold in a heap on the ground, doesn’t wait around. Blood still streaming down his face, he scampers to his feet and runs, banging through the doors and taking off down the street like he’s being chased by the Devil himself.

  “What in the hell did you do?” Arthur gasps.

  I turn to him. “Get me a couple of zip ties. Heavy ones if you have them.”

  Arthur is apoplectic, his eyes wide, staring down at the unconscious man on the floor of his bar. His mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water. He stands there still as a stone. I snap my fingers in front of his face.

  “Arthur,” I shout. “Zip ties. Now.”

  His eyes seem to come back into focus. He looks at me. He’s still shaken, no doubt terrified, thinking of the hell I’ve unleashed on him. But he nods and disappears into a room behind the bar. He comes back a couple of moments later with the zip ties, and I quickly secure Jesse’s hands behind his back and then his ankles.

  Arthur is sweating profusely and muttering to himself. He finally looks up at me, his eyes larger than dinner plates, his face pale, and looking like he’s aged twenty years in the last ten minutes.

  “Agajanian is going to rain hell down on us,” he says quietly. “He’s going to—”

  “He’s not going to do anything to you,” I tell him. “I’m going to give him a better target. Me.”

  He shakes his head. “You are out of your damn mind.”

  I grin. “Have to be to do this work.”

  I scoop Jesse’s limp form up from the floor and sling him over my shoulder. For good measure, I confiscate his skull ring too. Just in case.

  I walk through the front doors and out to the street, carrying him out to my car. I draw the curious stares of some of the people on the sidewalk, but nobody says a word. If they live or work around here and have dealt with Tweedle Dumb here, some are probably cheering and will want to give me a medal. Others, though, are no doubt as terrified as Arthur that this is going to come back and bite them on the ass.

  I’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t come to that. With Jesse secure in my back seat, I close the door, climb in behind the wheel, and pull away from the curb.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I pull to a stop in front of Agajanian’s club and kill the engine. Jesse woke up on the ride over and treated me to a string of curse words—most of which I’ve heard before. I thought that being in the service, I’d heard them all, but he actually taught me some new, colorful ones. So kudos to Jesse for that.

  I get out of the car and open the back door, grab hold of Jesse, and yank him out, dumping him on the sidewalk unceremoniously. After closing the door, I reach down and grab him by the scruff, lifting him to his feet.

  “You’re so dead, asshole,” he spits. “Mr. A is gonna gut you like a fish, you prick.”

  “So you’ve said a thousand times already,” I sigh dramatically. “But tell me, do you rely on Mr. A to fight all the battles you pick and end up not being able to handle? I’d imagine that’s a full-time job.”

  “Screw you, asshole.”

  I feign a yawn. “You were really on a roll in the car. Now you’re just getting repetitive and boring.”

  “Eat shit, asshole.”

  “See? Boring. I liked you were better when you were pretending to work for a charity.”

  I give him a push to get him moving. Hobbled as he is, he can’t move very fast. But it’s comical to watch. I hold the door open for him and guide him through the foyer. The coat check girl stares at us in shock.

  “Hey, can you ring Mr. Agajanian?” I ask. “Have him meet me in the reception area? Thanks so much.”

  Holding onto the back of Jesse’s collar, I step through the archway and into the reception area, standing there as if we’re expecting to be seated by the hostess any minute. There are a couple dozen men, a few of whom I recall seeing the last time I was here, seated in the lounge area. They look up from their papers, their faces a mixture of shock and amusement. I give them a nod and a wave.

  “How y’all doin’ today?” I ask.

  Coming from the restaurant side of the club, Agajanian approaches me, his face dark with rage. A pair of men in dark suits flank him. Brian is walking behind the procession, his head down, a bloody rag still pressed to his nose, looking like a whipped dog. Which I suppose he is.

  “Oh, hey Brian, good to see you again,” I say. “How’s the nose?”

  I shove Jesse in the small of his back, sending him stumbling forward. He trips and falls, landing in a heap at Agajanian’s feet.

  “You left some of your trash in a bar,” I say. “Thought you might want it back.”

  Agajanian steps over Jesse and steps up, standing practically nose to nose with me. Unlike those two clowns, I see the rage burning in his eyes. This man is not intimidated by me. I don’t scare him in the least. But that’s simply because he doesn’t know what I’m capable of.

  “You’ve made a very grave mistake,” he intones, his voice low.

  “Like, very grave? Not just regular, plain old grave?” I ask, feigning innocence. “I have to be honest, that sounds really unpleasant.”

  His eyes narrow to slits, and his jaw is clenched so tight; he could probably pulverize stones. I watch as Brian cuts the zip ties off his friend and helps him to his feet. Leaning on each other, they scamper back through the archway and around a corner into the dining room side of the club, disappearing from view. I turn back to Agajanian, who’s still staring at me with a grim expression.

  “Joke all you
wish,” he grits. “Enjoy your moment. You don’t have many of them left.”

  “You gonna shoot me in the middle of your social club, Narek?”

  He casts a glance back at the men seated in the lounge, and I see him stiffen. He takes a step back and straightens his jacket with a hard pop. He lets out a long breath and folds his hands in front of him. I can see him physically fighting to keep himself from lashing out.

  I can tell he wants nothing more than to beat me to a pulp and then shoot me where I stand. But he has a reputation as a good man to uphold. Even though the men filling the club are his countrymen, he must not feel confident enough in them to truly be himself in their presence—a savage killer. He must think that at least one of them would not back whatever story he concocts. His reputation would shatter.

  Sure, I know that some, maybe most of the men in the club, will back his play. For all I know, they’re all in on this too. But I know that there are too many who have trusted him to help them out. And not in ways that imply criminal behavior. I know many of these men are simply trying to find a connection to their home country. There are good people in every community. People who will always do the right thing.

  “I do not think you appreciate the gravity of your situation,” he says softly. “I am not a man to be trifled with.”

  “Neither am I,” I fire back, my voice suddenly ice cold. “And I will not allow you to continue extorting money from the people of this community.”

  I say it loud enough that my voice carries through the club. I see some of the men perk up at my words, confusion written all over their faces. Agajanian’s face darkens as his body tenses even more. He obviously doesn’t want his dirty laundry aired in public like this.

  “Keep your voice down,” he hisses.

  “Why is that?” I say, not bothering to lower my voice. “Are you afraid people are going to find out what you really are?”

  “You really have no idea what you’ve inserted yourself into the middle of… I don’t even know your name,” he says. “Who are you?”

  “You can call me Echo,” I tell him.