Murder in the Magic City: A Micah Brantley Story by G.P. Sorrells (ebook reader computer TXT) 📗

“This is Sherry. Working on delivery some packages to the Library of Alexandria,” Sheridan said. The code made sense, in its own way, but that didn’t make it easy to remember.

“Go ahead, Sherry. This is the Scribe,” said the voice on the other end. Though he heard it through a voice simulator, Sheridan knew he was speaking with the boss.

“The Library was only set to receive one book, but there’s three here. One sports novel and a couple romance.” Though he was making parts of the code up on the fly, Sheridan hoped his meaning wouldn’t get lost in translation.

“You’ve got a Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf to go along with the J. D. Salinger slated for that delivery?”

Though it was put forth a bit differently than he had posed, the result was the same. Two women were in the house with the one man expected to be there. “Can confirm. Request an update on the approach.”

“Proceed as planned,” Hurst said.

“Co… copy that,” Sheridan answered tentatively. He tossed the satellite phone on the other seat and gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring into the large front window of the target’s house. Inside, a man brought a heaping plate of food to a modestly sized table. A woman followed close behind with a few glasses in her hand, saying something inaudible to a small girl beside her. A knot formed in Sheridan’s gut. Killing the man was one thing, killing the entire family was something else altogether. He stared at them for a time, lost in a trance as he tried to talk himself out of it. Every fiber of his being wanted to believe there was another way to go about it, but he couldn’t land on an answer about what that way looked like.

Eventually, when he was certain the surrounding area was clear of nosy parties, he retrieved the supplies and walked up to the house. The subsequent moments happened in an instant and slowly, all at once as his mind worked to erase the horror from his memory. A doorbell dinged. Oak slid back to reveal the warmth emanating from inside, his gun raised, and a chorus of gunshots rang out.

Chapter 33

Castillo ruminated at his typical booth at La Cantina Sucia, appearing a bit more strung out than usual. He gulped his mojito as Micah approached. “We’ve got a bit of a problem, my friend.”

“What’s that?”

“You remember Marco?”

Micah wasn’t sure what he had expected when he sat down, but the conversation dovetailing to the crematorium hit wasn’t close. “The old Ruskie I torched? What about him?”

“Turns out your stealth abilities weren’t up to par that night.”

Micah was puzzled. He hadn’t left behind any evidence of his presence. Then it hit him. “There was another guy working that night at the crematorium. I actually had to use him to get ol’ Marco to come down,” Micah shrugged, “but I knocked him out before he had the chance to make a move. I didn’t kill him…”

“Maybe you should’ve. I got word from some of my people that an old detective has been looking into some cases for which you are the prime suspect,” Castillo said, motioning to his personal server for another round. “Naturally, he’s been chasing a ghost since there’s been zero trace of you specifically at any scene. The most he’s had is a blurry camera shot of you coming out of Crandon Park.”

“This shit has been going on for that long and you’re just now telling me?”

“Need I remind you; it is not my job to ensure you’re brought up to speed on the goings-on in the city. It’s fine if you want to keep tabs in your free time, but otherwise, you follow the lead I set. Questioning my decisions is not a wise move.”

“Look, Jimmy, I’m just saying it would’ve been nice to know that I had a target on my back. It would completely alter the way I approach a job.”

“If I thought it posed a problem before, you wouldn’t just be finding out about it.”

“So, what changed?”

Both men stared hard at one another, Castillo, to determine how much trust his hired gun was still worth, and Micah in a benign display of machismo. The server brought over their drinks and placed them on the table. Neither man looked up, but both nodded their gratitude before taking a swig.

“Early on, your hits were methodical. The work of a master. You went about it all effortlessly. The research beforehand into your target’s movements, where they were likely to be, who they were likely to be with. That information pushed you forward into the next phase where you took care of business, and the results made it challenging for the authorities to do much but chalk it up to powers outside their control. Hell, even your work with Christensen hasn’t been discovered. Not quite to the same degree as the other moves you’ve made. He’s still just a missing person.”

“Did they find him?”

“They kept that one somewhat quiet at first. The Seaquarium didn’t want to let the news out that an orca killed another one of their own. PETA would have had a field day with that kind of story,” Castillo said, leaning forward in the booth, hands steepled as though he had to give some thought about how best to proceed in the conversation. “They kept it on ice for a while; still haven’t leaked to the media, even in passing. At first the cops just knew a worker fell into the orca tank and was likely eaten. It wasn’t until the detective started looking into things further that he started making some unfortunate connections.”

“Still doesn’t sound like much other than someone trying to make a case where there isn’t one. Some hotshot trying to make a name for himself at the expense of whoever he can find who looks guilty enough.”

“I thought that too, but you’re wrong. He was spot on about Cagney’s