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Chapter Twenty-four
Mike
“Mike, you’re up next!” Manny yelled at him from the table near their bowling lane, where he was stuffing his face with loaded nachos.
Mike didn’t care that he was holding up their game as he strained to hear Rayne’s hushed words over the alley noise.
“Rayne, just calm down and give me the address where you are. I’m gonna come get you,” Mike told him, his heart kicking into an unsustainable gear. Someone was threatening what he cared about.
Rayne was forewarning him about some mean dog in the backyard and that his uncle was violent when he was drunk, but Mike didn’t give a damn about some feral bitch or how big this uncle was. Neither of them could beat Mike on his worst day.
He turned around, his energy spiking as he thought of a quick plan. He didn’t know what expression he wore, but Manny and Raphael, one of his lead groundsmen and a former member of the same motorcycle gang as him, walked over.
“You look serious,” Manny said. “What’s going on?”
“Some dead man has Rayne locked in a room and won’t let him out,” Mike said, removing his bowling shoes as a few more guys from his crew came over.
“Big Mike. You good, man?” Score asked him, though it appeared he already knew he wasn’t. His fists flexed at his sides as a vein bulged in his thick neck. Score was always ready to ride out. “If you got trouble, I’m going with you. Just say the word.”
“Word.” Mike glared at the nine men standing around him.
“Is it one of your boys?” Marcus asked.
“No,” Manny answered. “But someone just as important.”
“Then let’s move.” Score nodded. “I haven’t had a good fight in a while.”
Jason was on the other lane with a few of the new hires, and once he saw them readying to leave, he rushed over, looking confused and a little rejected. “Yo, Manny. Where y’all going?”
Mike didn’t answer because his pulse was pounding too hard, and every second that ticked by made him anxious that they weren’t already on the interstate.
“Jase, stay here and finish game night with the rest of the guys. Pay with the company card, but don’t let ’em drink too much or cause any shit in here. We have to go out and handle something.” By the way Manny was talking and the grim expression on his face, Jason could sense they were about to get into some shit of their own.
“No. I wanna come with you guys this time,” Jason argued. “Why do y’all keep leaving me out? I can help.”
“No you can’t,” Mike demanded. Jason was too young, and Mike and Manny had both decided to help keep him out of trouble so he could be there for his ailing mother. She was all he had, so Mike refused to include the impressionable kid in his bullshit.
“Why the hell not?” Jason almost whined.
Mike gritted his teeth. Time was ticking. He didn’t have time to explain. “Just do what the fuck Manny asked you to do, Jase, and move outta my goddamn way!”
Mike texted Rayne when they pulled up while his guys hurried out of the truck to put their plan into place. Mike sent four of his guys around the back to take care of the dog while he, Manny, and Score waited in front. Mike got the text that the dog was secured before he nodded at Manny to knock on the front door. He and Score stood off to the side away from the peephole so the uncle didn’t get suspicious when he saw three tatted-up men standing on his porch. Manny had on his hard hat and neon safety vest as if he was a technician working in the area, his clipboard tucked under his arm.
“Who is it?” a man yelled from inside.
“Sir, we’re responding to a power outage in your area and wanted to know if you’ve had any interruptions today,” Manny answered, sounding professional.
Mike heard the lock disengage, and the moment the front door cracked open, Manny barged through it with Mike and Score hot on his heels.
“What the hell are—”
Manny jabbed the edge of the clipboard into the man’s throat, making his head snap back from the force of the blow. He struggled to take in a breath of air, unable to voice his pain as he dropped down to his knees. His scream was caught in his battered throat as the rest of Mike’s guys exploded in through the back door.
“Outside is clear,” Score told him, his thick steel pipe resting on his right shoulder.
The man stayed on all fours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “You… you got the wrong guy,” the man sputtered and gagged, his hands clamped together in front of him as if prayer had any chance of saving him.
“Where is he?” Mike slammed his boot into the man’s ribs, sending him hurtling backward into the television stand. He didn’t wait for an answer before he stormed across the dirty brown carpet in the living room and down the hall.
