by Celia Aaron
“I just want to go.”
He tsked and narrowed his eyes. “Not so fast, Charlie. I have some questions for you.”
My mind raced. Questions? What did he want?
“If you don’t answer them to my liking, my pal Gary over here is going to take out some of his aggression on you.” His eyes slid down my body, then back to my face. “Though I might need to get a little something out of my system first.”
My heart folded in on itself, the scarred surface withering just as it had begun to show signs of life again.
“Aw, come on.” He grinned, the scar stretching across his jaw. “I’m not so bad.”
I shook my head, tears welling and streaking down my cheeks. “P-please—”
“Let’s get started.” He whipped his jacket off and handed it to Gary, then began rolling up his sleeves. “How do you know Conrad Mercer?”
“Who?” I stared up at him.
His smile faltered as his hand sliced through the air. The ring on his finger connected with my cheekbone. My head whipped to the side as a whoosh of pain wheezed from my lungs.
“Let’s try that again, Charlie.” He dropped to his haunches in front of me, his hands on my knees. “How do you know Conrad Mercer?” He slid his hands up my thighs. I tried to close my legs but they were completely immobilized.
My heart thundered against my ribs, and everything inside me went cold as he reached my upper thighs. “I don’t know that name. Please, stop—” I choked on my plea.
He ran his hands to my waist and unbuttoned my jeans as my entire body shook. “I don’t believe that for a second, Charlie. He has a habit of sitting outside your shop, watching you. You know who I mean, don’t you?” He slid my zipper down. “Nice panties.”
Recognition fired in my mind. “The car? The black car that sits across the street?”
“That’s the one.” His cold fingers slid inside the elastic of my underwear.
“Don’t!” I shrank away from his touch, but there was nowhere to go.
“You’re his girl, aren’t you?” He rose and gripped my hair, yanking my head back as he loomed over me.
“What? No!” I tried to push the truth into my words. “I don’t know him. I never even saw him until tonight when h-he shot that man.” My voice was shrill, brittle.
His grip on my hair tightened until my scalp burned. Then he put his other hand at my throat. “You’re lying.”
“No.” I gasped as he squeezed. What breath I had was trapped in my lungs as his eyes bored into me.
He didn’t let up, though he flicked his gaze to my lips and back again. “Here’s how this is going to go, Charlie. I gave you a chance. You lied to me. Now I’m going to do what I want to you. When I’m done, I’m going to let Gary have a go.”
Gary grunted. “Thanks, boss.”
“Think nothing of it.” He didn’t look away from me. “And then you’re going to tell us the truth. Where he lives. How to get to him. You’re going to tell us these things or we’re going to cut pieces off you one at a time and send them to Conrad. Got it?”
I couldn’t speak, and my thoughts faded from the pressure of his hand and the threat of his words. Darkness fell in a shroud, and my eyelids drooped.
“Bert!” A man’s voice called from far away, as if he were on the other end of a tin can string.
“Nate?” Hot breath in my face. “What, man?”
“Molly’s calling for you. Said she tried your cell but it went straight to voicemail.”
“Fuck.” The hand at my throat disappeared.
I sucked in a gulp of air and opened my eyes.
Berty stood in front of me and dug a phone from his pocket. “No service in this fucking dump.” He glared at the concrete floor and cinderblock walls.
“She says it’s urgent,” the voice continued. “Something about the baby.”
“Fuck.” He backed away toward the steps and pointed at Gary. “Keep her company, but don’t touch. I’m getting first go.” Berty took the stairs, his shiny shoes disappearing one foot at a time until a door slammed.
My lungs burned as I sucked down air and fought to clear away the shadows that swirled through my vision. I tried to wrench my hands free, but they didn’t budge. Fear and despair bubbled inside me like a rotten cocktail.
Gary hulked into the light. “Me and you.” He licked his lips and cracked his knuckles. “Soon, bitch.”
4
Conrad
I tossed my keys to Sam. “Big mess back there, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
Sam scratched his greasy hair and eyed the car as Slim, a three-hundred-pound meathead, fired up a welder behind him. “Who was it?”
“Benny.” I surveyed the rows of cars, the stacks of parts, and the pair of grimy mechanics.
Sam spat on the oil-darkened concrete floor. “Shit. I went to his sister’s wedding two months ago.”
“Mazel tov.” I turned to the sets of keys along the wall of the chop shop as Slim went to work with the welder. “My Audi ready?”
“Yeah, the key’s on the hook.”
“Everything where it needs to be?”
“Locked and loaded in the trunk, as usual.” He was referring to the small armory I kept in my car.
Sam and I had a long history. He’d been chopping cars, cleaning messes, and amassing an armory of top-notch weapons for twice as many years as I’d been a paid killer. He was solid, though perennially wary. I didn’t blame him.
He sat on the BMW’s hood. “Should I be expecting any more deliveries from you?”
I snagged the familiar key. “Not tonight.”
“I guess that’s a relief.” He shook his head. “Benny was loyal to old Serge, never stepped out of line. If Vince ordered him popped, then…” He wrung his hands. “Makes you wonder what’ll happen to the rest of us.”
I shot a glance at him over my shoulder. “You keep turning out cars for the man in charge—whoever that is—and they’ll leave you alone.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s right.” He scratched his chin, his fingers turning his scraggly white beard a shade of gray. “All the same, I keep waiting for the day you walk through that door with a bullet that’s got my name on it.”
“Sam, if you were on my list, you’d never see me coming.”
He nodded, resignation in the slouch of his shoulders. “I believe it.”
“Until next time.” I left the musty shop, the grimy door opening into the cold night air. Instead of feeling rejuvenated, my need for sleep closed in around me. Days of civil war and bloodshed—though good for business—had taken its toll.
My cell beeped with an incoming message. I walked across the small lot next to the nondescript warehouse as the snow fell. The temperature had dropped enough for it to stick to everything, even though no amount of snow could cover up the dirt that coated me, the chop shop, or the city.
I slid into the driver’s seat and hit the push-button ignition. The car purred to life as I dug my phone from my pocket. Maybe I’d lied to Sam. Maybe there was more killing to do before the sun came up. I sighed and tapped on the message.
Berty got your girl. Lerner Street safe house. Basement. Hurry.
I gripped the phone so hard the screen cracked. “Your girl” could only mean one person. Charlie. That rat bastard Berty had taken her. I’d killed his father two days ago, painted the floor of a local bakery with the old man’s blood. Berty hadn’t been put on my list, even though it was customary to take down the boss’s top commanders. I didn’t ask why. It wasn’t my job to question Vince, just take orders. But this time, did I need an order to wipe that little shit Berty off the face of the earth? He’d taken Charlie. My grip tightened on the steering wheel. He’d touched what was mine.
I shook myself. Killing without coin wasn’t something I did, though the rage that burned inside me might say different the moment I got Berty in my sights. But first, I had to get to Charlie. She didn’t deserve this, and I cursed myself for ever thinking I could
watch her unnoticed.
After taking a deep, steadying breath, I put the car in drive and eased into the street. Each red light, I stopped. Each turn, I used a signal. Out this late, it would take only one wrong move to get a cop on my ass. For this trip, I didn’t need any company. All I needed was the small arsenal in the trunk.
My hands strangled the steering wheel as I moved closer to the safe house. To her. She was there because of me. Because I hadn’t been careful enough. Of course they noticed. Hell, they sent Geno right to me. They had to have guessed why I frequented that one spot. Fuck.
Each second that ticked away was like an ice pick chiseling into my skull. I knew what Berty could do. Hell, he’d learned some of his nastiest tricks from me.
The instinct to push the pedal to the fucking floor tried to overwhelm reason, but I couldn’t let it. Too much was on the line. Charlie. I batted away a thought of her bloodied body broken by cruel hands and even crueler intent.
After an eternity of side streets, I cruised down Lerner. The safe house was dark save for one light in the front room. Shadows passed in front of the window. I continued down the block, then turned into the alley and parked a few houses down next to a decrepit garage.
I tapped out a quick reply text.
Get out now or find an upstairs closet and pray.
Nate knew what to do when it got hairy. We’d been tight since our days running the streets with nothing more than the clothes on our backs and bad attitudes. I opened the trunk and pulled out a fully automatic Glock 18 with a custom magazine, courtesy of Sam. It had a one-hundred-and-fifty round capacity. More than I needed, but in this situation, too much was better than not enough. I reloaded my 9 mm, chambered a round, and tucked it back inside my coat. I chose a flash bang to get the party started.
My phone beeped, and a fat snow flake landed on the screen right as I pulled it out.
Fuck you, man. I’ve been looking to double tap Peter for two years now. I’m stayin and playin.
Nate, you crazy motherfucker. I quietly closed the trunk and crept along the shadowy alley, keeping close to the garbage cans and broken down cars that lined the block. The night was quiet, the back of the house dark as I approached. The home was a two-story shotgun, probably the nicest on the block back in the 50s. Now it was a cancerous skeleton, decaying slowly and wishing for a fire to put it out of its misery.
The Glock hung heavy in my hand as I eased up the rickety back stairs. The weathered wood creaked on the second step. I halted and listened. Nothing. Continuing up the stairs, I pulled open the screen door a few centimeters at a time to dull the squeaking hinges. The back door’s cracked panes of glass looked into the kitchen. It was empty. Dishes were piled in the sink and the dirty table was littered with cigarette butts.
My breath puffed around my face as I leaned away from the door and brought my foot up. Aiming at the peeling wood next to the door handle, I kicked. The door splintered and swung open. Yells erupted inside. I pulled the pin on the flash bang and tossed it down the long hall that ran through the center of the house. I pressed my back against the wall next to the door and waited. More yells. The flash bang detonated.
Charging inside, I fired two shots into a man running down the hall, then stormed after him as he fell. One more shot to the head ended him as two guys darted into the living room at the front of the house. Another hustled down the stairs. I took his legs out at the knee with my 9 mm. He crashed to the landing and moaned like a cheap whore.
I darted into the dining room and ducked as the bozos in the living room peppered the wall between us with round after round. Plaster shattered and burst, raining down on me as I crouched low to the floor. The guy from the stairs changed from moaning to wailing.
The door across the hall opened, and someone let loose with a small bore semi. I dropped to my back and returned the shots, letting the Glock run wild in my palm and spend as many rounds as I needed to drop the asshole.
He fell in a bloody heap as the bullets ripped him apart. I sat up and recognized the bald head. Gary. Big dumb fucker had it coming. I couldn’t see much beyond him, but I was willing to bet he’d come from the basement.
The shots from the living room became more sporadic. No time to waste. I jumped to my feet and dashed down the hall, stopping short of the opening to the living room. I ducked as more shots hit the wall behind me. The guy at the bottom of the steps flopped around like a fish out of water, trying to get to his knees and failing. One shot from my Glock and he stilled for good.
The gunfire died off from the front room. One of them was empty. I poked the Glock around the doorframe and let loose, spraying the area. A scream pierced the air, and then two thumps sounded as the shooters’ bodies hit the floor.
Another shot rang out from behind me. My shoulder burned as I turned to find Peter running down the stairs, shooting wildly. I fired the 9 mm at him, but a boom shook the house, and he flew forward and landed on his compatriot at the bottom of the stairs. I whipped my gun back up. Nate walked down the stairs and pumped his shotgun to chamber another shell. He’d just blown the holy hell out of Peter, as promised.
“About fucking time, man.” He grinned and hopped over the bodies to peek into the living room.
“We clear?” I stood and raised both guns toward the basement door.
“Yeah. They look like hamburger. Jesus, I’ve never actually seen you use the Glock.” He walked up beside me. “And you let Peter get you in the back. Pussy.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I rolled my shoulder, testing the pain. “I still haven’t seen that prick Berty. Let’s finish this, get the girl, and jet before the cops get here.”
“You got it.” He followed me to the basement door. We each took a side and peered down into the gloom. Most of the space was pitch black, no sound down there at all. Anyone entering through the door would give Berty a perfect shot, and he’d pick us off one by one.
“Got any more of those flash bangs?” Nate waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Nope. I wouldn’t risk her, anyway.” Fuck. Unless there was some other way into the basement, we would have to wait them out. Not a good idea, especially given that someone may have called the cops after that shootout. You never could tell. This neighborhood was such a shit hole that the explosions and shooting may not have warranted anything more than peeking to make sure your gun was on the night stand before rolling over and going back to sleep. All the same, if cops were on the way, the clock was ticking.
Wait. Patience had kept me alive for thirty-three years. I would wait for my moment. A muscle ticked in my jaw at the thought of leaving Charlie with Berty for any longer than necessary. I tried to ignore the fact that I hadn’t heard a single sound from the basement—no cries or screams. Nothing to tell me she was still breathing. I refused to believe she was gone. She was alive. She was there. I wasn’t too late. I couldn’t be. Not this time.
Nate pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped the blade open, then used the tip to scratch under his chin. “Since when did you get a chick? I distinctly remember you being gay.”
I bored into him with a look that I hoped said “shut the fuck up.”
“No, man, seriously. I was certain you liked the dick. I’m not kidding. I haven’t seen you with a woman in over a year. Haven’t seen you so much as sniff at a pussy since—when was the last time? I can’t even remember. Like your gay switch flipped last year—maybe after you saw me naked or something. I mean, that would make sense. A body like this, any man would go gay for it. No doubt.” He nodded, agreeing with himself, before continuing his string of nonsense. “I really thought you were on a strictly dickly diet since you never seem to—”
“Hey, assholes!” Berty’s nasal voice cut through Nate’s bullshit. “If you want this cunt alive, you’ll walk out of here. Got it?”
“How do we know she’s alive?” I called.
“Fucking Conrad Mercer.” His voice dripped venom. “This bitch down here told me she hasn’t been fucking you. B
ut here you are, ready to get your dick wet once you get this little piece back. Lying whores, all of them.”
“Is she alive or not?” I gripped the 9 mm until my knuckles went numb. If she was dead, I didn’t care how great of a shot he had at me. I would rush through that door and mow down anyone left alive.
“At least we know she wasn’t raped.” Nate raised his voice and squinted at the darkness beyond the basement stairs. “You can’t get that limp noodle to do anything except dribble piss.”
“I thought that was you, Nate.” Berty spat, the sound magnified by the quiet. “You fucking traitor. I’m going to skin you before I put a bullet in your brain.”
“Yeah, real scary, man.” Nate chuckled. “I’ll take my chances with a guy named after a Sesame Street character any day of the week.”
“Motherfucker!” Berty’s rage blazed up like a match in the dark. So different from his old man. Serge’s blood always ran a few degrees north of freezing. He never raised his voice, never did anything flashy, but he’d kill you as soon as look at you.
“You cocksuckers want to know if she’s alive?” A scuffling sound. “Here you go.”
A scream, high and terrified, ripped through the air, freezing the breath in my lungs and spurring me into action.
“Keep him talking,” I mouthed at Nate.
He smirked. “Easy.”
I eased down the hallway, stepping lightly and counting on Nate’s boisterous voice to muffle the sound.
“So, big guy—I say that ironically of course since you’re shorter than my ma—what’s your plan to get out of this here pickle? Cops will be here real soon, and I’m certain they’d love to talk to you about all kinds of shit, not the least of which is how much your mom loves anal. Got any ideas you want to share—”
Nate’s voice faded as I crept down the back steps and edged around the house. The basement was completely below ground save for two windows along the back. One was already broken out, and I could hear Berty screaming profanities at Nate. Then his voice lowered. “You and I can walk away from this, Nate. Call off Conrad. I’ll let her go. Just walk away.”
