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

“You look… beautiful,” Castillo said. He had tried in vain to say the words while looking into Citron’s eyes, but his own gaze betrayed him immediately as it ventured south to admire her figure.

“Thanks,” she replied. The more time passed, the less it surprised her that this friend of Micah’s had trouble wooing members of the opposite sex. Drunk or not, if that was his idea of a good line, she had her doubts about the value that existed in a bedroom romp with the man. “Your place looks fantastic.”

“I appreciate that,” Castillo said. He placed a hand on the small of her back and whispered softly in her ear, “this is nothing compared to the other side of that wall.”

Her eyes drifted toward the direction of where Castillo had motioned. The light was dim, but the contents of the room were unmistakable. Smooth. Citron walked over to the doorway, pretending to be oblivious to what lie in wait within the four walls. She felt an arm reach past as Castillo flipped the light to a brighter setting.

“You’re right, this side looks a lot better,” Citron said, staring mournfully at the king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

“Wait until you feel the sheets on the bed. 1000 thread count, satin.”

“Bet that would feel incredible against my skin,” Citron said. She had to stifle a laugh at the shit-eating grin that manifested itself across Castillo’s face at that moment.

“You’re welcome to try it out, sweetheart.” Castillo pulled back the comforter. “Now you can get the full experience.” His jaw dropped as Citron removed her clothes and approached the bed. She placed her hands on the edge, palms flat as she took in the soft texture.

“Join me anytime,” Citron said, climbing up onto the bed. She laid on her back, arching a leg and propping herself up on one arm. Castillo fumbled around with his clothes like a virgin jumping into the fray for the first time. After nearly falling over himself as he tried to remove his pants, he walked over to the edge of the bed and leaned forward.

“You’re about to…”

His bedroom window exploded, shrapnel flying out into the room as the force of what had entered launched Castillo’s body off the bed and onto the floor below. Blood and brain matter poured out of the husk that had once been his head. The realization of what had transpired hitting her like a ton of bricks, Citron let out a blood-curdling scream.

#

Micah disassembled the sniper rifle he had used sparingly over the years. It was a last resort. A measure to be used when he couldn’t risk getting close to his target or otherwise could not do so without arousing suspicion. Castillo’s murder was such a time. The two were close, but he had sensed their relationship waning over the past few months. Everything that had taken place with Valerie seemed to solidify the notion that irreparable damage had been done to what once existed between the two men.

It was likely he could have met with Castillo without involving Citron, but the outcome almost certainly wouldn’t have been so smooth. Either Castillo would’ve taken him out while Micah was none the wiser to the move, or the nagging thoughts in the back of his head of a life he hadn’t thought he lived would have led to him freezing up when the time came to take care of business.

Micah walked down the roof access stairs on his way to the central elevator of the building he had spent the past few hours perched upon, when his cell phone buzzed with life.

“Hey there,” he said, trying to come across as neutral as he could.

“Micah, I, I need you,” Citron said. There was a chaos to her voice that filled him with remorse for involving her in the charade. “Something… something happened. With your friend.”

“It’s ok. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

“We’re at his apartment.” The waterworks were barely being held back. “Please hurry.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

#

Micah reached Castillo’s condominium in a matter of minutes. The briefcase for the rifle held awkwardly in his arms. He needed to rid himself of the evidence before too many more people had the chance to see him with it. He darted down an alley and tossed it into a dumpster.

He glanced around to make sure no one was in the vicinity before walking back out onto the street, removing his gloves as he did so and putting them into his back pocket. Moments later, he was knocking on the door of the man whose life he had just ripped away. The slab of wood slowly creaked open and Citron rushed forward, smothering Micah in an embrace that suggested she would likely need to speak with a therapist before she could sleep soundly.

“Are you okay?”

“He’s, he’s,” Citron peeked her head out and looked around the hallway, “he’s dead. Your friend is gone.”

“What? How?”

“I, I don’t know,” she said, stepping back into the condo. “One minute I’m on the bed, waiting for him to come up and do his thing. The next thing I know, he’s on the floor with his head blown open. Someone’s going to think I did this.”

“No one’s going to think that,” Micah said, grateful that the scene didn’t seem to be as difficult to deal with as he had expected. “Did anyone even know you were here?”

“Just you.”

“Then you’re fine. Did you touch anything besides the bed?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, stay here for a moment. I’m going to look in the room and see if I can clean things up a bit. Once I’m done, we’ll get the hell out of here. It’ll be like this just happened while he was alone.”

“But he’s naked.”

“This is the Magic City, Citron. You think homicide hasn’t seen their fair share of weird shit going down around here?” Micah placed a hand