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“Rein it in, Ash,” The President said calmly.
Ash set his jaw and attempted a polite smile. “Look, we’re talking about family here-”
Jared held up his hands in apology. “And Nix is an… old friend to you, did you say, Ash?”
“Ash wants to recruit him, next prospect,” Colt said.
“He was my cell buddy, before I got out,” Ash said, his voice cracking a little. Phantom blinked and looked closer. This guy, Nix, whoever he was, he was more than just a cell buddy to Ash. Phantom could see it clear as day on Ash’s face. Wider eyes, slight flush to his cheeks, heart pounding away, given away by the skipping pulse in the base of his throat. Phantom always watched for a person’s pulse.
“We need an extra person to work the next assignment… Blue wanted to get involved and insert someone new himself, one of his agents, but I told him to wait, we’ll get Nix.”
Phantom still found it confusing that the Black Coyotes worked with the FBI. With law enforcement. That had been the deal when Colt reignited the club. They had complete immunity, as long as they toed the line. That meant working with the local Mayor, a crooked, wily woman who wanted her finger in all the illegal shit happening in town, and also Blue, the former Prez, head of the local Gangs Division with the FBI, and Colt’s father in law.
“What is the new assignment, anyway?” Jared asked.
Colt pursed his lips. “I’ll tell you later, I’ll tell the whole committee together… it’s… fucked up… I’m not happy about it… new partners, fuck the Demonios, we’ll be doing deliveries for some new players in town…”
Ash shrugged. “Okay, so what do you need us to do?”
“Ash and Jared, we need a truck, a big one, fully serviced that can run reliably…”
Jared nodded to Ash. “Sure, we’ll get on that.”
“Phantom.” Colt looked to him now. “I want you to keep an eye on someone. We need to be picking stuff up from the pharmacist in town, Rafferty’s. Mr. Rafferty himself is being a fucker and not playing ball. I want you to sit there, outside his shop, all day, staring him down, making him sweat. Watch him like a fucking stalker, do you hear me? Like a fucking recurring nightmare, scare him a little, you know? Jump out of the darkness and shout ‘Boo.’”
Phantom took a breath in and out. They were all watching him closely. Sure, he could do that, pull into a parking bay on the high street, sit on his bike and watch, all day, every day. That’s the task he’d been assigned, so that was what he would do. He didn’t mind that it was monotonous, rain or shine, he didn’t care, his family needed him to do this, so he was going to fucking well do it. That was what he had been trained to do, after all. He knew waiting and watching from the shadows. He knew jumping out of the darkness to shout ‘Boo.’ His worldwasdarkness. That, he could do. He didn’t move a muscle on his face, he sat and imperceptibly stared back at his brothers. And he uttered his only sound, “Hmm.”
“Phantom, I want you on him like a fucking rash, okay?” Colt said. “Watch their customers, all the other employees, who goes in and out. Take photos, gather intel. Just enough to intimidate him a bit. He doesn’t want to work with us, doesn’t trust us, well, we’ll show him we are doing these pick-ups, one way or another, with or without his approval…” Colt sighed, visibly frustrated.
Jared turned to Colt. “So it’s drugs related then, if we are picking up shit from a pharmacist?”
Colt remained tight-lipped. “Good, settled then, Phantom’s off the other assignments, except the contract kills. They hardly come in anyway. If you’re going to be hanging ‘round the pharmacy like a wasp at a picnic all day you won’t be working nights on the runs.”
That suited Phantom just fine. His nights were his own, he came alive in the night, he preferred the darkness, it was his element. He could breathe in the darkness. He only had one more left to kill. One more Demonios scum. He could wait a while for that kill. He enjoyed the contract kills, of course. Guess who the biggest client for that was? Only the friendly FBI themselves. A witness they didn’t want speaking out. A criminal who got less time than he should have done. Oh yes, the FBI and the Black Coyotes were mutually happy bedfellows.
Yeah, he was The Darkness, the bringer of death, the Fantasma de la Muerte. He kept laughing because otherwise he was worried he might end up crying. The yawning loneliness, the never-ending horror of it all. But there was an end in sight, just a few more left. He had a plan, his agenda was death. And he wouldn’t stop until he’d made them all pay for what they did. Yeah, he was a ghost from the darkest pits of hell and he left nothing but blood and bones in his wake.
Dusk was falling. Finally. Phantom sighed and rolled his shoulders, feeling more at home in the dying light. It was also beginning to rain. In early spring in northern Cali, there was sometimes a light pinch to the air and a dampness. Phantom didn’t mind it. He let the heavy droplets roll off his leather jacket, roll off his skin. He was Teflon to the world around him.
He’d watched the pharmacy tirelessly all day. Taken photos. Scoped out who was coming and going. A car rolled by, slowed as if it were about to park, but then sped up again, unnecessarily fast, and accelerated off down the road. The noise of the acceleration pulled him from his reverie. He should get going, too. He was about to fire up his bike and head back to the clubhouse, and his bed, but something caught his eye.
A light came on.
In the shop next door to the pharmacy.
He hadn’t even noticed what the shop was. He looked now. It was closed down, mist in the windows, no sign above it. It looked desolate.
So who was in there?
Phantom let a small curl pull his lip up on one side. Not a smile. He didn’t smile. This might be a good opportunity to set up a little surprise for Mr. Rafferty himself. If he could access the shop next door, that provided plenty of opportunities to intimidate him.
The raindrops began to spatter harder now. It was otherwise quiet, everyone was inside, cozy and warm and safe. Phantom was outside, the monster in the gathering gloom.
He could smell blood. The darkness would have eyes again, he thought. It called him home, extending its arms out to embrace him, to take him in. So he could move like the darkness, creep up on his prey. And let them meet their maker.
He got off his bike, checked his knives in a holder around his waist. Yes, all secure. He was wearing a black hoodie underneath his leather cut. He pulled the hood up, not to keep off the rain, but to hide his face, and slunk around to the back alley that ran down the back of the line of shops. He moved like the darkness itself down the alleyway.
He came across the dumpsters behind the shops. They smelled of that sour stench of old food. He had a quick root around in the pharmacist’s dumpster. Lots of shredded paper and coffee cups. Maybe there was blackmail potential material in there.
