Ghosts, Matt Rogers [reading the story of the .txt] 📗

just inside the doorway and everyone in the space turned to leer at her.

She couldn’t mask a shiver, despite the stifling humidity in the tin shed.

Then Keith Ray came out from behind a rusting forklift.

She had no confirmation, but it had to be him. He wore a plaid shirt and blue jeans with Australian R.M. Williams boots on his feet. Cowboy garb. He was built tough for a guy in his sixties, with broad shoulders and huge hands and respectable muscle. He was an incredibly ugly man. Wisp-thin white hair in tufts atop his head, a face pockmarked so badly it looked sandpapered, and bright red capillaries around his eyes. He mock-smiled at Alexis — his teeth were so deeply stained they were practically brown. Even across the space she could see a Swedish “snus” in his lower lip. It was an alternative to chewing tobacco — a small satchel packed with staggering amounts of nicotine, drenching his gums in brown excess.

His voice boomed. ‘There’s my girl.’

She whispered, ‘Alan, get me out of here.’

Ward kept his shoulders back, as if standing at attention. He didn’t take his eyes off Ray. He mumbled, ‘I’m sorry,’ out the corner of his mouth.

Ray strode across the warehouse, his boots clacking on the concrete. ‘What was that?’

‘Huh?’ Ward said.

‘I asked what you said to her.’

‘I’m sorry?’

Ray stopped six feet short of them, and one of his bushy eyebrows went sky-high. His stare was horrifying. ‘Are you playing games with me, boy?’

‘Keith…’

‘What’d you say to her?’

‘She said she was scared. I told her to shut up.’

Ray turned to Alexis, getting a good look at her up close for the first time. ‘Oh, my girl. There’s no need to be scared. Alan, get those cuffs off her.’

He complied, and she rubbed her raw wrists, but it wasn’t any sort of victory. Everyone around her had guns, and outweighed her by dozens of pounds.

She kept her mouth shut.

Ray said, ‘Do you speak, Alexis?’

‘Yes.’

‘There we go,’ he said, still keeping his distance. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘I heard.’

‘So why are you scared?’

‘Why do you think?’

Now both eyebrows went up. He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Wouldn’t have a clue. After all, we’ve met before, haven’t we? Apparently you’ve flirted with me. Apparently I’ve taken you to drinks.’ He let the silence drag out. His eyebrows stayed raised. ‘It’s just odd, isn’t it? I’m seriously having trouble remembering. I feel like I’d remember having all that fun with a lady as beautiful as you…’

‘I wouldn’t go within ten feet of you.’

‘Oh?’ he said. ‘Then why the fuck are you dropping my name around town?’

If King and Slater had taught her anything, it was that sometimes a last resort meant deliberately generating chaos.

You only get one shot at this, she thought.

Make it count.

She said, ‘I never spoke your name.’

The eyebrows dropped. He narrowed his eyes.

His expression said, Come on, honey. We all know you did.

She said, ‘You want the truth?’

‘That’s why you’re here,’ Ray said. ‘I’ll get it out of you. Whatever it takes. And then I might have my way with you for all the trouble you’ve caused me.’

‘Then ask Mr. Limp-Dick Alan Ward over here,’ she said, suddenly furious. ‘He’s covering for the fact he can’t keep his stupid mouth shut.’

She physically felt Ward freeze beside her.

Ray hesitated. ‘Is that right?’

‘Look into my eyes,’ Alexis said. ‘I’m sure you’re a good judge of character. I’m sure you can tell if I’m lying. I’d never heard your name before this idiot pulled me over and started practically drooling over me. He started throwing stories around. I didn’t know which ones were true and which weren’t. He asked me if I wanted to hear a crazy tale, too crazy to be true. I said “Sure,” because I didn’t want a ticket. He then goes on to tell me all about you and some pimp called Armando Gates who operates out of a club called Won’s? Wan’s? I didn’t care about any of it, and I still don’t. Now ask me what a “beautiful” girl like me would be doing with any of that information in the first place. I don’t want anything to do with this, so the sooner you handle your business with the loudmouth next to me the sooner I can be on my way.’

‘Whoa,’ Ward started, ‘whoa, whoa, whoa…’

Silence.

Ray looked at him with barely suppressed rage. ‘Alan…’

‘Keith, she’s full of shit!’

‘Yeah?’

‘Keith, come on…’

‘Why don’t you come take a walk with me?’

The atmosphere palpably shifted.

Alexis was tight with tension.

There were murderous undertones in the air.

37

King drove.

Violetta rode shotgun.

Slater was more than happy to take the back seat. It meant he could keep his SIG trained on Gloria Kerr’s face. That sort of satisfaction only came around every once in a while. He was looking for a reason to pull the trigger.

They’d found the five hired thugs right where they’d left them, nursing their wounds on the kerbside out front. Four of them up in seated positions, knees to their chests, and one still sprawled on his back, conscious but still half out of it, staring up at the sky like he’d rather be anywhere else. They’d all met Slater’s eyes one by one, their faces bloody and swollen, and he’d said, ‘Get up. I dare you.’

No one had risen to the occasion.

So King roared out of the lot unimpeded, and the four of them were off the premises before any sort of police presence materialised.

Slater handed Kerr a phone, the barrel of the SIG unwavering. ‘You’re going to make sure everything that just happened stays quiet.’

‘And if I don’t?’ she said.

He pressed the gun to her temple. ‘Nothing would make me happier.’

She’d been in enough confrontations to sort a truth-teller from a bullshitter. She deemed it best to stay alive, punched in a number and said, ‘Eddie?’

An unenthusiastic reply came down the line.

One of the henchmen, his head probably throbbing.

Kerr said, ‘Tony and Eric are in my office. Contact the clean-up