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

his favorite conspiracy theory of recent times. “At least what we heard about it. Like here’s this gang of hillbillies running drugs and guns and shit. They’re somehow smart enough to do it all without getting themselves caught by the cops, or at least get the cops in on it, but they’re also dumb enough to get wiped out by two raft-riders who walked onto their turf with a death wish. It just doesn’t add up.”

Micah felt his hold on reality falter, the façade drift from unwavering to something approaching uncertainty. The information poured in and he slowly drifted away from the present, toward a sequence of events he had already lived through. He watched as the past version of himself stood on a balcony, focusing on a phone call that would ultimately see him wind up down a road he would rather not have traveled. He walked close to his old self, drifting through his house as though it existed on another plane entirely. The noise of the world around him ceased momentarily.

All but Castillo’s voice announcing, “I’ve come across an interesting business opportunity. Could be pretty lucrative.” Interesting how? It had made little sense in the moment, but it set off many red flags now.

“You okay, man?” The guard had expected Micah to reply to his revelation, not drift off into a strange meditative state. He waited a few more seconds, uncertain that this wasn’t all part of some elaborate scheme to catch him off guard. The seconds creeped by sluggishly. Content that Micah wasn’t all there, the guard lunged at him, tackling Micah to the ground. The blow sent the gun careening across the room. As if on cue, the man rose and pummeled Micah in the face with a fierce one-two punch that split his upper lip.

Micah gradually came back to the world of the living, kicking his feet out hard in protest. The strike sent the guard flying halfway across the room. Both men stood up, their faces full of contempt. Micah wiped blood from his mouth as the guard struggled to regain his breath. Like two titans embroiled in a battle for the ages, both men knew only one of them was likely to leave the building whole. Micah rushed forward, putting the bulk of his strength into a devastating blow which landed on the guard’s jaw.

The man dropped to the ground, blood pouring out of his mouth. He touched his jaw and grimaced. The pain bordered on unbearable, but standing still wasn’t in the cards. A quick glance around revealed just how limited his options truly were. His eyes locked onto a stray brick, left possibly as part of an improvement project in the works within the building. For the guard, it represented his chance at living to see the sun rise once more. He grabbed hold of the brick and pulled his arm back, ready to throw it or rush forward and maul his assailant.

Micah could sense the precarious nature of his current predicament growing more unstable with each passing moment. He watched as the man reached for a brick paver and knew he had to act quick. Suddenly, he rushed forward, and shoulder thrusted the guard into the large window behind him. Glass shards exploded out in all directions as the man’s body disappeared into the void. Moments later, a loud crunch signified the result of their bout. Micah disappeared long before the other guards arrived to discover the grisly scene.

Chapter 51

Vivian had found the thread connecting Medina to Jennings but sensed it wouldn’t be enough to solicit a warrant to do much outside of making the higher ups aware of this previously unknown connection. Well, unknown in a figurative sense of the word, at least. If the lead up to Osteen’s murder were any sign, the tendrils of the conceit necessary to tie all the murders together likely passed by a seat or two among the top brass.

“Hell, they could be in on it, for all I know,” she reasoned. “Better find something a bit more stable. Tie this all together so tightly Medina’s web won’t be able to prevent justice from doing its damn job.”

Vivian sat still in the uncomfortably rigid office chair in front of her desk, compelled to roll around until a spark of inspiration hit her. Something to push her into the direction necessary to get past the wall she now found herself stuck in front of. Fun as it may be in theory, antics like that wouldn’t do her any favors down the road.

She pulled out her phone and clicked the messages application. A quick scroll brought her to the conversation that she used to have pinned to the top because of its constant additions. Things were one-sided now, but she couldn’t bring herself to delete the old messages from Osteen. Vivian stared at the last message he sent her. At the winking face that followed his eye-rolling Jesus Christ joke.

“Told me something interesting about these bodies.”

Easy, Jennings, and Cagney at that point. Wonder what the interesting part could be? Maybe he just discovered the conclusion I reached the hard way.

And then it hit her.

“Even mentioned some new ones. Something about the CCCP in a crematorium and that tech at the Seaquarium.”

CCCP was Osteen’s sly way of referencing Russia. He always loved his spy movies. Connecting that to a crematorium was likely a lead to a murder they hadn’t worked. Or one that hadn’t yet been listed as a homicide and, therefore, didn’t warrant further investigation.

As for the tech at the Seaquarium, she could only imagine he was talking about the guy who had Lolita had eaten. The implications of those two cases, whatever they were, somehow being part and parcel to mapping out the greater conspiracy was enough to make her head spin. For once, Vivian was glad she was sitting.

She thought back on the files she had seen among Osteen’s belongings at the precinct. A who’s who of all the