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

for the top. Someone who wants the spoils without waiting for their time to shine. But me? I like where I’m at. I’d prefer not to have to fill the streets of our city with blood. I’d like it to keep the magic. Sadly, I am but one man. And this work requires the efforts of more than just a single person.”

Osteen stood stoically, staring hard into Castillo’s face. His gaze was met with a look of shocking indifference. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, walking back to the front of the junkyard. On his way to the gate, he took out his phone and sent a text.

In the years since he had first embraced communicating via text message, he had inexplicably developed a habit of texting his thoughts as they came to him. No wall of text. He would send everything over one line at a time. He considered it to be a stream of thought via SMS message. It annoyed some people but converted others. Osteen told himself that it was better to send ten messages and get everything across than one enormous block of a message, followed shortly afterward by a significantly smaller message, looking like he hadn’t thought everything through the first time around. Of course, he often reasoned, he could always just call. But that was a can of worms for another day.

“Just met with JC,” the first text read.

“No cross.”

“Told me something interesting about these bodies.”

“Even mentioned some new ones.”

“Something about the CCCP in a crematorium and that tech at the Seaquarium.”

“I’m heading back now.”

“Will discuss.”

Osteen stared at his phone as the three dots appeared to inform him of a message being prepared for delivery back to him. The process took longer than he would’ve liked, but he couldn’t expect everyone to approach texting the way he did. He pocketed his phone and continued walking toward the cruiser.

The interaction had gone better than Castillo could have imagined. Valuable muscle could end up lost, but the chance of immunity was too great to pass up. Besides, both he and the detective knew the bloodshed would never end completely. It would simply subside for a time. His eyes glossed over with the thought of what all the newfound freedom could mean. Success doesn’t come without making tough choices along the way.

A dull pop off to his left interrupted Castillo’s thoughts of a grand life, free of the long arm of the law. An eerie sound, one he thought sounded manufactured. Until he saw the body drop. Micah was standing over Osteen’s body, a wisp of smoke trailing from the barrel of his pistol. He appeared to look at the detective with contempt, as though the man had wronged him in the past. Or was someone he knew. But, so far as Castillo was aware, this would’ve been the first time either man saw the other.

Micah grabbed Osteen’s legs. “You going to help me with this?”

“Yea, sure,” Castillo replied meekly. His voice and willingness to agree to Micah’s request betrayed the rage that churned throughout his body. True freedom was within his grasp, but it had been ripped away due, in part, to his own negligence. That he would’ve betrayed the man beside him was of no consequence. Simply collateral damage on the steps toward greatness.

The men carried Osteen’s body over to an older Oldsmobile sedan. It had been sitting inside of a larger structure, with what looked like a crane overhead. They placed Osteen’s body inside, across the front bench seat. As they walked away, Micah flipped a glass casing open and pressed a red button. Horns blared as a large, hydraulically powered plate descended slowly onto the sedan.

At first, the only sound was a screech of metal bending in ways it hadn’t designed to bend. The sound that makes your hair stand on end just thinking about it. Like nails on a chalkboard. As the plate pushed ever closer to its base, the squeal became a crunching sound, and blood seeped out of the holes which appeared as the once rigid frame became one with the ground. To Micah, it looked like a metallic pancake with strawberry jam. The windows shattered, propelling bits of glass outward, and the tires exploded, causing Castillo to jump. At the end, it had reduced the sedan to a mere two feet tall amalgamation of metal and cloth.

“So, how was she?”

Micah tried to play dumb, averting his gaze. “She, who?”

“Don’t fuck with me. The girl you left that pub with,” Castillo prodded. “The one who was still at your place when you left to meet up with me at the spot.”

“Oh yea, I forgot, Mr. Peeping Tom over here,” Micah joked.

“Hey, tough guy, don’t be surprised that I’ve got eyes across the city. I’d be a fool not to keep tabs on my people. One can never be too careful.”

“Her name’s Valerie,” Micah said, a childish grin on his face. “She’s a hell of a woman. Great personality, smart, beautiful. The total package.”

“Listen to you. One date and you’re already off the deep end in love with her.”

Micah laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know what love is, man.”

“What does she do for work?”

“Owns a few hair salons. Mostly in some higher profile neighborhoods in the city.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. She’s just Rey Fernandez’s kid sister.”

“Get out of town,” Micah said, genuinely surprised. “Can’t believe I didn’t make the connection when I saw her.”

“Well, she’s easier on the eyes than Reynaldo,” Castillo said, chuckling. “I’m serious, though, don’t worry about it. He might even let it slide since it’s you and not some douche bag from their old neighborhood.”

“That’s reassuring.”

They were walking toward the entrance of the junkyard when the sound of distant sirens filled the air. They stopped dead in their tracks. It wasn’t an immediate threat, but the sound was getting closer. If they stood around much longer, this would become a problem.

“Micah, get out of here,” Castillo