Murder in the Magic City by G.P. Sorrells (speed reading book TXT) 📗

“You mean to tell me there’s a channel that can force feed me the same information without the need to press rewind? Sign me up.”

It felt like ages since Micah had seen Valerie like this, willing to joke about something so silly as a poorly formatted news segment. He was happy to see her turning a corner in her recovery. “It’s really something.”

“We have some breaking news for you, ladies and gentlemen,” said the nondescript anchor on the other side of the television screen. “Sources tell us that a man believed to be Jimmy ‘The Clap’ Castillo was found dead in his beachfront apartment last night. Witnesses reported hearing a loud crack, followed shortly afterward by screaming. No cause of death has been announced, but police are investigating this further as they believe it may have some link to organized crime in the area. We will share more information the moment it becomes available. Now, back to Monica in Biscayne Bay for the Shells and Bells 5k Run.”

“Serves that son of a bitch right,” Valerie said.

Micah smiled, but kept quiet. He couldn’t risk incriminating himself in the matter in the off chance anyone came by to speak with Valerie. His phone rang abruptly, breaking an otherwise comfortable quiet. He set down his coffee and stepped outside, his cheerful demeanor disappearing with each step. “Hello?”

“I need you down here. Immediately,” Medina said. The voice that had always seemed stern and domineering was suddenly fragile, as though the slightest breeze would tear it apart.

“Everything okay?” Micah asked despite knowing the answer. He was genuinely curious to hear Medina’s response. The phone clicked before he could pose his question a second time. He glanced at it with a dumbfounded look before returning to his perch on the couch.

Chapter 56

Medina sat with measured angst at his desk. A cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, the free end begging to be lit as the other was gradually chewed down to something resembling a wad of paper. The man who had served so many years as his right hand, the man who would one day take the reins of his entire operation, was now out of the picture. Murdered. No longer did he have the luxury of maintaining such a high level of trust in someone other than himself.

The surrounding walls crumbled slowly, creating a feeling that their destruction would continue in perpetuity. His façade, built up over the years as he ascended the ranks within the seedy underbelly of the civilized world, was cracking. Not since he was a young boy, fresh off the raft, had he felt so weak. He hated it. Wanted nothing more than to eradicate every sliver of pain he felt in that moment. Unfortunately for Medina, there is a stark contrast between that which we want and that which the fates dictates are befitting for our station at any singular point in life. Try as he might to prove the contrary, his will was not worth more than what he was incapable of controlling.

Micah strolled into the room, his casual demeanor immediately at odds with the dour look on Medina’s face. He pocketed his phone and came to an awkward, abrupt halt. “What’s going on, Carlos?”

“I take it you haven’t seen the news?” Medina shook his head and leaned over, rummaging around the drawers of the desk. “Don’t know what it is about your generation. Technology at your fingertips that lets you know everything going on, accessible in an instant, but you’re always far too concerned with inane bullshit. Swiping this way and that as you fawn over the next piece of ass, that’ll forget about you quicker than you can drain your battery.”

Micah rolled his eyes. “You’re a little too young to call me down here for one of those rants.”

The fire that normally lived within Medina flared up for a moment, his eyes locking onto Micah. “Sit.” He retrieved two snifter glasses and a bottle of barrel-aged rum. “It’s Jimmy.”

Micah sat in a chair opposite Medina and watched as the elder man poured the crisp, amber liquor into each glass, eventually sliding one across the table. “What about him?”

“He’s dead.” Medina paused for a moment, as if waiting for a specific one that would tell him if the ordeal had been an inside job. Micah met his gaze with silence. “Someone took him out last night. I don’t know how they got to him, but I’ve got to imagine they’re going to be coming for me next.”

“And what would you like me to do about it?”

“Figure out who did this and take care of the problem before it reaches my doorstep. I pay you to make my problems disappear.”

The ever-present memories rushed forward on the heels of a searing pain across the middle of Micah’s head. He winced as he took a sip of the rum. “Powerful stuff.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying in vain to clear his mind. When his efforts proved futile, he gulped the remaining liquid and returned the glass to the table.

“Normally, this is a situation where Jimmy would move me to a safe house while he or his men ran interference on whoever was making a move against us. Since that’s no longer possible, you’re my next best option.”

Gunshots rang out in the distance, nearly drowned out by yelling and screaming. The sounds weren’t terribly close, but it was enough to make Medina shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“By the sounds of it, I’m not sure you have enough time to make it to a safe house. Think this place may have to be a stand-in for one.”

“What? What did you do?” The question left Medina’s lips, fear and rage intertwined as the realization that Micah had betrayed him sank in.

“Let’s be real, Carlito, you brought this on yourself.” Micah said. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table.

“What’s this? Shouldn’t I be the one paying you for fucking