Page 44 of Conor
Something about this just doesn’t seem right. I don’t see the Locos driving around in a cab trying to nail her. “Do you remember anything about the guy?” I ask. “Can ye tell me what he looked like?”
“He was wearing a cap,” Archer says. “And a jacket. I think he hurt his arm.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it was in one of those things the doctor gives people who hurt their arms.”
“Christ,” I mutter.
Archer’s eyes widen, and I apologize. “Ye did a grand job, little fella. I’m going to go find mama now, okay?”
“Please tell her I miss her,” he says.
My throat feels like a vice when I offer him a smile. “I will.”
Rory looks at me in question. “What is it?”
“Slick.”
Ronnie’s footsteps thud down the stairwell behind me, bouncing off the walls as he struggles to regain his balance. He’s disoriented, but not disabled.
“I’ll shoot you,” he yells.
He’s gasping for breath in a way that makes me think I seriously hurt him. Either that or he’s never exercised in his life. I don’t think he has a gun, but even if he did, I can’t chance stopping now. Having no idea what I’ll find at the bottom of this stairwell, I forge on.
I finally reach the last step and thank every god that might exist because it’s a fire exit. And by some miracle, when I press the bar, the door opens. Ronnie curses and I dart out into the night, running as fast as my legs can carry me. Every muscle in my body burns and my calves are seizing up, but I don’t care.
I have to do this for Archer. That’s what I keep telling myself. I weave my way down dark alleys and side streets, but Ronnie isn’t giving up either. I can still hear him behind me, cursing and grunting as he draws nearer. He’s catching up to me when I round the corner and see a group of men hanging out in front of an old warehouse.
“Help!” I scream. “Please help me!”
It’s dark, and I can’t see their faces under the dim street lights, but right now they are my only salvation.
“What the hell is this?” One of shadowed faces asks.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ronnie answers from behind me. “She’s just bent out of shape after an argument. You know how women get.”
My legs nearly give out from under me when I come to a stop, and the man at the front of the group steps forward, cocking his head to the side as he examines me. There’s a toothpick dangling from his mouth and a funny look in his eyes, and it takes a minute for recognition to curdle in my gut.
It’s Muerto’s second in charge, Animal. There is no question that he recognizes me too, it’s written all over his face. I start to retreat, smacking right into Ronnie. And now, in the ultimate twist of irony, I’m praying that he actually does have a gun.
“You know this bitch?” Animal looks at Ronnie. “Because she’s acting like she don’t know you.”
“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend,” Ronnie says. “There’s no problem here. I’m Slick’s son, remember?”
“I remember.” Animal scratches at his chin. “But last I checked, she was property of Muerto, God rest his soul.”
Before Ronnie can even attempt to formulate an answer, Animal whips out a pistol and fires. Something warm and wet splatters across my face, and I realize with sickening clarity that it’s Ronnie’s brains. His skull exploded, and he’s on the ground, and I’m freaking the fuck out as I my legs lurch into the opposite direction.
I don’t make it very far before I’m tackled to the ground with a level of violence that leaves no question about what happens next.
I’m dead.
“Heya, Runt,” Dom rumbles through the phone. “Where are you?”
“I’m just down the block from the cab office.”
“Don’t bother,” he says. “The gobshite just showed up here.”
