Vice City

by S. A. Stovall

  “Miles!” his brother shouts.

  More gunfire. I tense. Miles crouches down and helps me into cover behind a tipped-over table. I thank whatever god is watching that Miles decides to follow. The tattooed guy fires as fast as his finger can pull the trigger, ripping up furniture all over the room.

  “Stop! Stop! That’s my brother!”

  Miles’s brother lurches forward, fighting for his gun. The tattooed man, just as spindly and gaunt as his attacker, punches the kid in the jaw, ripping the gun away at full force. “I don’t care who he is! They all die!”

  Miles’s brother doesn’t give in—he jumps for the gun again, fighting the man with gusto. The door opens a second time and, to my dismay, Guinevere walks in. I try to call out, but I’m still in a mild state of shock. I watch, unable to act, as she crosses the room straight to the two fighting men. She opens her duffel bag and withdraws a Taser, then shoots it, nonchalant, right into Mr. Tattoo’s chest.

  Electricity pumps through his system—he spasms and twitches—before falling, face-first, onto the floor. Guinevere faces Miles’s brother. He holds up his hands, surrendering, and she smiles, the Taser still smoking from the discharge. She turns to me and returns her gun to the duffel bag.

  “Pierce, why is it you never use these? They’re wonderful.”

  I wipe blood from my face and roll my eyes. If I had hit the guy with my car, there wouldn’t have been a need for melee combat in the first place. Besides, guns are better in every situation. Why would I carry nonlethal weapons when the Cobras aren’t going to show me the same courtesy?

  “Where did you even get that?” I ask, glaring at her duffel bag.

  “I went shopping while the two of you were preoccupied. I figured we would need a few items for our mission. Seems I was right.”

  Guinevere withdraws a roll of duct tape and throws it to Miles. He takes it and ties up the tattooed man.

  “Miles, what’re you doing here?”

  I turn to Miles’s brother and take in the kid. He’s Miles’s doppelgänger—they’re almost identical—the same honey shade of skin, the same black hair and mixed race features. Miles’s brother is shorter, though, and he wears facial hair like he glued black sprinkles to his face, but their blood relation is undeniable.

  “What’re you doing here, Jayden?” Miles demands. “I thought you said you had a way out! You said it would only be a few days!”

  “I was! I swear!”

  Jayden runs both his sweaty palms over his black jeans. His sleeveless shirt exposes his shoulders, along with the fresh tattoo inked into his shoulder in the shape of a cobra. I shake my head in disgust. Kid doesn’t understand what joining a gang entails. I let the brothers argue for a moment, turning my attention to Guinevere.

  “I told you to wait for me,” I say under my breath. “Your father would kill me if he knew you were here.”

  “Well, I would have stayed, but Miles was anxious to help you. I don’t think I could have stopped him even if I wanted to.”

  Taken aback, I say nothing. I would’ve bet money that Guinevere instigated their assault. It didn’t even cross my mind that Miles would be that concerned with my safety. Then again, perhaps he was just concerned for his brother….

  “You’re always doing this!” Miles shouts. “Why can’t you just listen to me for once?”

  Jayden tucks his hands into his armpits and glares. “Listen? Listen? Listen to what? You were gone, Miles! What else am I gonna do?”

  “Gentlemen,” Guinevere says, her voice commanding enough to silence the argument. “Enough. If you’re going to listen to anyone, listen to me. Miles, you help Pierce. I’m going to go get the car. We’re going to load up our tattooed friend and then leave this place as quickly as possible. Who knows who heard all these gunshots? We shouldn’t take any risks.”

  I glance over at Santiago. He’s not dead. He glares at me, conserving his strength through shallow breaths and not moving much. I leave him be, if only out of respect for his skill. The man sure does have some endurance. I hope he lives, though there’s a piece of me that wonders if he’ll ever come calling for revenge.

  Miles offers his shoulder and I lean onto it. He smells good, but the pain sets in the moment my adrenaline drops. Jayden goes to open his mouth, but I silence him with a glower.

  “You keep your trap shut, got it? Not another word until we’re out of here.”

  Miles nods. Jayden shuts his mouth.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BACK TO good ol’ warehouse thirty-six. The location on the docks has it all: isolation; easily cleaned concrete floors; security that won’t report the screaming. It’s where I like to do most of my interrogations, though outside of this weekend, I hadn’t been doing that many. I’m sure the place is familiar to Miles, since he was just here, and he glances around with a nervous look in his eye. Guinevere has seen me work here a few times—she left the car as a kid and spied on me manhandling a few guys, despite my express orders—but she never got involved.

  I finish duct taping Tattoo Guy to a chair.

  “What’s your name?” I ask him.

  “Malloy,” he replies, squinting up at me.

  Up close the man is hideous. His tattoos, which he has more than one of, seem to cover pox marks and scars—even the naked woman along his neck and the side of his head covers acne marks. His oily hair, elongated neck, and mismatched denim and leather clothing do nothing to help the matter either. I step away, attempting to gather my thoughts.

  I need to know why he went after Mikey and, more importantly, how he knew where Mikey was staying. Mikey was a secretive guy who didn’t frequent many brothels. He also never went to the same one twice.

  “You guys aren’t going to do anything to me,” Malloy says. “I’m important, ya know. I’m Harlan’s cousin!”

  “Who’s Harlan?” Miles asks.

  “The King Cobra,” I say. “The guy in charge of their whole damn Cobras gang.”

  “Ah. I didn’t know.”

  I force myself to walk to Miles’s side without limping or making a show of it. My body hurts from the fight—especially my back—but I can’t quit until the evening is over. And it’s gonna be a long evening.

  Miles looks me over, his discerning eyes lingering on my stance. If he knows I’m in pain, he doesn’t mention it, which I’m grateful for. Unless he has any of those painkillers left, there’s nothing he can do for me.

  Guinevere tilts her head to the side. “You don’t look like Harlan’s cousin,” she says. “You’re a little on the pale side.”

  Malloy spits on her high heel. “Shut up, bitch. I wasn’t talkin’ to you.”

  She frowns at her shoe and narrows her eyes. “My, my. You don’t have much in the way of manners, do you?”

  “You’re gonna be sorry you were involved in this, whore. When the other guys hear what you did—when Santiago gets back to them—they’re gonna track your asses down and make you all pay! I wouldn’t be surprised if every cock in the Cobras gets into your prissy little pussy before they finish you! That’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t let me go!”

  He’s a talkative son of a bitch.

  Malloy turns his head to Jayden, and he spits again, this time missing. “And you! You sorry traitor! I knew taking you in was a mistake! They’re gonna carve up your legs and feed you to their dogs, ya know that? It’s your fault this all happened, ya chink weasel!”

  Jayden slinks back into the shadows of the warehouse, shaken. “I-I never said I was with them,” he mutters. “It’s just my brother. It’s my brother who’s—”

  “Try tellin’ that to the others, ya little piece of shit! They ain’t gonna listen! You’re as a good as dead!”

  Malloy takes a few deep breaths and quiets himself. All his raging got him winded—he’s a small man, despite wearing three layers of everything in order to appear bulky.

  Guinevere turns to me and smiles. “Can I interrogate him, Pierce? I would love to give it a try.”
<
br />   I’m not in the mood to do this bullshit. I nod. “Knock yourself out.”

  She smiles and Malloy offers up a breathless laugh.

  “Her?” he balks. “She doesn’t have the stomach for it.”

  Guinevere drops her duffel bag on a nearby chair and unzips the main pocket. “So, Malloy. You look like a clever boy. Answer me this: What’s brown and bad for your teeth?”

  He sits for a second, bemused. “Uh, sugar?”

  “A baseball bat.”

  She pulls a bat from the contents of her bag and twirls it around in her hand. The color drains from Malloy’s face, and Miles lifts both eyebrows in surprise. I chortle to myself—she loves to be dramatic.

  “Would you mind securing his head, Pierce?” Guinevere asks me, her tone sickeningly sweet. “I don’t want him moving around too much.”

  I walk over and wrap duct tape over his forehead, pulling his head down and securing it to the back of his chair. He quivers and jerks about, but I’m stronger. After repeating that process a few times, I tug on his restraints. The jackass isn’t going anywhere, that’s for sure.

  He watches me with bulging eyes as I take a step back. “I hope you have dental insurance,” I quip.

  Guinevere saunters to the chair, her heels the only sound for miles around, and takes a few practice swings, the thick of the bat aimed for his mouth. “I’ve never done this before,” she drawls. “So I might have to swing a few times…. That’s not going to be a problem, right, Pierce? This is just like hitting a piñata? I just keep going until candy hits the floor?”

  “W-wait,” Malloy chokes out, sweat soaking through his denim. “Don’t let her d-do that! Let’s make a d-deal!”

  “Don’t let me do that?” Guinevere repeats. “You know I’m in charge, right? That technically Pierce and the others work for me?”

  “O-okay. Fine. Let’s you and me make a deal…. I’m ready to talk.”

  The guy can’t move his head, so he scrunches his eyes closed and waits with his lips tight over his teeth.

  “Very well,” she says. “Why kill my Uncle Mikey?”

  “You’re gonna let me go after this, right? You’re gonna let me go?”

  “Of course we’ll let you go. Now, why kill my Uncle Mikey?”

  “H-he was on our turf!”

  “How did you know he was going to be there?” I interject.

  Malloy swallows hard. “I was told! I had an informant! Some g-guy on the inside of the Vice workings! He called up! Paid us to do it!”

  “Who?”

  “I d-don’t know! That’s the honest truth! I don’t know!”

  I sigh and recall that Nick’s bodyguards at the Crystal Floor Nightclub turned on him the moment the shooting started up—insiders ready to pounce. Maybe there’s some legitimacy to what Malloy is saying…. Maybe we really are being undone by someone on the inside.

  “Who does this mystery man contact when he gives you all this information?” Guinevere asks.

  “He, uh, talks to Diver! He works directly under Harlan! He gets all the calls!”

  Malloy’s yelling grates on my nerves. He’s loud and likes to talk. A terrible combination. I rub at my temples and light up a cigarette. Hopefully the nicotine can ease the pain.

  “Did you get all that, Pierce?” Guinevere asks me. I give her a curt nod. “Do you have anything else you need to ask?”

  I shake my head. “I got everything I need now.”

  “Good. Then I trust you can let him go without me?”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  Rotating my shoulders, I grab a moving dolly from the side of the warehouse and wheel it over to Malloy’s chair. Miles jogs over to me, glancing between the chair and the dolly.

  “Do you… need help?” he asks, confused.

  I shake my head. “Take your brother back to the car. We’re heading to the airport after this.”

  Miles stares at me for a long moment. I exhale a line of smoke and lift an eyebrow.

  “You don’t wanna be around for this,” I say, my voice low. “Watch the others till I get back.”

  “All right.”

  He turns and walks off, glancing over his shoulder once before grabbing his brother and leading him away. I use the dolly to scoop up Malloy and move him with ease. The gangbanger grunts and shakes.

  “What’re you doin’?” he shouts. “Let me go!”

  I wheel him out the back of the warehouse. The night greets us with a chill wind. I pull my jacket tight and keep my sights forward, ignoring Malloy’s incessant complaints as I take him to the end of the nearest pier. His disapproval turns to outright panic as I set him on the edge, his back facing the water. I ignore his screams and outcries as I grab a cinderblock from a convenient pile and duct tape it to the solid wood of his chair.

  “W-what is this?” Malloy barks, struggling against his restraints. “What’re you doing?”

  “I thought it obvious.”

  “You said you’d let me go!”

  “That’s what I’m going to do.”

  I stand in front of him and tip his chair back. As he’s about to careen into the frigid water below, I grab the collar of his shirt, keeping him suspended midfall. Only the back two pegs of his chair are on the pier—the instant I let go he’ll tumble off.

  I wait for a second, and the wide-eyed panic of Malloy drains enough for him to speak. “W-what is this, man? What is this? Killing Mikey was just business, man! Business! He was on our turf! That’s the rules!”

  “None of Noimore is your turf.”

  “It is! We took it! That’s what happened! We outplayed the Vice family! They had a stranglehold on business, but now we have business! This isn’t fair, man! I was just following orders! Don’t let go! Don’t do me like this! I answered your questions!”

  The fear in his ragged gasps causes my skin to crawl. He’s about ready to piss his pants. Empathy gets the better of me. Maybe I don’t have to do this—but does a guy like Malloy deserve a second chance?

  “You let Mikey suffer when you killed him,” I say, my voice calm, betraying none of my discomfort. “It wasn’t a quick death.”

  “Mikey was a scumbag!” Malloy barks. “Who cares if he suffered? He probably had it comin’! He’s probably burnin’ in hell right now! What’re you gonna do? Go after the devil too? If you kill me like this—after I had reasons to kill Mikey—you’re gonna start a full-on gang war! Not just a turf war! We’ll be hunting you down! You’ll have drive-by shootings! I’m Harlan’s cousin! There’ll be consequences!”

  At this point I think he’s just throwing out words and hoping they stick. I loosen my grip on his collar. He gasps and stiffens, blubbering things through tearful sobs.

  “W-wait!” he grunts. “Please don’t! Not like this! Please!”

  “What about the girl?” I ask.

  “G-girl? What girl? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “The girl you shot. The one in the room with Mikey.”

  “Girl? That wasn’t a girl! It was some cunt hooker! Who gives a shit about her! I can’t even remember her! It’s not like she was that good-lookin’!”

  “She wasn’t a part of this. She didn’t deserve a bullet through the head.”

  “Are you serious?” Malloy chokes out with a forced hoarse laugh. If he could, he’d shake his head, but he just continues to sweat profusely. “You’re upset over some whore? She wasn’t even important! She’s a nobody! Gutter trash! I can get you prettier ones if that’s what you want! You can’t seriously be thinkin’ about lettin’ me fall over scum like that brothel skank!”

  Not even a hint of remorse. He doesn’t care. All he wants is to save his own disgusting hide. He’ll never change.

  I let go.

  He splashes into the water, his cries gurgled and muffled by the waves. He’ll drown like the snake he is.

  I step away from the edge, a lump in my throat. His cries are going to haunt me—they always do—and with an unsteady hand I pull the ciga
rette from my mouth and flick it into the water. I let out a powerful exhale to clear my thoughts. It’s going to be a long, long night.

  Hard liquor sounds amazing right now.

  I walk back through the warehouse and out to Guinevere’s vehicle. She’s in the passenger seat, with Miles and Jayden in the back. I make my way over to the driver’s side door and let myself in, not saying a word.

  “Where’s Malloy?” Jayden asks.

  “We let him go,” Guinevere replies.

  “But if he tells the other guys about what I did… they’ll all come for me and—”

  She smiles and motions for him to lower his voice. “Don’t worry, sweetie. He’s not going to tell anyone.”

  Jayden shakes his head. “B-but you don’t know Malloy like I do! He’ll break his promise. He’ll tell everyone in the Cobras, even if he said he wouldn’t.”

  “Trust me. He isn’t able to tell anyone.”

  Her definitive tone silences the car. If the kid doesn’t understand now, he won’t until it’s spelled out for him. I start the engine, and we circle out of the docks parking lot. Next stop—O’Hare International Airport.

  THE TWO-HOUR drive to the airport is done in silence. The two brothers in the back stare at each other, no doubt communicating nonverbally, but I don’t have the understanding or patience to try and keep up with it. I’m driving. My attention is on the road.

  I park the vehicle on the far end of the last parking lot. Guinevere grabs her duffel bag and steps out of the vehicle. I turn to Miles. “Wait here.”

  He nods.

  I exit, shut my door, and join Guinevere twenty feet from the reinforced car. She removes her baseball cap, allowing her long black hair to fly loose, then faces me with a smile.

  “Pierce, this was an exciting evening.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Thank you.”

  Those words rub me wrong. I instantly think of Miles.

  Then again, there’s a reason Guinevere never keeps any friends. Her father and mother would never allow it—never allow her to do anything or get close to anyone—for fear that she would be spirited away or deflowered. Anyone she got too close to would go missing. And risk or adventure? She had very little. No camping. No sports. If it weren’t for me breaking the rules and taking her on a few assignments, I doubt she’d have seen much outside her parents’ estate. Maybe she’s thanking me for the excitement.