Chapter 55
He turns to lead the way, tucking the file folder into his jacket. But I grab his arm. The look he gives is curious. “What is it?”
My mouth is dry, and my head spins. It’s hard to say the words because I never thought I’d need to say them. “I’m not killing anyone.”
He grins. “It is as I say. You watch. That is all.”
Feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. “I won’t … I won’t be a party to murder, Moss.”
“Is that what you worry about?” He speaks to me like I am an overwhelmed child. “No, no, Anderson. We are only here to make sure someone will pay their debt. That is all.”
“Then why the guns?”
“Insurance that they are intimidated.”
“Brandishing is a crime?—”
He laughs heartily. “If that is the only crime we commit today, it is a good day. Come, come. We go have a, eh, conversation. That is all.”
“No guns?”
“Only if they are necessary. Your father is a bastardo, but he does not like the violence.”
Cold comfort. But likely the only comfort I would get today. I huff. “Let’s go, I guess.”
He grins again, then leads the way. The ground crunches underfoot, a mix of dirty snow and gravel on top of worn-out pavement. If the breeze didn’t chill me, the happy jaunt in Moss’ step would have. The man is practically giddy at the thought of intimidating people.
Am I that different?
I like to intimidate people, too, but in a professional setting where there are rules to play by. This is not the same thing. But come to think of it, is it all that unfamiliar? They owe us something. We are here to collect. That’s just a simple transaction, like any other time I’ve had to ensure a witness’ cooperation or tried to get an injunction. I want something, and I work to get it.
Trying to couch this in terms I prefer is not helping my stress level. Not when I feel the weight of the Glock in my pocket. This is a fucking nightmare. Except I can’t wake up.
We’re heading for a warehouse. I’m not sure which one. There are several lined up next to each other. Must be a slow day for the rest of the businesses around because there’s no one outside. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Or maybe, that’s why Moss picked now for this. No witnesses.
Perfect.
Moss leads me to the warehouse on the far end, the one closest to the actual docks themselves. The water carries the fresh scent of dead seals or something equally horrid, and I fight back a wave of retching. My nerves are already frayed. I don’t need that, too. He smirks as he holds the door open behind him. “Here we go.”
The warehouse looks like every warehouse I’ve seen on television. Crates and boxes line the walls, and a few stand haphazardly in the middle. A forklift sits idle. The rear of the warehouse is a gaping open wall that overlooks the harbor. Three men in heavy coats stand around looking at a phone, and by the sounds of the video on it, they’re watching porn together. They haven’t noticed us.
One of them grunts, “See, I told you she could take it?—”
“Ah, but Bobby, can you?” Moss taunts.
The three men jump so fast at the sound of his voice that it scares me. Not their jump but the fact two of them reached for their pockets the moment they were spooked. They’re carrying, too.
Better and better.
“Moss, uh, hey,” Bobby says, stuffing his phone in his pocket. He looks like every other white guy in his thirties who works manual labor. A little scruffy, a little dirty, built by hard work with a layer of fat on him. “What are you doing here?”
“Come now. Are we to play that game?”
Bobby slowly takes a step backward. “I ain’t playin’ no games, Moss. Honest.”
“Then you have the two-hundred-and-fifty g’s my boss is waiting on?”
We’re here to intimidate a guy for a quarter of a million dollars? That’s what my father thinks risking my life is worth? It’s beyond insulting.
“I, uh, I don’t have it, but I can get it,” Bobby stammers. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s backing away while the two who grabbed for their pockets stand firm. Concerned but firm.
I like watching nature documentaries. It’s a hobby of mine since I can’t get into the outdoors as often as I’d like. Sometimes, those documentaries show animal attacks. It’s a part of nature, and I understand it. I don’t like those parts, but they are like trainwrecks, and I can’t look away. It might be started by blood in the water or the spotting of a lame straggler in the pack. There is always a moment right before the attack begins when it seems like it might not happen. The predator appears to consider a different option, but in reality, he’s sizing up his prey.
Right now, that’s what this feels like. We’re being sized up. For all my hours in the gym, my practice at the gun range, and my sharp suit and coat, I look like prey to these guys. I do not like it.
So, I stand taller. Slowly, so I don’t spook them. They don’t know me. They don’t know what I’m capable of. It’s all I have going for me at the moment. That, and the Glock. I’ll let Moss do all the talking so I remain a mystery. I’d like to think that worries them enough to keep this from getting out of control.
“That is what you say last time, Bobby. And the time before.” Moss cracks his knuckles and stretches. “I like you, Bobby. It is why I let you string along. But my boss? He does not like you. He grows impatient with my patience. He says Bobby is not a good man. Do not let him get away with it this time.”
“Come on, Moss. You know I’m good for it.”
“What I know is, if you keep this up, you lose more than your money. You lose your valuables.”
“I ain’t got nothin’ worth that kind of money?—
Moss says no more. He holds out the file folder from his jacket. He doesn’t hand it over to Bobby. Instead, he makes Bobby come to him for the folder. The squirrely man creeps between his associates to grab the folder, then retreats a little as if Moss will spring on him at any moment.
Bobby opens the folder, and his face drains of color. His gaze is a mixture of shock and anger. He rasps, “Never thought Elliot West would go after my kids.”
It’s a knife to my gut. I try to contain my shock—if I show it, they’ll know I’m not some silent killer here to back Moss up. But fuck, Dad’s threatening kids? Jesus. What the fuck is going on with my family?
Moss says nothing, either. He just stands there like some immovable object instead of a person. Considering he was giddy about everything else, I get the feeling he might not be thrilled about threatening children, either. Or maybe he’s content to let the pictures do the talking.
Bobby shakes his head. It’s not anger in his voice anymore. It’s resignation. “I shoulda known not to get in bed with Elliot West. He’s a fuckin’ animal. I’ll get ya the money, Moss. Let me make a call.”
Moss merely nods.
His men relax, shoulders slumping in defeat. I don’t know what’s in those pictures, and I don’t want to know. This shit ends the moment I’m in charge. I wish I could promise that to Bobby right now. I feel bad about this. Sick, actually. But the worst of things is over, and I’m relieved. Tucking my hands in my pockets?—
“Gun on the suit!” one of the goons shouts as he points at me.
“What? No, wait?—”
But it’s too late for explanations. Everything happens so fast. The goons grab Bobby and dive behind the nearby crates, and Moss grabs me and does the same. We’re behind a cluster of them, affording us more protection than what the other guys have since they’re in the middle of the warehouse.
I shout, “I didn’t mean?—”
But gunshots ring out anyway. Doesn’t matter what I meant. Doesn’t matter who I am. My fancy degrees and expensive cars mean nothing. At this moment, the only thing that counts is tiny metal projectiles seeking something solid to bore a hole into, and I am their target.
Moss returns fire, then grins at me. “Flashed your piece.”
“I didn’t mean to!”
He laughs, ducking a shot. “Tell them that.”
“I’m trying!”
“Does not matter now, eh?” He shoots at them again. A man screams in pain, and it sends a spike of ice up my spine. He scans out, still smiling. “Bobby, I warned you?—”
A few shots ring out, all the while, Moss laughs. I’m enraged by his cavalier attitude. “What the fuck is funny?”
“They think we will be shot by them. It will not happen.”
“Huh?”
“These good crates. Better than theirs. Read.” He leans up and shoots again. More screaming.
I don’t want to know what just happened, so I read. The side of the box had a label for some sort of manufacturing company. “So?”
“They make steel gears for machinery. Bullets do not like steel. Is why I picked this spot to speak to Bobby.”
He knew. The motherfucker knew we’d end up in a fucking shootout. I’m enraged by this, but it doesn’t matter right now. There’s still a hail of bullets fired off at us now and then.
Moss gloats, “I have them pinned down behind crates for soda.” He laughs. “It is almost unfair?—”
“No fucking shit!” Part of me wants to push him out into the bullets and let them have him. But I can’t rely on their goodwill not to shoot me, too. “How do we get out of this?”
“It would help if you stop hiding and start shooting.”
“I’m not killing anyone!”
He laughs. “With your aim, I am certain you are right. But it keeps them distracted while I reload.” He shoots until the gun empties. “Your turn.”
Fuck. I pull my gun out and wave it at the edge of the crate, earning a barrage of bullets aimed my way. Even though they nick the edge of the crate only, my heart is racing. Just a matter of time before one side runs out of bullets. I keep myself mostly covered by the crates as I stand and fire, aiming for their legs.
Whatever this is all about, I’m in it now.
When they stop firing, Moss stands at my side. “We finish this, eh?” The hulking piece of shit actually fucking winks at me before grinning and opening fire on them again. A ragged grunt comes from someone over there, and he strolls straight at them, a man on a mission. Three shots ring out in quick succession. “It is done.”
I’m lightheaded. Adrenaline slammed into me at some point, and now, my hands shake. Slowly, I stand on boneless legs. Moss leers over three bodies on the floor. All with head wounds. My voice is empty. “You killed them.”
“Before they could kill us. It is a good day,” he says proudly, shoving his gun into a holster.
“I don’t…I’m not…” Can’t tell if I’m going to throw up or if I’m going to blackout, but either one is on the table.
Moss comes to me, throwing his arm over my shoulder to walk me out. “Put your gun away before we are out of the warehouse.”
Didn’t realize it was still in my hand. It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to get it back in my pocket.
Moss claps my chest. “You did good. Come now. We go. Business over.”
“You have no idea.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Your father did not say you are funny. I will tell him. I will tell him all about his brave son who shot at our enemies and made jokes. He will love it. You are just like one of us now. He will be pleased, eh?”
There was a time when I would have wanted Dad’s approval. But my father lords my money over my head. He acts as though June is disposable. He blackmails people with the lives of their children. Dad’s approval is nothing but a felonious disgrace.
My ears still ring from the gunfire as Moss gets me into the car. He turns the radio on and sings along for a verse. For a murderer, he has a nice voice.
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