New to Murdertrain? Start from the beginning!
I’m walking up to Alison’s place and notice the door is open. Shit. I look around quickly and grab a trowel from the yard. It’s not the best thing I could have at a moment like this, but it’ll have to do.
I slowly creep up to the door and listen for movement. I hear footsteps. One guy. Not very heavy, either. In fact, sounds pretty small. My guess is Pick figured out he didn’t finish the job and now he’s looking for me. I slip off my sandals, and, sunglasses still on, I grip the trowel in my left hand and push the door open further, stepping as slowly and lightly as possible into the living room.
I hear something being put down on a table down the hall, and then a quick opening of drawers. I keep quiet and continue in that direction, trowel at the ready. My hand nearly engulfs the whole thing. My knuckles are white, and I feel the adrenaline. That kick I used to feel in the ring.
I stop next to the door and slow down my breath. I peek inside and see the back of a small man, about Pick’s size and shape. He’s wearing a bland suit and straw fedora with a floral print band around it. He pushes his hat back and sighs. He’s frustrated.
Well, soon he’ll be dead. What he gets for trying to drown me. Little shit.
I stalk into the room behind him and swing with the trowel at his head, but he dodges just in time and I end up barely grazing his hat. Unfortunately for him, he has no finesse and manages to fall over awkwardly on his ass. But his gun is drawn. Government-issue revolver. I don’t even need to look at his face to know it ain’t Pick.
“Jesus shucking Christ!” he belts out. I think I scared him just a little bit.
I take off my sunglasses and toss them and the trowel on the dresser he was just sifting through.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask.
He puts his gun back in his shoulder holster and picks up his hat off the floor as he gets up. He runs his fingers through his greasy hair and places the hat neatly on top of his head.
“The name’s Mitchell. And you don’t need to introduce yourself, I know who you are.”
“Good. Now tell me what the hell you’re doing in my brother’s ex’s house.”
I clench my fists when I say this. It usually gets me results. A guy my size doesn’t have to do a whole lot to look intimidating.
He changes his attitude, now trying to sound friendly. “Looking for you, actually,” he says with a nervous little laugh. “Well, your brother, too.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Sorry about the mess,” he says as he pushes one of the drawers closed. “I thought you actually were dead.”
“Doesn’t make it okay to toss around a young lady’s house like that.”
He stops in the middle of the room, takes off his hat, and fumbles with it in his hands. I don’t know how this guy got to be a Fed, if my hunch is right and that’s what he is.
“Would you mind walking with me for a minute?”
We walk back out to the beach, up away from the now swollen mass of loungers, towards a less crowded spot where a few surfers are catching waves. I can see a few clouds creeping in fast on the horizon.
“What do you know about your brother’s life out here?” he finally asks.
“Just what he and a few of his associates have told me. I assumed it was just wrestling business, but…”
“But then you heard about the shipments.”
“Do you know what he was smuggling?”
“I think you already figured that part out. But I’ll humor you.” Mitchell puts his hands in his pockets and looks out at the surfers doing their thing.
“It’s people. Immigrant labor. Families. Kids. He’s pretty much been spearheading the whole thing.”
“So, then why the disappearing act? You don’t think he’s dead, do you?”
“No…” Mitchell says. “And obviously you don’t, either. We’re on an island. Kinda hard for a corpse to remain unfound for that long.”
“So, then where is he?”
“See, Chin’s the key. Chin runs everything, and nobody can run a racket on this pile of lava without his say-so. But Chin’s always been more discreet about the smuggling. I can’t picture him turning human trafficking into a big business.”
“Otherwise he’d have guys like you sniffing around more than usual,” I say.
“Well, shit, he knows he doesn’t have to worry about me. It’s INS he has to worry about. And my bosses back in Virginia. As long as I can keep telling them things are clean here, they won’t come snooping around, but Chin knows no amount of money he pays me can cover up that many containers of chinks. Not to mention all that forged paperwork in one spot is going to raise a few flags.”
“So, Donnie was doing this without Chin’s OK?”
“That’s as much as I’ve gathered. Your brother isn’t the kind of guy to pass up a chance at the big time. Even if it means stepping on some toes.”
“Or chopping them off.”
“Not the first time he’s made a power play before, huh?”
“Don’t get me started. So, why don’t you talk to Chin?”
“Nobody can talk to Chin. He’s been hiding in his office for weeks. My first thought was that he was trying to distance himself from the whole situation. He likes your brother, he likes the other work he’s done. Which is why he hasn’t had Donnie whacked yet.”
“So, a case like this…” I ask him, “don’t you have any other men on it?”
“I’m the whole damn office out here.”
Great. I guess at least I don’t have to worry about any other Feds getting in my way. Mitchell pulls out a smoke and offers me one from the pack. I take it.
“So…” I say before a long drag, “you don’t know where Donnie is, you can’t talk to Chin, and your best idea to dig up info was to search Alison’s house.”
“I’m grasping at straws here. I was hoping we could pool our resources.”
“Donnie was paying you off, wasn’t he?”
“I, well…” he pushes his hat back and rubs his forehead.
“Just making sure I have everything figured out here,” I say. “You know who I work for, right? As lousy a cop as you might be, you still know how to do some basic research.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I pull out a wad of hundreds and tuck a few of them in his jacket pocket, “now you’re working for the family. But this is off the books, get it? My bosses don’t need to know right now. Not until I figured out how I’m going to clean this fucking mess up.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You’re going to do some walking around for me. Research. I’m no good with this kind of shit, but there’s gotta be some kind of paper trail. Find it. If Donnie’s hiding, he’s gonna be hiding somewhere Chin doesn’t know about, I bet.”
“Real estate,” Mitchell says with a snap of his fingers.
“Look for any transactions. I don’t know what name he’ll be doing this shit under, but for a smart guy, he’s not the most creative. I’ve got a friend coming by. I want you to go with him. I trust him.”
“What, Hoskins, you don’t trust me?”
“I trust you about as much as a half a grand will take me.”
“What about Chin?”
“I’ll talk to Chin. I’m here for…‘diplomatic’ reasons. He has to talk to me, whether he wants to or not. Now let’s get back to the house. Eddie should be here.”
Eddie’s waiting for us when we get back. I find him leaning against his car, which is parked behind what I assume is Mitchell’s, and he’s got the usual smile on his face.
“Oh, shit,” he says when he sees who’s with me, “Agent Billy Mitchell is on the case, huh?”
“Fuck you, Honda,” Mitchell says as they shake hands.
“I figured you two would know each other. Eddie, Mitchell’s going with you. I gave him some homework to do. Keep him out of trouble.”
“I tried getting in to see Chin,” Eddie says.
“But he’s not taking visitors,” I reply.
“Same tune as before. They’re all acting weird down there.”
“I figured. Leave him to me. Oh, and Mitchell–”
“Yeah?”
“Two things: one, I need your car.”
Mitchell reaches into his pocket and places the keys in my open paw and then asks, “What’s the other thing?”
“If I ever find you in Alison’s house again, I will rip your fucking arm off and beat you to death with it. Clear?”
“Crystal, boss,” he says with his car salesman smile.
They walk to Eddie’s car and I light up another cigarette.
“Don’t fucking call me boss.”
Interested in pre-ordering this serial (or any others)? If so, just click here!
