Murder in the Magic City: A Micah Brantley Story, G.P. Sorrells [reading comprehension books TXT] 📗

time. Out of nothing more than an unpleasant feeling of paranoia at the thought of the unknown, Micah stretched his hand toward his back, lifted his coat, and checked that his pistol still sat, secure, in its new holster. Although the gun couldn’t fire itself, he found it comforting to know it was at his disposal should the need arise.

“It’s now or never,” he muttered to himself.

-#-

The interior of the warehouse was now a room rarely used for anything, aside from an occasional meeting of people who didn’t deem it necessary to take up space in an office building. Typically, the type to prefer avoiding the watchful eyes of the law. A large circular table with ten chairs surrounding it sat in the center. The warehouse had once been home to a potato chip company. Poor distribution standards and questionable business practices had forced them out of the market sooner than they had expected.

Medina wasted no time scooping up the property the moment it hit the market. He bought it through a shell company with no ties to him personally so as not to arouse suspicion. For all anyone knew, the premises belonged to a German company with global aspirations and the need for an American shipping hub. Aside from the table, there wasn’t much in the way of creature comforts in the expansive room. A large French door refrigerator rested at attention on a wall opposite the table. Its sole purpose was to house beer and tequila. They had installed a metal detector next to the door, but the room was empty otherwise. Micah beeped as he entered, and a nearby guard grabbed his arm somewhat forcefully.

“It’s ok, Alberto,” Medina said in a calm voice from the center of the room. “He’s with us. There’s no need for concern.”

The guard released his grip of Micah’s arm and received a glare from the stranger that nearly made him wet himself. Micah walked over to the table, faced Medina and Castillo, and stood in place. He didn’t know what the expectation was for his presence, but he wasn’t about to make the first move.

“Sit.”

Micah was hesitant. A handshake often preceded the act of sitting down in a meeting of the minds. Unbeknownst to him, this was a tactic Medina employed to unnerve the people he met with. It wasn’t much, and didn’t even have the desired effect on everyone, but it promised an awkward start to almost any meeting.

“Micah, over the past few days, you have pulled off some jobs for us in a way that is unparalleled. I’m pleased with your work, as is the rest of the organization,” he said. “At least those who are aware of it. We could use a man of your caliber within our ranks. It’s with that knowledge that I would like to extend to you a place at our table.” Medina fished a piece of paper from his pocket and outstretched his hand toward Micah. “Take this.”

Micah grabbed the small square piece of paper and stared at it. He half expected to see numbers scrawled across, a hint at the job that awaited him, but blank parchment was all that met his eyes. Medina leaned forward and ignited a corner of the paper with his lighter. It burned slowly.

“This burning slip of paper represents the life you once knew. As it becomes ash, your loyalty becomes ours. Should you ever forsake us, you will meet the same fate. Of that you can be certain.”

The paper burned out and Micah stared at the ashes, perplexed by the experience. The scene that unfolded before him was certainly not a scenario he had envisioned when he first stepped into the limousine.

“Jimmy here will be your godfather, so to speak,” Medina said, placing a hand on his lieutenant’s shoulder. “Anything you want to know about how we do things around here, you ask him. Likewise, any jobs we need done, he will be the one to relay the message. When that happens, you don’t question the task. You just act.”

“Gimme your finger,” Castillo said, motioning for Micah’s hand. He reluctantly obeyed and watched as Castillo took his right index finger and made a slight cut with a pocketknife. “Now you’re one of us.”

“A toast,” Medina announced, pouring a shot of Patron into three separate tumblers. “Good health to our friends, and death to our enemies.”

Micah had never been happier to douse his throat with fire.

Chapter 18

On the night that Ross Sheridan watched his world crumble before his very eyes, he had a picture of what the future held. The details were tough to make out in the moment, like an old sepia photograph that handled with regularity over the years. Clear as day, he could see himself with Emma. Her cute smile as she held onto that little brown teddy bear she loved so much. Their house was mostly intact in his mind’s eye, but some details were still fuzzy. Almost as if all the grand plans he had ever had to turn it into something truly magnificent, a modern-day castle, would one day take place. There was also another figure close by, in the picture next to them. The details were hazy, but it was a woman he didn’t know too well. Perhaps someone to help him along in the wonderful world of parenthood.

Then his life ended along with Emma’s and it all ceased to matter. The dreams he once held, not likely to be realized. Goals set never to be achieved. None of it mattered any longer. All he felt in the moment was a haunting sense of bloodlust. A burning desire to right the heinous wrong, knowing full well that nothing could come close to making it anything resembling just.

Jimmy Castillo.

His was not a name that rang any sort of bell or set off any alarms inside Sheridan’s mind. At least not initially. Once the rage subsided a tad, the venom no longer seething with every breath he took,