by Adam Knight
So many questions.
Was this a trophy wall? Was the abductor using this house as a staging ground, planning his next move? Why all these women? Why keep their pictures. What the hell were they doing in Keimac’s house? What was that noise? Was he the abductor? Was his gang involved?
I took the stairs up two at a time back into the demolished kitchen. Mind whirling. Heartbeat accelerated. Flesh beginning to tingle.
Wait, what? A noise?
I rounded the corner heedlessly into the remains of the living room and came to a sudden stop.
Five aboriginal men dressed in dark colors, all of them wearing flashes or headbands identifying them as members of the Native Posse. Tattoos were prevalent on necks and exposed skin where available.
Two of them had pistols trained on me. The remains of the scars on my chest suddenly ached in memory. My heart pounded even harder, I could feel it against the back of my ribcage.
Cathy was there, two more gang members holding her arms tight. One of them with his grimy hand gripped firmly over her mouth. The other with a vicious grip on the hair at the back of her head. Her eyes were wild, terrified.
I could only imagine what the expression on my face looked like seeing her like that. My knuckles cracked audibly as my fists clenched.
“Stand still, motherfucker!” a fifth guy shouted. I knew him. He was at Cowboy Shotz that night. A little bit older, more tattoos climbing up his neck. A leader? Front man? He had a pistol in his hands as well, raising it up in line with my head. “You stand the fuck still, you hear me?
My eyes bored into his. Dude wasn’t impressed. I shuffled my feet slightly, trying to get a better posture for attack.
The speaker thumbed back the safety on his pistol and swung it around, leveling it inches from Cathy’s face. Her muffled cry of fear was like a kick to the balls. As was watching her thrash and try to kick her way free, only to be gripped tighter by her captors.
The speaker never took his eyes off mine. He raised his eyebrows in question.
Shit.
I stayed still.
Footsteps from down the hallway preceded a sixth man coming into view, a fierce scowl on his young features. A dream catcher tattoo high on his right cheekbone. His dark eyes widening as he recognized my face.
The face of the man he shot.
Chapter 31
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Keimac Cleghorn bellowed at me, his voice cracking as he lurched forwards. Murder in his eyes, his fingers reaching for my head as he moved.
He was stopped short by the speaker’s hand smacking into his skinny chest, knocking him back a pace.
Keimac looked at the speaker, his face shocked.
“What the fuck you think you’re doing?”
“Shut up.”
Keimac waved his hands crazily, pointing first at me and then at Cathy. “This motherfucker and his bitch are snooping around my house and you’re gonna tell me …”
The crack of flesh on flesh is always surprisingly loud when you aren’t expecting it.
Keimac cried out in pain and staggered back against the wall, holding his left cheek with both hands. The speaker stood there and stared him down, barely looking like he’d moved.
I blinked. Impressed.
‘Next time I tell you to shut up; you will shut the fuck up.” His eyes were cold. Not furious. Not anxious. Not excited from the sudden movement or the crazy situation he found himself in. Just cold. “You hear me, Keimac?”
Keimac just nodded, hiding his face away.
The voice got even colder somehow. “Do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Keimac muttered, still hiding his face. “I hear you, Shawn. I hear you.”
Silence reigned for a few breathless moments. At least I assumed it was silence because no one said anything. My heart was hammering so hard by this point that the heavy thumping sounded like a bass drum in my head. I tried my ass off to keep my poker face up as confidently as possible, not wanting to give anyone a concern about the big man with two guns trained on him. Trying to give Cathy as much reassurance as possible from my posture. I met her eyes calmly. Her wide and frightened eyes. I wanted to give her a nod of reassurance. A wink. Something cool and collected.
I didn’t dare. It was taking all of my effort to remain still as I was commanded. As it was I could feel every fibre of my body quivering, wanting to respond to the surge of adrenaline being supplied by the intensity and terror of the situation. The balls of my feet twitched irritably. My fingers clenched white knuckled tight into fists. My jaw ached from the effort of keeping it clamped tight, not wanting to give away my anxiety with chattering teeth.
The tingling at my neck never abated. Just stayed there, like a beacon out of site. Chilly impulses were shooting down my limbs which didn’t help with the twitchy feeling.
Breathe. Just keep breathing. Stay calm.
The two members of the Native Posse training guns on me were slight men, youngish but weathered. This wasn’t their first time in a rough situation. Odds are they’d been dealing with some measure of violent activity since they were barely out of elementary school, assuming of course they went to school at all. The one on the left was focused on me, my every move and eye twitch. Wasn’t going to bluff him out. The one on the right a little more concerned, he kept glancing over to Keimac and Shawn. Clearly engaged in the power play going on there.
Both kids holding Cathy were just that. Kids. Somewhere in their middle teens, young guys earning their stripes with the Posse I figured. Doing the scut work and taking orders. Holding a hundred and thirty pound Jewish reporter tight might’ve been the highest profile assignment they’d ever been given. Had to be better than being a drug mule.
The speaker – Shawn, apparently – turned his focus away from the now cowering Keimac and brought it back to me. Seeing my compliance at his request to not move he lowered the pistol, pointing the barrel away from Cathy’s head and down to the floor. The whimper of relief was audible, though in honesty I’m not sure whether she or I made it.
Shawn eyeballed me coolly. He was in control and he liked it; that much was clear. I’d met many power tripping fools in my time working in clubs, guys who got off on being able to tell others what they could or couldn’t do. It’s scary watching people like that, seeing them analyze you in terms of numbers. Or items. Or whatever it was they did to compartmentalize you into being something less than a living, breathing person.
I returned his gaze just as coolly, even though my insides were screaming at me to run. Fight. Something.
He was older than the others, roughly of an age with me. Early to mid-thirties I pegged him at. Wearing the colors of his crew but not feeling the need to advertise his thug life with a ton of bling or crazy clothes. Plain jeans, sneakers. A black hooded sweater. Tattoos running up his neck. His hairline was receded up to the top of his head and he’d wisely chosen to get the rest buzzed right down. He had the look of a man who’d done time and come out of it stronger, literally as well as figuratively. No stranger to physical activity. No nonsense with this guy.
The gun hand rose, angling slightly towards me. Like a professor making a point in class with his baton.
“You,” he said quietly. That voice still deathly cold, his face expressionless. “You should not be here.”
I said nothing. Sure, witty retorts piled up in the psychotic portion of my skull wanting to be spat out sarcastically. But I ain’t a damned hero and Shawn wasn’t joking.
He used the silence as a weapon, staring me down. It hurt worse than if he’d tried hitting me. Made me question my motives for being here. My conviction that this was something I needed to do.
I was terrified.
Silence.
He motioned toward me again with the gun, his expression blank. “You got nothing to say?”
My belly quivered. I did not want to get shot again. I did not want anything worse to happen to Cathy.
But I remained silent.
&nb
sp; This dragged on for another half minute or so.
Shawn’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze focusing on my face. “I know you,” he muttered, peering even harder. Thugs don’t get their eyes checked much, I figured. He motioned again with the gun, my guts twitching nervously every time he did. “Yeah, I know you. You’re the bouncer. The one Keimac popped.”
Somehow I managed to deliver my small smile in response, my jaw still creaking with strain.
Shawn responded with a small, thin lipped smile of his own. He motioned around to his crew. “Look at this, boys,” he said mirthlessly. “Bouncer boy is back from the dead. Thinks he can come into our ‘hood, throw some muscle and get back his cred. Even brought his girl along to witness.”
The two boys holding Cathy chuckled amiably, eager to please. The two training guns on me stayed silent, though the one on the right was starting to look nervous. His eyes flickering between myself, Shawn and Keimac.
“Ain’t that right?” Shawn took a step closer to me, just out of reach. His gun hand still doing all the gesturing in time with his words. “I say, ain’t that right? Big man looking for payback, eh?”
No response. My jaws ached like mad. The shooting sensations from the back of my neck raced in time with the blood hammering through my veins.
Shawn was tired of silence. He raised the pistol decisively until it pointed dead centre of my forehead again. “I said ain’t that right, big man?”
“Not quite,” I muttered, somehow managing to keep my voice level.
Shawn smirked. “Well I say it is.”
“Then you’re wrong.”
Cathy gasped at the firm and decisive tone I took. The nervous gunman twitched slightly, his gun arm wavering. No doubt his arm was getting sore from holding the piece out for so long.
Shawn’s smirk grew. Instantly I hated him. The prime example of what happens to bullies who go through life unchecked and without repercussions end up being guys like this. Not necessarily criminals, but always arrogant egomaniacs who think they’re untouchable and completely right in all of their actions.
I maintained my small smile, but now my fear was slowly turning into rage. A white hot ember of rage that awoke the Neanderthal in my belly, sending him running for firewood with a howl.
Shawn waved his pistol in a small circle, tracing the outline of my head presumably. “I ain’t wrong.”
My body screamed at me to move. Lurch forward. Fly into motion and rush this motherfucker. It took everything I had to ignore those impulses. There’s a difference between speed on a track and being faster than a speeding bullet.
Would I have acted differently if Cathy wasn’t there?
If she hadn’t been there I wouldn’t have known to find this place.
My shoulders shrugged minutely in response. “Okay. You ain’t wrong.” I stared him down, dropping any semblance of a smile. “So shoot me. Be the tough guy.”
Yeah, I really said that. I can’t believe it either.
My heart was hammering. I had to get Cathy out of there.
“You think I won’t?” Shawn asked, smirking the whole time.
I stared him in the eye, giving him my fullest attention. “You woulda done it by now if you were gonna shoot.”
Shawn’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger, sending my heart rate to a place I didn’t know existed. But my cards were close to the vest and my poker face was firmly in place. Time to call the stack.
It was a tense moment.
When he finally lowered the pistol to his side and motioned for the other two to do the same I couldn’t restrain a quiet sigh of relief. Sweat coated my back and my clenched tight palms.
Shawn’s smirk was gone, pistol still in hand but now aimed down to the floor. “You have two minutes to tell me why we shouldn’t finish the job Keimac started at the club, whitey.”
“Let her go,” I said regaining more of my voice and motioning to Cathy with my head. Her captors tightened their grips even more if that was possible. “Let her go and then we’ll …”
“Fuck you,” Shawn replied, motioning towards the non-existent watch on his wrist. “Ninety seconds.”
My teeth ground in frustration again. The Neanderthal inside me raged, screaming at the sky in impotent fury.
“Fine,” I growled. “Let’s talk about missing women.”
Nervous gunman looked nervous again, his feet shuffling from side to side. Keimac peered up at me from his position at the wall, his eyes wild and redrimmed.
Shawn’s expression went cold.
“What do you know about that?”
“I know you’ve got pictures of missing women in the basement with names and everything.” Nervous guy kept shuffling, I tried to keep an eye on him without looking like I was keeping an eye on him. You know, acting casual. “I figure most of them worked the streets at first, maybe working with your Posse?”
“You don’t know shit.”
“I know about Candace.”
“Of course you know about her!” Keimac exploded, lurching up from where he’d been crouching on the floor. Even in the dim light, the handprint on his face was clear from where Shawn had slapped him down. His expression was outraged, tears in his eyes. The dream catcher tattoo distorted.
“”I told you to ...”
“I will not shut up! That fucking club turned my sister into a white man’s whore and killed her!”
Chapter 32
Okay, I hadn’t expected that.
“What?” I muttered incredulously.
“I’m gonna kill you all for what you …”
“Keimac!” Shawn thundered, his voice booming in the small room. Keimac pulled up short, cringing like a whipped dog. He turned away from Shawn’s glare, staring brokenly at the floor. His shoulders shuddering with silent sobs.
I stared down after him. My mind on fire.
“What’s he talking about?” I growled.
“Fuck you, I’m asking …”
“What’s he talking about?” I asked again, my voice rising. I can only imagine what my face looked like. The nervous gunman started to creep back away from me, closer to Cathy and her captors.
“How do you see this playing out?”
“What is he talking about?” I shouted, all sense of calm gone from my manner. My body was quivering now. The adrenaline. My heartbeat. The surging from the back of my neck. In the periphery of my vision I could see Cathy’s eyes widening again, silently begging me to settle down.
We were past that.
“That’s it, whitey. I’ve had enough of your face.” Shawn changed his stance, stepping forward with one leg, raising the gun again. “See you ..”
I moved.
I didn’t plan on it.
I didn’t think about it.
In the middle of Shawn’s epithet I felt the surge of white hot energy from the back of my neck race down my limbs. My hand snapped out, catching Shawn’s rising gun arm by the wrist. He’d made the final step forward, bringing him just in range of my grip. And my body reacted faster than thought.
The arrogant and superior look in Shawn’s eyes evaporated in a flash as my palm smacked loudly onto his wrist. Pain flashed in his eyes at first, then his grimaced expression convulsed with pain as I squeezed. The pistol twisted up and away from my face and turned towards the ceiling.
