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Ten Years Later
Mackenzie prowled the backstreets of downtown Los Angeles searching for her mark.
Johnny Beckman was the name her boss had given her, but he usually went by Ace, because he always seemed to be able to pull one out of his sleeve when the stakes were high. Unfortunately, his luck had taken a turn for the worse lately and he owed her boss over ten grand. Money that Mackenzie was going to collect.
She had spent most of the night talking to people, trying to track him down. Rumor had it that he liked to hang out in a bar called Pot Luck.
The club closed at two, so she loitered outside waiting for Johnny. She stood against a wall trying to look casual, staring at the reflection of the neon green Pot Luck sign in a nearby puddle.
“Hey there sweetness, why don’t we go back to my place?” A bald drunk leered at her as he left the club. He tried to cop a feel, but before he could touch her she grabbed his wrist and twisted it up his back. He cried out, trying to wrench his arm away.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” she said. She let go of his wrist and he hurried away, calling her a few choice names as he went. Nothing she hadn’t heard before. She had fended off more than a few unwanted admirers in her line of work. At five foot ten, she towered over a few them, and that intimidated them.
Although some of them looked past that to the curly black hair, green eyes and a body with curves in all the right places.
A half hour later, Johnny finally staggered out. He was shorter than her by three inches. Dressed in a sports jacket which he wore over a checked shirt, he bumped into one of the bouncers at the door. He was loaded.
“Watch it,” the bouncer growled.
“Drop dead,” Johnny muttered, not loud enough for the bouncer to hear, but she heard it. She kept her distance until he was away from the club. The stench of urine in the alleyway was overpowering. Breathing through her mouth, she crept along behind him. There was little light, so Johnny wouldn’t see her until she was right up on him.
She passed a pile of blankets tucked between two trash cans. Pausing, she checked to make sure they were empty. She didn’t need some homeless person as a witness.
Johnny stopped to light a cigarette and Mackenzie closed the distance between them.
“Hey, Johnny, how’s your luck been?” she said, in a friendly tone.
He turned around, the lit match still in his hand. Weariness lined his pudgy face. Running a hand through his greasy black hair, he eyed her through small, bleary dark eyes. He reminded her of a pig. And not the cute one from the film.
“Who’s asking?” His tone was guarded but his body was relaxed. He didn’t view her as a threat and she found that insulting.
“Mr. Clayton is wondering about his money,” she replied.
That got a reaction. She didn’t relax her stance. Things could turn ugly in a moment’s notice and as they said in her kickboxing class, ‘Never let your guard down.’
“You tell Clayton that if he doesn’t have the decency to send his heavies for the money, then he can wait for it. Seriously, how old are you, sweetheart?” He was right up in her face now and she could smell his stinking breath.
Ever since she’d been a kid, she hated when people invaded her personal space. It made her edgy and more than ready to do whatever she needed to get them to back off.
“Old enough to do this,” she said. She brought her knee up into his groin. He let out a muffled grunt of pain as he doubled over. Grabbing the back of his head, she slammed her knee into his forehead. He cried out again and fell to the ground, clutching his balls and head simultaneously.
“Mr. Clayton wants his money by midnight tomorrow or...” she left the sentence unfinished. Leaning over him, she checked his pockets and found over a grand tucked away. He was still earning his nickname.
“I’ll take this as a down payment.”
Eager to get out of the alleyway and away from the stench, she turned away.
“You fucking cunt,” Johnny yelled. He shoved her hard from behind and she fell to her knees. Something wet soaked through the left leg of her jeans. I really hope that’s rain water. From behind her she heard the distinct click of a blade.
“That was a big mistake,” he said, pointing it at her, “How about I send Clayton a message in the form of your dead body.”
“A little help here,” Mackenzie said. She whispered a few words in Latin.
The streetlight above them blinked out, as Mackenzie climbed to her feet.
A cold wind swirled around them. A trashcan tipped over, spilling its contents over the ground. The smell of rotting food filled the air.
“What the hell is going on?” Johnny said, his eyes wild with fear. He backed away from her, his eyes darting back and forth. The knife flicked out of his hand and bounced away.
Mackenzie saw the Shadow move in behind Johnny, flipping him off his feet. He hit the ground, smacking his chin on the concrete.
As the Shadow moved over him, she knew what was coming next.
“Subsitso,” Mackenzie barked. The Shadow halted, poised in anticipation, waiting for further instructions.
She looked at Johnny whimpering on the ground, “Excedo,” she commanded.
The Shadow sank slowly into the ground and disappeared.
“Get the money Johnny,” she said.
Breathing hard, she walked away, angry that Johnny had gotten the jump on her. She hated having to call the Shadow for help when she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
It had appeared a few times over the last ten years, especially as she had a knack for getting into trouble. At first, she had been terrified and convinced she was going crazy. When it appeared, it would whisper to her in Latin. Once she figured out it was Latin, she memorized a few simple commands, which it seemed to prefer to English.
Constantly moving as a child meant she never had anyone to confide in about the strange and sometimes scary phenomenon. She had tried telling Suzie in the children’s home about it, but that had been a mistake. Suzie had laughed in her face and shoved her down, calling her a nut job. Unwittingly, Mackenzie had summoned the Shadow and Suzie ended up in the hospital with stitches in her head. This Shadow thing craved violence and Mackenzie knew it would have loved to have killed Johnny, but it followed her orders without question. At least so far. Over the years, it had become a kind of guardian for her, but considering the outcome of its last visit, that night with Ramone, she had sworn she would never call for it again. Calling it was a mistake, but sometimes she did it without thinking.
Still, she had what she came for. As she left the alley, she felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck as if she was being watched. She stopped, searching the area, but saw nothing. There were shouts in the distance, more drunks no doubt. Crossing the street, she glanced over her shoulder.
There was definitely someone watching her. She looked up and found him, standing on a fire escape on the building opposite. He was tall, wearing a long coat, which flapped around him in the wind, but that was about all she could see. She couldn’t see his face but she knew he was staring right at her. Something about the man sent chills down her spine. She turned and hurried away. She’d had enough surprises for one night.
Blue Moon was the club Mr. Clayton owned. Its usual cliental consisted of the dregs of society or out-of-towners who didn’t know about its reputation. They played mostly dance music, which personally Mackenzie hated, but she had learned to drown it out over the last couple of years. She let herself in the back door hoping to leave the money and go, but a few people were still up, including Clayton.
“Johnny sent you a little present, Mr. Clayton,” Mackenzie said, dropping the money on the table in front of a blonde woman in her late forties. Two bodyguards stood on either side of her.
Her ice blue eyes gave nothing away. She was dressed in a simple blue calf length dress, but Mackenzie was sure the woman could make sack cloth look classy.
“You gave him my message?” Mr. Clayton asked.
“Yes, he’ll pay,” Mackenzie, replied.
“He’d better,” the woman replied. Mr. Clayton was in fact Greta Clayton. She had taken over from her husband after he was shot two years ago. Even though he was dead, his name still meant something among the locals. Since he was rarely seen, Greta kept up the pretense that he was still alive. Mackenzie knew that if the locals knew a woman ran the show, there would be chaos.
Mackenzie worked odd jobs for her, usually bartending and deliveries but more recently ‘collections.’ Greta had seen her take down a couple of drunks a few weeks earlier and decided that she was worth promoting. She didn’t argue when her promotion came, especially since it tripled her salary.
“Any trouble?” Greta asked, counting the money.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she replied.
Greta smiled, transforming her face, “Good girl. Your payment will be ready in the morning.”
Mackenzie never asked, but Greta had a presence about her. Mackenzie often wondered if she had been an actress back in the day. It seemed every young girl who came here wanted to be one. A few lucky ones got their big break. A lot more got swallowed by the city. The appeal of acting was lost on her. It was hard enough making ends meet.
Mackenzie left the way she came in. In the ally, she climbed onto her motorbike. Some people said that in a city this size you needed a car, but she preferred her Ducati. Back tire squealing, she headed home.
As she drove over the crest of a hill, someone stepped into the road. She slowed slightly, wondering what someone would be doing out this late, on such a deserted stretch of road.
Flames erupted in front of her. Mackenzie braked hard, jerking the bike to the left. A wave of heat hit her. The bike went out from under her, straight over the cliff edge. She skidded on her back a few feet and came to a stop inches from the flames. Heat tinged her face like a lover’s kiss.
Unable to catch her breath, she lay motionless. A man stepped through the flames, unaffected by the heat. He loomed over her, face hidden in shadow. Could this be the same guy from the roof? He was about the same size. Her heart jack-hammered in her chest, leaving her breathless. A medallion in the shape of an eagle hung around his neck.
“Consider this a warning,” he hissed, “Stop messing with things you don’t understand.”
Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the flames, leaving her speechless and suddenly very afraid.
Mackenzie struggled into a sitting position, the flames dying around her. Her back burned and she was sure her leather jacket was a write off, as was her motorbike. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but somehow knew, this wasn’t the end.
The man was gone. He had vanished into the flames as though he’d never existed.
Son of a bitch.
Apparently, Johnny was better connected than she thought. Or someone was. Greta had a lot of enemies and since no one could get near her, it made sense they would go after her employees.
Checking herself over, she was relieved to find that she wasn’t badly hurt, just a few scrapes and bruises. She started the long walk home, already plotting her revenge.
Nervously, Mackenzie tapped her foot, waiting for her mother to appear. She shifted in the hard plastic chair trying to get comfortable. She hated this place with the cold stares from the inmates and the prison guards watching her every move. She hated the smell of body odor and disinfectant, and the way the sunlight played against gray, dingy walls. Mostly, she hated the fact that her mother had to be here for the next twenty years.
Annie, her mother, had no memory of the night Ray died. When the police arrived, she had been lying next to Ray. She’d not said one word to Mackenzie in the half hour it took for the ambulance and police to arrive.
The police had asked her over and over how could she have stabbed Ray fourteen times and not remember the act. She hadn’t answered them either.
Her lawyer had called it self-defense, the judge had called it murder one. All Mackenzie knew was that Ray had gotten exactly what he deserved and her mother was being punished for it.
Annie finally appeared, her face pale and drawn. Her blonde hair, so different from Mackenzie’s own dark curls, hung limp and unwashed. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheekbones jutted out, making her face appear hollow and gaunt. She moved like a woman twice her age, although she was only thirty-nine. Shuffling towards the table, her eyes lit up when she saw Mackenzie.
“Baby, how are you?” she said, clutching her hand.
“I’m fine, are you okay? Do you need anything?”
“No, I have everything I need,” her mother, replied. She stared at Mackenzie, drinking in the sight of her daughter.
“Mom, don’t do the staring thing.”
“You look great. How’s school?” she asked.
“School’s great,” Mackenzie replied. At least it was the last time she rode past it. She had tried the school thing for about half a semester, but it hadn’t worked out. She just pretended she was still there to keep her mother happy.
“Do you have a boyfriend yet?”
“No. I’m concentrating on school.” It bothered her sometimes how easily she could lie and how convincing she could be. It was a useful skill at work, but she hated lying to her mother.
“Good, that’s good,” Annie said, patting her hand. “What’s that?” her mother asked, pulling back her sleeve to reveal a scrape she gotten when her motorcycle went out from under her.
“It’s nothing.” Mackenzie said, pulling her arm away.
“Did someone do that to you?”
“No, I had an accident. I came off my motorbike.”
“Motorbike? Your daddy used to ride a motorbike,” she said.
“He did?” Her mother never went into any detail about her father. Her mom didn’t know she was pregnant until after he was gone.
When Mackenzie was younger, Annie would lament about their summer together but she never gave any useful information. All she knew was that her father’s name was Sebastian King. She had done a few searches online for him but had never found any matches.
“Yes. I remember he was fixing it when we first met. It broke down outside the bakery, where I worked. He was so handsome.”
“Why did he leave you?” Mackenzie asked. In the past when she would ask questions, her mother would shut down and refuse to answer. Lately, though, she seemed to have trouble discerning fantasy from reality and she was talking more and more about him.
“He was in trouble. He was only in town to visit Mr. Black”
“Mr. Black?” Mackenzie said, trying not to push.
“He owned a pawn store. Sebastian was only planning to stay for a couple of days, but he was there for three months.” Her mother’s eyes clouded over, caught up in the memory.
That was more information than Mackenzie had ever heard. She wondered if this Mr. Black knew where her father was. She had often thought about him over the years, where he was now, whether he even knew about her.
“The bakery you worked in, was that in your home town?”
Her mother nodded, “Yeah, it’s this tiny little town. When I was younger all I wanted to do was come to Los Angeles, but now not a day goes by that I don’t wish I was back in East Falls.”
East Falls. She finally had a name, somewhere to start.
“Maybe we can go back there when you get out,” Mackenzie said.
Her mother realized what she had said, “You wouldn’t want to go there honey, it’s nothing like LA and I know you. You’re a city girl.”
“I wouldn’t mind roughing it for a few days,” she replied.
“No, Mac. The past is the past. Leave it where it is.”