beside him, smacking his palm with his cane like a 1920s cop rousting a speakeasy. By the door were two gorillas, bigger than Lew and Delroy put together. All of that was bad. But what was worseâÂand more confusingâÂwas the leader of the little troop, who stood in front of them facing Lew. Lew looked down into his eyes, which seemed much darker than he remembered.
âMickey King,â Lew said. âStrange way to thank me for saving your life.â Lew eased back and sat on the edge of a table. He had no idea what was going on here, but he was pretty sure taking a nonthreatening stance was mandatory to his breathing. The only thing he knew for sure was the murder heâd stopped earlier was no murder at all.
âYou just keep runninâ yoâ mouth, boy,â Delroy said. Mickey turned and looked at Delroy, who recoiled like heâd just touched a hot stove.
âMy associates are a little upset. They were expecting a big payday for our little charade, today. Now theyâre worried they wonât get it. Worried enough to want to take it out of you,â Mickey said. Lew watched Mickey pace as he spoke. Not the pace of a worried or anxious man, but the pace of a lecturer, explaining what was what in the world. Lew also noticed that Mickey seemed to have grown a Mexican accent.
Lew had a few comments bubble up into his brain, but he figured if he wanted to stay healthy heâd better keep quiet a while longer. He looked at Delroy until Delroy looked away. That tiny victory aside, Lew thought he was starting to understand what was going on here. And if he was right, things were very bad indeed.
âThe only reason you arenât losing blood, ese , is because of your intent. You didnât know who I was, or what was really happening, so you took a genuine risk when you stepped in. Iâm touched.â
âNot like there was any real danger, Mr. Colero,â Lew said, taking his shot. If he showed he was smart, he might have a chance. Miguel ColeroâÂknown mostly as White Mike, thanks to his complexion and his affinity for cokeâÂhad been in charge of a large chunk of the South Florida drug trade until he disappeared last fall. Lew knew this from his penchant of keeping an eye on the law enforcement activity in the Sunshine StateâÂespecially Tallahassee. Everyone figured his underlings or his competition had whacked Colero, but with very few photos of him in existence, verification had apparently become impossible.
âAnd apparently you can also put two and two together. Bravo, ese ,â Mickey said. âBut until Iâm outside of these walls, Iâm still just Mickey King. Comprende? â
â SÃ ,â Lew said. He was far from out of trouble, but he was still standing and that was something, considering who he was standing in front of.
Lew still had a lot of questions, like how White Mike had ended up in a Mississippi federal pen under an assumed name, or why he was working with nobodies to get himself out, but the only question that mattered was:
âWhatâs the gig?â
âAh, you see? You see? This is a survivor. A resourceful man adapting to his surroundings. He doesnât whine when heâs in a bad situation, he finds the angle,â Mickey said, the last of it apparently directed at Delroy.
âJust keepinâ it real,â Lew said. He sensed there was something spoiled between Mickey and Delroy and he didnât particularly want to watch it go to hell right in front of him.
âThe gig is act two. Delroy makes another attempt on Mickey Kingâs life, only this time he succeeds. Your job will be to make sure no more Good Samaritans stick their noses into our production. Simple, yes?â
âAs pie,â Lew said. âSo what happens after? Your coffin rolls on down the road until you pull a jack-Âin-Âthe-Âbox?â Mickey didnât respond, apparently disturbed that
Marc Nager, Clint Nelsen, Franck Nouyrigat