Fifteen Minutes after the Hit

“Draven went belly up.”

“I hope you got answers first.” Jacks’s tone lets me know he’s at work. That means I gotta be quick.

“I didn’t kill him,” I explain. “Someone had him silenced. Midsentence.”

“Hold on.” There’s a pause and I can hear Jacks mumbling something to his partner about stepping outside. The door to his police cruiser slams. “What the fuck does that mean?” I got Jacks’s attention now. I clear my throat.

“He was talking about Vincent,” I tell him. “He was about to give up what would’ve been considered as valuable information. Then, bang, he took a bullet in the throat. Conversation over.”

“Were you hit?”

“Do you think we’d be having this conversation if I’d been hit?” I can feel my blood boiling as I relive the events that transpired. “Of course I’m not hit. They weren’t gunning for me. Whoever it was left me behind for some reason. They were there for Draven.” I pull the car into a parking spot at some hick gas station. I smoked my last cigarette at Draven’s house. “And, to answer your next question, no, I didn’t see the shooter. I dropped and covered, and they fled the scene before I could give chase.”

Jacks doesn’t say anything. I throw the car in park and kill the engine. I can hear Jacks breathing deeply on the other end of the line. “There goes the star of the show.”

“Don’t I know it,” I agree. “Which is why we need to find an understudy. Someone who knows about Vincent’s dealings. And we gotta do it fast.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“For the record, Draven tipped me off that Vincent was into the prostitution racket as well.”

“Good to know.”

“And, by the way, you may want to have a talk with the Mohican from last night. Draven knew I was coming and he fingered that bastard as the root cause.”

“It’s so hard to find good help these days,” Jacks grumbles. “I’ll be sure to pay him a visit.”

“Call me if you come up with anything.” Jacks hangs up before I finish my sentence. He didn’t really need to hear me say it. Old habits die hard. Shit. I gotta get me a cigarette. I put my hand on the door handle. My phone rings. I pick it up without looking at it.

“That was fast.”

“Levi, we need to have a meeting ASAP.” It’s Chenille.

“I’m getting smokes. I’ll meet you at my place in twenty minutes.” I step out of the car.

“Move your ass.” She hangs up. I put the phone back in my pocket and walk into the gas station. The redneck behind the counter doesn’t even move from his chair as I enter. I get the feeling that he couldn’t get up off his big fat ass even if he wanted to. His hand is stopped halfway between a bag of pork rinds and his mouth and his head is cocked as he listens to the monotone news reporter on the beat-up stereo sitting on the back counter. I’m sure pork bellies are up. This guy probably just hit it rich.

“Pack of smokes,” I say, pointing to the Parliaments. The hick blinks his eyes, realizing that I’m standing at the counter. The pork rind in his hand finishes the trip to his mouth before he hauls himself out of his chair to get the smokes for me. At least I know now where I can go if I ever need to turn a quick buck. I could rob this place blind before he even knew I was here. He moves sluggishly toward the register and rings up the cigarettes. I slap a five on the counter. He still barely knows I’m here. His attention is glued to the radio. He digs in the drawer and hands me my change.

“Thanks,” I say over my shoulder as I’m walking out the front door. He’s already back to his chair. I open the driver’s-side door and slide behind the wheel, placing a cigarette between my lips. I start the engine as I fire up the cigarette. I look into my rearview mirror to back up. My hand drops to my gun when I see the blue eyes staring back at me.

“There will be no need for that, Mr. Maurice.”

I relax a little and I put my hand on the headrest of the passenger seat as I turn around to look in the backseat.

“I guess you weren’t lying when you said you’d find me.”