Chapter 11 #2
DK nods, the wheels spinning as he processes it all. “Well, Nicole, looks like we’ll get him out of there for you, do the rites, and then your family can set up the final arrangements.”
“Wait,” she says, looking over at Knight. “Before you go in there… there’s more.”
“What do you mean, more?” I ask, that uneasy feeling rising up my spine again.
“My brother didn’t OD. He was turned on by his brothers.
” We both stare at her until she continues, “A week ago, some of the junkies my brother hangs out with found a stash of Scratch hidden in one of the back rooms. A big stash. Something left over from when Lucia was still alive, I guess. It was like Christmas morning to them. My brother thought he’d hit the goddamn lottery.
” She swallows hard. “At first it was one big party, but once the high wore off they had to figure out what to do with the rest, keep it, or sell it.”
“They could’ve destroyed it,” I note.
The look she gives me makes my balls shrink.
“No fucking chance. The group is split in half, and now they’re at a standoff.
No one’s left the building since.” Her voice drops.
“Conrad, my brother, he called me and told me he was trying to talk sense into both sides. By the time I got here last night, the paranoid ones flipped. I was hiding up in the office when everything went to shit. They found his phone and accused him of working with the cops. Thought he was gonna rat out the location. Then they dragged him into the middle, made everybody watch while they… while they put two in his chest and one in his head. I saw it all and waited till they all passed out or started arguing again, then I ran and called the police.”
“Sounds like you made the right call.” I lift my eyebrow in Knight’s direction. “This has gone way beyond local management.”
“No, it hasn’t,” he says. “If the cops come, the junkies in there will turn this into a blood bath. It won’t be one body that needs picking up; it’ll be dozens. They’ve already killed one person trying to protect their stash; with their level of paranoia, everyone will end up dead.”
“So we go in first and test the waters?” DK asks with a dark laugh. “That sounds like a suicide mission.”
Knight shakes his head. “You guys will get a pass. No one fucks with the Barons.”
He may be right. It’s an unspoken rule that we’re to get in and out without a hassle, but if these guys are as jacked up and paranoid as they say, it’s not a comforting thought.
“I don’t give a fuck about the drugs,” Nicole asserts. “I just want Conrad out of there.”
“You guys are messy as hell, you know that?” Slade notes. His brother laughs.
“Things have been a challenge for a while,” Knight agrees. “Ever since the bombing, the hierarchy is fucked up. There’s no leadership. Odds are, if someone doesn’t step up soon, they’ll self-implode, but I don’t want that to happen today.”
DK blows out a breath. “So we’re walking into a room full of wired and exhausted junkies who hate each other, with a fresh corpse as the centerpiece.”
“Pretty much,” she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
I look at DK. He looks at me. Same thought: we don’t want any part of this war, but we’ve got a job to do.
“Fuck. Let’s just get it done,” I say, looking at Knight and Nicole. “Stay here. Both of you.”
Thankfully, they don’t argue, and while Jace and Slade hang back, not wanting them to think it’s an ambush, DK and I slip through the side door.
One bare bulb swings overhead, throwing shadows into the building.
The stink inside is worse: mold, piss, and that copper-sweet scent you never forget once you’ve smelled it enough.
Then I see the body.
The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen, still wearing the KNT prospect patch. He’s on his knees in the middle of the floor, hands zip-tied behind him, head hanging. Blood sheeted down his chest and pooled black under him.
“Christ,” DK swears.
That’s when I hear it–metal on metal, a soft clink to the left. DK’s already got his pistol up by the time I get mine halfway out. We’re not alone.
Bodies peel out of the dark. Five on the far side of the kid, six closer to us, all wearing the same faded snake patches, all with guns shaking in their hands.
The first five look like they’re dissolving from the inside out–cheeks hollow, sores shining, pupils pinned to nothing.
The others in front of us just look tired, homeless, like they’ve been sleeping in these same clothes since their house was destroyed.
One of the junkies spots us and shouts, “Cops!” jolting like someone jammed a live wire into his spine. His finger spasms on the trigger, sending a cascade of gunshots cracking through the room–wild, panicked, ricocheting off rotted beams and mold-slick concrete.
DK moves before my brain fully catches up. He’s a blur of denim and muscle, charging the nearest shooter. The guy barely gets a second shot off before DK slams into him full-force, sending both of them crashing to the floor. The gun skitters across the ground, metal sparking.
I scoop it up before the junkie even finishes wheezing. Another man raises his weapon, but I’m already aiming the one in my hand back at him. DK drives his fist into the guy beneath him, once, twice—efficient blows that knock the fight clean out of him.
The rest freeze. Not brave. Just stunned.
And now—now we have control.
The largest of the tired ones steps forward, a sawed-off loose across his forearm, pointed somewhere between me and DK.
“Jesus Christ,” DK shouts, chest heaving. His hand shoots up, showing his ring. “We’re not the fucking cops. We’re just here to pick up the body.”
“You’re the freaks?” a voice rasps from the junkie side, tongue too thick for his mouth. “Who the fuck called you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I keep my voice flat, the same tone I use when I’m talking to cops or corpses.
“Just be thankful they didn’t call the cops, dumbass.
We don’t care what you’re doing holed up in this rat’s nest, but we’re taking the body.
You want to keep your little civil war after we leave, have at it.
But right now you’re gonna lower the guns and let us do our job. ”
“Or…” a junkie with shaking hands giggles, “... maybe we add two more to the pile.”
“Shut the fuck up, Neal,” someone calls from the back.
“You know the system,” DK says. “If we don’t come back from a pickup, then the rest of the Barons show up, and they’ll bring a whole case of body bags.”
Neal shrugs. “Do it. We can take them too.”
God, this fucker is an idiot. Don’t do drugs, friends.
“No.” The big guy studies me for a long second. Then he lets the sawed-off dip toward the floor. The others are reluctant to follow. “Let them in to do their job. I don’t want trouble with the King.”
Convinced they’re not going to shoot us, I wave in Jace and Slade, who come in with the folded-up body bag. DK holsters his pistol, and quickly we get to work. The kid’s blood is still warm; I feel it when it soaks through my gloves.
Slade steps in, grabbing under the armpits. Jace takes the legs. Together they lift. Even though the guys are fit and used to the job, bodies are always heavier than they should be. Thankfully, no one stops us. Because I agree with that big son of a bitch, I don’t want trouble with the King either.
We back toward the door, boots sliding through the blood puddle. The junkies just watch, twitching and swaying, all of them looking like they’ve already lost whatever they’re fighting over, if they even remember.
Outside, Nicole rushes forward when she sees the shape in the bag. She presses both hands to her mouth and starts shaking. “Thank you.”
We slide the kid into the van, zipping the bag the rest of the way.
DK peels off his gloves and tosses them in after. “Tell your mom we’re sorry,” he says quietly.
She nods, tears cutting clean lines through the dirt on her face. Knight stands a few feet away, expression solemn. I’m not sure what his current affiliation really is with the Counts, but it’s obvious he wants to do right by them. I can’t fault him for that.
I climb into the passenger seat, where Ares rushes over, sniffing my body vigorously. Carson starts the engine before the guys even get seated.
Behind us, inside the warehouse, someone starts shouting again. Then a gunshot–muffled, lonely, almost bored.
We pull away, fog swallowing the building whole, taking the last of the Counts, or at least this version of them, with it.