“We’ve reached the conclusion that he was wearing gloves of some sort.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The lack of fingerprints of any kind on the bag, exterior and interior. Nothing on the bottle. Even the knife is absent any foreign residue,” the tech replied. “That or he doesn’t have any fingerprints.”
“Hope everyone has their big boy pants on,” Osteen said with a little gusto. “This ride’s about to get a little bumpy.”
Chapter 13
Not much had changed about the backroom of La Cantina Sucia since the last time Micah had been there. Other than the absence of half-naked women draped on Castillo, of course. The mood in the room was somber. Simply discussing the murder of another person can be rather unnerving to most people, for obvious reasons. While some can say it in jest, with no intention to follow through with the act, others cringe at the thought and see those who laugh in the face of life’s end as no better than Neanderthals. Other still tolerate the conversation but attempt to divert it in other directions as quickly as possible.
“This job is a little different from what you’ve pulled for me so far. It’s a little more… how do I put this? High profile. It’s going to be out there for a lot more people to chew on.”
Micah eyed him cautiously, attempting to extract meaning from the seemingly innocuous proposal. He took a sip of the brown ale, sweating at his fingertips, as Castillo took a drag of his cigar.
“You ever hear of Dirk Cagney?”
“That douchebag on Channel 8 News with the stupid haircut?”
“That’s the one,” Castillo said, a smile on his face as he pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. On it he had scribbled a specific combination of letters and numbers, pertinent to the task that lay ahead for his protégé. He passed it across the table. “That motherfucker tried to double-cross us recently. I want you to take care of the problem.”
“So, you want me to k…”
“Shh!” Castillo touched his index finger to his mouth. “I want you to take care of him, understand?”
Micah nodded, absentmindedly glancing down at the scrap of paper. He knew how to play the game. What he hadn’t realized until the moment he played dumb was that the Cantina was likely bugged. If not on the inside, Castillo clearly had cause for concern that someone nearby may be listening. Otherwise, his use of the word kill would have been immaterial.
“Go here and ask for Nicky. Tell him I sent you. He’ll set you up nicely,” Castillo said, breaking the silence. “I want the job done in two days, while Cagney is at his condo. He usually gets home from doing the news around midnight. I’ll let you decide how you want to do this. You got a car?”
“Working for free doesn’t exactly provide much play money,” Micah said. As he delved deeper into this world, he thought it a great idea to create distance between anything tied to himself and those that employed his services. Besides, he figured his current ride wasn’t the greatest at keeping him inconspicuous, and he was curious to see what his new employer might offer.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Castillo replied as he tried to keep a straight face. He grabbed a set of keys from his pocket and slid them across the table. “These are for a car I’ve got locked up in a garage down the street from Nicky’s. Take good care of her. I’ll give you a call if you can pull it off without fucking things up.”
“Let’s just hope it’s not past your bedtime when this makes the news.
-#-
Nicky Diaz owned a body shop a few blocks from La Cantina Sucia. It wasn’t in the best part of town, but it did well despite its poor location. As far as the government knew, the business’s profits resulted from high prices and the owner’s tenacity for nickel-and-diming each of his customers. In their eyes, Nicky was just another overweight mechanic who would do almost anything in the name of the almighty dollar and a perverted interpretation of the American dream. It also didn’t hurt that he was a relatively forgettable guy. He didn’t have scars, or any visible tattoos, and he wasn’t the type of person to make an impression on anyone in the looks department. Plenty of people knew him, but few knew much about him other than that he owned a coffee shop and liked arepas a bit too much. He preferred to keep it that way.
The shop was in a moderately sized building with a quaint storefront area that provided a comfortable space for people to wait on their cars and pay for services rendered. They only saw what the shop wanted them to see, and they had creature comforts to keep them occupied while the mechanics looked for even the tiniest issue with their cars. A larger space with bays for six vehicles lived on the other side of the wall, and an unassuming office made its home in the very back of the premises.
Micah entered the front of the shop and took a second to absorb the mundane decorations scattered about inside. A cheesy clock that resembled a brake caliper adorned the wall closest to him, and posters from various automotive part manufacturers beckoned him to choose their products for his vehicle’s every need. A dark-haired woman sat behind the reception desk in the room’s corner, eyeing him for any sign of willingness to part ways with the money in his pocket.
“How can I help you today, sir?” She asked in an oddly cheerful tone.
“I need to talk to Nicky.”
“And you are?”
“Just tell him that Jimmy sent me.”
The receptionist gave him a puzzled look but got up all the same and stepped out of the room. Moments later, she reappeared at the door leading to the shop and motioned for Micah to join her. “He’s right through the door at the very back.” She smiled nervously and returned to her seat.
Micah walked back through the shop, stealing glances at the various cars and trucks being worked on while also trying not to run into anything on his way to the office door. Once there, he knocked three times.
“Come in,” came the disinterested voice on the other side.
The first impression Nicky’s office typically invited wasn’t a good one. Wallpaper was peeling off in spots, his desk plastered with various papers, and the leather chair he sat in had a noticeable four-inch tear in the headrest. He had more important things to spend his hard-earned money on than a spruced up working environment.
“Have a seat,” Nicky said, motioning toward the empty chair in front of his desk. Micah sat rigid in the uncomfortable chair, immediately regretting his decision not to remain standing. “I hear Jimmy sent you to see me?”
“Yea, about the thing with Cagney.”
“Do you know what supplies you might need?” Nicky asked this with a quizzical tone as he formulated an opinion on the man who sat in his office. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t spectacular at hiding it. The uncertainty emanated from his being like ocean spray from a breaching whale.
“Just a forty and something to keep things quiet.”
Nicky’s face filled with doubtful surprise. Most people would try to do something like this from a distance greater than what would be capable with a silenced pistol. Typically opting for something with enough stopping power to take down a foe far greater than they were often after. Not only did the distance associated with a rifle provide the marksman the chance to walk away with little to no witnesses, but it was also markedly easier to escape the area once the deed was done. “Why not take care of things from a rooftop? It would get the job done quickly and cleanly.”
“It’ll be more fun this way,” Micah replied.
Nicky smiled and stood up from his seat. The man before him may be a sociopath, but he had balls. “I can’t argue with that. Give me a sec.” He strolled over to a room behind his office and emerged shortly after with a small briefcase in tow. “Take this. it’s got all you’re going to need. Security isn’t too bad at Cagney’s but you ain’t getting past the guard desk without clearance from Senor Cabron himself.”
“Security won’t be a problem,” Micah replied with a straight face.
-#-
Micah left Nic
ky’s shop and meandered down the street to a dilapidated structure that purportedly held the vehicle belonging to the keys jangling about inside his pocket. He leaned down and placed a brass key in the garage lock, twisted it, and raised the door. Inside the garage was a phantom blue 1968 Chevrolet Impala SS, with white racing stripes. It was in pristine condition. Micah raised an eyebrow as he walked over and sat inside. He expected a car with considerably less power and in much worse shape.
Perhaps I should be more open to giving people the benefit of the doubt.
He turned the key and listened as the engine roared to life. The bone rattling sound of the cammed engine pumping through the exhaust forced his brain to release a cavalcade of neurons whose sole goal was to make him smile like a child opening gifts on Christmas morning. Without hesitation, he placed the car into gear and sped off.
Chapter 14
The loud roars of Sheridan’s pistol escaped the deafening silence inside his house and produced a mixture of fear and suspicion amongst his neighbors. Most of them were content to look on in morbid curiosity from the safety of their front stoops, while a few of the neighborhood men decided it was their collective duty to see what had caused all the hubbub before things got out of hand. Sirens wailed in the distance and the do-gooders decided on second thought to let the lawmen do their jobs. Besides, there was no reason to get involved in something that didn’t affect them, was there?
Sheridan’s hand trembled and he let the gun fall harmlessly to the ground. The sight of his baby girl, robbed of her innocence, tore apart the organ conventional medicine would identify as his heart. In his mind, the weapon was now as useless as he had apparently been to her. A father’s most important responsibility is to protect his family, and he failed spectacularly in that respect. He promised himself when he held her for the first time that he would make sure she lived her life to the fullest. That she would graduate college, marry someone who loved her, and maybe even give him grandchildren that he would inevitably spoil as often as possible. But it proved too much for Sheridan. He fucked up and there was no turning back. Emma didn’t deserve this. All he ever wanted was to see her smile. That was impossible now.
A parent shouldn’t outlast their child. It goes against the natural order of things. Why did this have to happen? Just so he could get a piece of ass? Bullshit. This happened because he wasn’t worthy of being her father. She loved him, trusted him, and in the end, he failed her. It would never happen again. If it was the last thing he did, he would make the assholes responsible for this travesty pay for putting it in motion. It wouldn’t bring his little girl back to him, but it was all he could offer. He had to atone for his mistake.
He walked over to Emma. The short distance to her body felt like miles as his jelly filled legs constantly threatened to give out. He kneeled and took her small, lifeless body in his arms, and kissed her on the forehead.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said, fighting back tears. His voice was barely a whisper as the emotional turmoil threatened to overtake him. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
The sirens were getting louder. Any minute now the half-open door would slam against the wall and the men in blue would come to the rescue. His innocence in his daughter’s death would be obvious, but he killed the man in the room in cold blood and would almost certainly be on his way to the station to give his testimony. He couldn’t risk that. Every minute he spent there would be another minute of freedom that those at fault for Emma’s death didn’t deserve. Those minutes may even turn to years if the powers that be didn’t realize he only did what any father worth a damn would have done in the same position. He had to go. Had to disappear and figure out how to get to those who felt his life was expendable. He had to discover how best to make them feel the pain he felt in that moment. The pain he would always feel.
Sheridan took one last look at Emma, a pain filled smile across his face. He kissed her softly on the head and gently laid her body down. Tires squealed outside. Time’s up. He stood up and walked over to Emma’s room, careful to commit it all the memory. A moment later, he opened the window and climbed out. The sound of the officers’ voices carried into the backyard and he knew it was only a matter of time before they surrounded the house. He lowered himself as much as he could from the window ledge before dropping silently into a bush below. Certain he was alone; Sheridan ran to the fence that separated his house from his neighbors’. He jumped up, grabbed the top, and propelled his body over it. By the time the officers had devised their plan of attack, Sheridan was five houses away and moving fast.
Chapter 15
Micah had spent the past day and a half figuring out how best to infiltrate the large condominium that Cagney called home. Determined to find the quietest way into what, for all intents and purposes, had the appearances of a modern-day fortress, he was careful not to miss a beat. Countless souls walked in and out of the building, residents, and employees alike, going about their respective days with no knowledge of the pair of eyes watching over them. On a walk past the entrance, Brantley counted four cameras inside the foyer that welcomed residents’ home.
At the far edge of the room, he laid eyes on the security desk. He had observed enough of their movements to determine when their shifts changed, and he had a good idea about which guard presented him with the best chance of entering the premises unseen. It couldn’t be a young gun looking to prove to law enforcement agencies that he had what it took to work the streets. The man he was looking for was the guy who didn’t care about his job. The type who simply collected a paycheck and worked hard enough not to get fired. An apathetic guard only made his job easier.
He casually moved toward an alley next to Cagney’s condominium, taking in the sights as he drew closer. A swift, brisk breeze announced itself intermittently and kept the typically elevated amounts of foot traffic at a more manageable level. Those people unwilling to deal with the cooler temperatures were inside clubs and bars, making fools of themselves or wasting the night away in the comforts of their homes. Meanwhile, most of the people not experiencing the comforts of warm rooms were making their collective ways to such places.
The condominium itself was a gigantic white tower that stretched fifty-two stories up into the night sky. Plush landscaping and an unusual amount of gold trim around the entrance gave it a feeling of belonging to royalty. Entrance into the front of the building at night required one of a variety of specific codes given to each resident at the time they signed their mortgage. They simply input the codes into a small keypad next to the front doors and watched as their world opened. This provided inhabitants of the luxurious abode a laughably false sense of security.
The fact of the matter is, if someone really wants to get into your home, they’ll do it. You can pull out all the stops to deter wrongdoers from gaining access to your belongings but, as the saying goes, where there’s a will, there’s a way. Micah was not one who suffered from a shortage of will, and he was certainly no stranger to doing his homework prior to plunging headfirst into a job. This was no different. He knew there would be roadblocks in his path, but he had no intention of halting his progress for them.
Certain that no one was watching him, Micah slipped past the front of the building and stealthily made his way into the alley. A dim exterior light provided the only break from the darkness in the slim divide between absurdly priced luxury condos and the wall opposite them, which held at bay the perceived madness on the other side.
I guess questionable lightning is a requirement for an alley, Micah thought.
To the most casual observers, the alley was hidden when viewed from the front of the building. It would be a sore sight for the eyes of the moneyed people who lived in the concrete castle on its border, the goings on within it beneath the station their egos placed them on. Despite that, it was a necessary evil whose existence far outweighed their disdain as the daily operations which took place in the dark corridor ensured the condominium was in tip-top shape every moment o
f every day.
Micah approached a door with black painted letters announcing it as an EXIT ONLY. Below that were smaller letters which showed the location of the entrance. The sole light in the alley sat atop the door and cast a small circle of clarity on the ground below. Micah crouched against the wall opposite the door. He wore a white oxford shirt tucked into black slacks. A pair of black leather gloves and equally dark shades completed the motif. The shadows rendered him nearly invisible. He was contemplating the myriad ways in which to take care of Cagney when the door burst open and a bell hop stepped out with a cigarette in his mouth. The man looked down absentmindedly as he fumbled for his lighter.
Micah slowly crept up behind the man an inch at a time, careful not to expose his presence. When the man stopped moving around and leaned forward slightly to light his cigarette, Micah stepped right behind him. He wrapped his right arm around the man’s neck, introducing the man’s throat to where his forearm and bicep met. He braced the back of the man’s head with his left hand and applied pressure. Slow at first, causing the man to struggle. The pressure increased as the flow of oxygen to the man’s brain dwindled.
After a few unpleasant minutes, the man collapsed like a deflated balloon in Micah’s arms. He removed the red vest the man had been wearing and put it on. With it, he hoped to be mistaken for one of the condominium’s many employees. Of course, if the security guard were worth his pay and applied even a moderate level of scrutiny, he would spot the discrepancy. Micah had measures in place to take care of that problem, but hoped that it wouldn’t come to that. He dragged the bell hop’s body to a nearby dumpster, heaved him inside and quietly closed the lid. Content with the way the night had gone to that point, he brushed off the vest and walked inside.
Murder in the Magic City Page 6
