The solution to my problem came to me pretty quickly. It wasn’t ideal, or really even something that I particularly wanted to do, but I knew that it would be effective.
I made up my mind. I couldn’t fuck around with this and half-ass the mission. The safety of Claire was potentially at risk. If there was something going on with this crew or gang or whatever they were, I needed to find out who they were and learn what I was dealing with as quickly as possible.
I wasn’t about to let some asshole thugs threaten me and mine. They’d already ruined one day. That was enough to really piss me off.
It was late, the sun having set hours ago. I was crouched in some bushes, my breathing steady, everything about me Zen as fuck. It was my combat training, of course, that let me be so calm.
The bandana I had bought with cash at some tourist trap was pulled up over my face like an Old West robber. I didn’t think it was going to do much to hide my identity, but it could help. I fingered the knife in its holster, fresh from the kill just a day earlier.
The drunks and the regulars were stumbling out of the bar. I checked my watch: nearly three in the morning. There weren’t many streetlights around, and those that were nearby shone a weak, yellow blur, which meant it was the perfect spot to play the waiting game.
It didn’t take too long after that. Once the people had filtered out, maybe ten minutes later Dan the barman made his appearance.
I watched as he locked the door to the bar. Okay, Nathan, don’t fuck this shit up, I thought to myself.
I was out of the bushes and crossing the space between him and me within seconds. He had no clue I was there until he felt the steel of my blade pressed up against his throat.
“Don’t move or I kill you,” I whispered.
“Oh fuck,” he said. “Take what you want. Don’t hurt me.”
“Open the door.”
He unlocked it and pushed it inward. I kept my blade firmly against his neck, careful not to cut the skin. It took skill to keep such a sharp blade as mine from opening him up as he moved around, but I was good with it.
We moved inside and I shut the door behind us.
“Money is in the drawer,” he said. “Behind the bar. Take it all. Please, God, don’t hurt me. Please.”
“Shut up,” I growled.
“I have kids.” He was practically pissing himself.
“Listen to me,” I said. “I need information.”
“Information?” he sputtered.
“Yes. You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or you will die right here in this bar. See the gloves I’m wearing? Nobody will know. Not a shred of DNA.”
He glanced down at my hands, covered in some cheap leather things I’d found in another shop.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“A man was in here earlier. Showed you a symbol. Remember?”
He paused and then nodded.
“Speak. Don’t nod. I might cut you open if you move too fast,” I whispered.
He whimpered like a little bitch. I couldn’t believe he was being such a pussy. All men die sooner or later.
“I remember,” he said.
“Who are they?”
“I can’t say.”
He was on the verge of crying.
“You don’t seem to understand what’s happening here, Dan.” I spoke slowly and menacingly, hoping he understood. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to murder you right now. Do you think the kind of person looking for men like them wouldn’t?”
“If I tell you, they’ll kill me.”
“That’s not my problem. But at least in that case, you can get a running head start.”
He whimpered again as I pressed the knife harder against his skin, nicking him ever so slightly.
“Okay, okay. Please don’t kill me,” he groaned. “I’ll tell you.”
“Start talking.”
“They’re like a gang, old blood, been around this area for a long, long time. They have a hand in everything that happens around here, from business to politics and everything in between.”
“The mob?”
“Worse. More like a cult. They practice some freaky Voodoo shit. They’re going to know I talked.” He began to cry.
I couldn’t believe how afraid he was of them, almost more afraid of them than he was of my knife against his throat. That was some serious mojo, and it proved that these people were not to be fucked with.
“What are they called?” I asked.
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Say it or die.”
He sighed. “They’re called the Broken Hearts.”
I let that sound linger. “Where do they meet?”
“Nobody knows that. I swear I don’t know.”