Murder in the Magic City, G.P. Sorrells [primary phonics books .TXT] 📗

Micah opened the door and forced his way past Roscoe. He strode down the walkway and turned the corner as though he were going to the Impala. Instead, he removed his pistol from its holster, kept it behind his back, and retraced his steps.

“Back for more?” Roscoe asked, trying to sound some sort of way that he hoped was intimidating. He hated everything about selling to anyone that didn’t meet his vision of the ideal human, but he was at least smart enough to know the decisions in this arena weren’t his to make.

“Get inside, dipshit,” Micah said, bringing the gun out from behind his back and aiming at Roscoe’s head as the distance between them shrank to nothing.

“What the…?”

“You heard me,” Micah replied. He waited for Roscoe to agree to his demands. The door opened and he could hear the confusion in Jeremiah’s voice. That same uncertainty quickly devolved to chaos as Micah pulled the trigger, sending a slug through Roscoe’s head. The brawny man slumped against the door and Micah rushed in.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Jeremiah jumped up but quickly dropped at the sight of two pistols pointed in his direction.

“Sit down, friend,” Castillo said, a sly grin on his face. “We’ve come to relieve you of your property. Consider it reparations for all the times your badged brothers have taken what’s mine.”

“Come again?”

“Open the fucking lockers, dipshit,” Micah said sternly.

“Look, let’s just calm down,” Jeremiah pleaded, “and back things up a hot minuto.”

Castillo raised his pistol slightly, aligning it with center mass, and fired five times. The first round struck Jeremiah in the chest. Each subsequent round traveled higher north, the last bullet obliterating his orbital bone. His body came to rest, spreadeagled across the opposite side of the bed. Blood poured out of him like candy from a burst pinata.

“Oh shit,” Bennett muttered. He moved; an exit attempt futile, but the only option he thought worthwhile given the current situation. He’d had a revolver in a holster on his hip, but he knew better than most how scared he would be to use it on anything other than a paper silhouette, so he had stowed it for safekeeping when he first came into the room. Fight or flight forced his hands and his legs to move, but a shot rang out and stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Not another inch,” Micah said.

“Bennett, was it?” Castillo opted to play the good cop role; the irony not lost on him.

“Y-yes,” Bennett replied, his voice all but a whisper.

“I don’t suppose you could open these lockers up for me, could you?” The gears were turning, thoughts competing with one another for supremacy. It was all Castillo could do not to just shoot the weak man. His desire to access the contents of the lockers and safe with minimal effort won out in the end. “I can make it worth your while.”

“You’ll let me live?”

“Sure. Sure, yes, if you get these lockers open, and that safe, we will let you walk out of those doors unharmed.”

Bennett was apprehensive, but sensible options were something he was presently in short supply of. He stood up slowly and approached the first locker, fiddling with the padlock. A moment later, the lock fell to the ground, and the doors opened. This went on until each locker was open.

Castillo stared in disbelief at the weaponry within. It was his first solid look at the contents. “You guys got any bags? Anything to carry all this shit in?”

“Ye-yessum,” Bennett said, fumbling over his words as he walked over beside the bed. Though he felt somewhat terrified at the onset of the current predicament, the shock of it all was slowly wearing off. Like a snake shedding its skin while simultaneously searching for the optimum time to strike, Bennett’s mind was laser focused on preservation. Figuring out a way past the bullshit. A way to survive and ultimately seek retribution for the lives of his friends. Instinct took over as he grabbed hold of the revolver he had tucked underneath the frame. In his mind’s eye, the result of him raising the gun up for an unexpected shot or two would cause the obliteration of the men currently holding him hostage. He had failed, however, to account for the fact that Micah was no stranger to this sort of situation.

Micah’s eyes followed Bennett throughout the course of his jaunt over to the bed. He saw the feeble man lean down and fumble with something obviously more cumbersome than a duffel bag. That Bennett stood up with a gun in hand didn’t surprise him near as much as the fact the yokel could get a shot off.

“What the fuck?” Castillo yelled out as he rushed behind the wall separating the bathroom from the main living area.

Plaster exploded from the wall beside Micah, causing him to duck down reflexively as he fired a pair of shots at Bennett. Only one shot hit the target, but the sound of wood and metal clacking on the ground was unmistakable. The gun was on the ground. Micah bolted over to opposite side of the bed and kicked the revolver out of Bennett’s reach. “Stupid move.”

“Just do it already. Fucking kill me, you piece of shit,” Bennett said, spitting blood in Micah’s direction. The first shot struck the wall near where his head had been, but the second shot had punctured his abdomen. Death would come for him swiftly if medical attention wasn’t able to be administered with the utmost haste.

Castillo stomped over and grabbed hold of Bennett’s collar. He yanked it up and snarled, “first things first, comprende?” If there was one thing Castillo hated, it was feeding into stereotypes. The man trembling before him was too far gone, literally and figuratively, for any hope of change. Toying with him in his last moments on Earth felt like a better way to channel his anger. “You’re going to give us the combination to that safe over there. If you don’t,