AllFreeNovel
Share Us
DeVoy gave him a bloody smile.
“What happened?” Emery asked.
“The white lady was scared. They start talking real quiet, both of them, but fast. And you can tell this other lady wants to get out of there. She’s trying to, but that lady—” He nodded to the picture of Yesenia on John-Henry’s phone. “—she grabs her arm. They go outside together, and that’s the last I seen of them.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a fight,” John-Henry said.
“You had to see it.” DeVoy licked his lips. “She was in here tonight again. Brought her fucking TV like anybody wanted that piece of shit. Fucking desperate.”
Jem dug out his own phone and did a quick search. A moment later, he found the website he wanted and, because luck was good tonight, a photo to go with it. When he showed it, DeVoy nodded.
“Fuck, man. That’s her. That’s her.”
He showed the photo of Heather Weis, animal psychic and dog trainer, to Emery and John-Henry.
“Of course,” Emery said in disgust.
But John-Henry grimaced.
DeVoy was looking from one man to another, clutching the bloody toilet paper, sitting forward like he meant to get up. “That’s all, man. That’s it. Now I got to go. My nose—”
“Hold on,” Emery said.
“The animals,” Jem said, “where do you get them?”
DeVoy flinched. For a moment, he was frozen, hand planted on the concrete, legs tensing like he might jump up and try to run again.
Then the door that connected the garage to the club’s employee space—the same door Jem had used on his first visit—swung open. Yellow light fanned across the garage. The beat of the music swelled. And a man wearing a ski mask stepped through the doorway, bringing up a shotgun.
In that fraction of a second when the gun was still coming up, Jem’s brain made the connection: the bartender staring at him, her uncertainty, her suspicion, a few minutes while she debated it, and then going to the club manager, or making a call, and then more minutes as a decision was made. The backlighting only gave him enough material for an impression: shorter than average, built like a man, bulky clothes. The shotgun barrel was matte, refusing to catch the light, barely more than another shadow.
Emery barreled into John-Henry, carrying both of them to the floor of the garage. He kicked one of the shelves hard enough to topple it, and it fell with a crash, spilling tools and cardboard boxes and plastic jugs of cleaner.
Jem processed that out of the corner of his eye, because as soon as he saw the gun, he started to move too. He spun toward the roll-up door, already putting on the speed, and immediately went down. Limbs tangled with his. A flurry of fists and feet, shouting. DeVoy, a part of his brain registered. DeVoy in a sheer panic, and they’d crashed into each other like two of the Three Stooges.
The gun boomed, and Jem waited for the pain, for worse. But nothing came. A moment later, he was free of DeVoy, scrambling to his feet. He charged for the roll-up when something caught his ankle. He went down again, glimpsed DeVoy clutching at his foot. Jem kicked, trying to get free. He had a glimpse of Emery and John-Henry barricaded behind the shelves. The man in the mask was swiveling toward Jem and DeVoy. The movement seemed almost comically slow, the gun coming up. Jem didn’t need an explanation for why, momentarily, John-Henry and Emery had ceased to be the primary targets. Take the easy kill first. Then take your time.
Still on hands and knees, Jem kicked again, trying to shake off DeVoy. Hands grabbed his shoulders, and for a panicked moment, Jem twisted back around to fight off this new attacker.
“Come on!” Tean shouted, hauling on Jem. “Come on!”
A different kind of gunshot rang out, and Jem turned his attention—automatically, unable to help himself—to the sound. Emery had produced a pistol from somewhere and was firing blindly over his improvised barrier. The man with the shotgun swung back toward the attack and fired again. The boom echoed through the tiny garage.
Jem kicked again, and this time, DeVoy’s hand fell away. Tean hauled him to his feet, and a moment later, the two of them emerged from the reek of gun smoke and hot metal into air that smelled like dog shit and prairie grass and gravel dust.
Behind them, DeVoy appeared under the roll-up door, eyes white with panic. The shotgun boomed again, and DeVoy dropped like someone had cut his legs out from under him.
“Emery!” Tean shouted. “John-Henry!”
“Go!” John-Henry shouted back. “Run!”
Jem grabbed Tean’s arm, but Tean refused to be led. He shouted into the mouth of the garage, “I’m calling the police!”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Emery roared, and then gunfire exploded again.
Jem shook Tean by the arm, but Tean turned on him, wild eyed. “We can’t leave them!”
Blood hammered in Jem’s ears. Then he heard himself say, “For fuck’s sake.”
