“Boss?” comes the voice of one of my men, but I’m focused on Mickey.
Mickey starts laughing as though I’ve just played right into his hand.
“That so? Well, sure, I won’t mind doing that, so long as you go tell those hardworking immigrants outside I’ve gotta fire them ‘cause the local gang doesn’t like anyone hiring outsiders.”
That pushes the wrong buttons for me. Faster than Mickey can get another word out, my hand flashes forward and snatches him by the collar, pulling him close as he gasps in surprise. Guess the old fart didn’t think we’d so much as touch him. I don’t even hear one of my men call my name again from near the door.
“Oh no, you sniveling little shit,” I snarl at him, “things are gonna change for them, too, but for the better. Not only are you going to keep them on, but you’re going to pay them a fair wage, too. Not a cent less than what you hired the other two employees at. Think you’re going to get away with cutting corners at poor workers’ expense? Fuck that. You’re about to become the most generous man in the neighborhood, Mickey.”
“And just what the fuck do you think you’re gonna do about it, you potato-eating good-for-nothing?”
His voice is unwavering, but with our face so close, I can see the glint of doubt in his eyes. He’s starting to doubt that the threat of the FBI will keep things from getting real, and fast. My fist clenched, and I open my mouth to retort.
“PREZ,” Eva shouts at me, and this time I turn to look at her just as the door to the liquor store swings open.
Standing there at the entrance of the store is Cherry, mouth agape as she pushes past my man posted at the door and looks me dead in the eye as my fist is raised toward Mickey.
6
Cherry
“What the hell is this?” I exclaim, looking around the liquor store with my mouth agape.
After hearing the motorcycles rumble by earlier, I couldn’t resist the urge to follow them. Even though I knew I should be cautious, something told me I needed to find out where they were going. I followed them in my rental car, keeping about a block behind just in case they decided to look back and recognize my Focus. I was confused when I saw them pull into the parking lot of the liquor store which has been here ever since I can remember.
Mickey’s is where my dad used to stop on the way home from a long day at work to pick up a six-pack for himself, and a soda for me. It has memories, but they’re all innocuous. So I had no idea what the biker gang could possibly want with the store, besides just buying alcohol to fuel whatever criminal activities they were getting into tonight.
At first, I sat in my car in the parking lot, biting my lip nervously, trying to talk myself into just driving back to my hotel and pretending none of today happened. But when all the biker guys disappeared into the store and stayed inside for longer than an average trip to the liquor store should take, that same sense of duty and fate urged me to look into it.
So here I am now, standing in the midst of what looks like some kind of shakedown. Various motorcycle guys and even a couple women I didn’t notice before are stationed throughout the little liquor store. In any other situation, their arrangement might just look like a bunch of people who just happen to be browsing the shelves at the same time. But with my heightened awareness of the tension in the air, it is apparent to me that they’re strategically spread out to cover the store.
And Leon is here, with his fist raised in a combative stance, looking like he’s just about to rip into some wiry, fifty-something guy in a shabby business suit. The guy looks vaguely familiar, and it dawns on me that I saw him around the store on the few occasions when my dad stopped off here and left me sitting in the truck. I think it’s Mickey, himself. The guy the store’s named after.
In the next few seconds, a million little things seem to happen in slow motion. The man I shoved past at the doorway comes up behind me, his footsteps heavy and quick. Leon has turned to look back at me, his green eyes going wide with alarm and confusion.
A woman’s voice somewhere to my left cries, “Watch out!”
And then my eyes flick back instinctively to Mickey, who has used Leon’s moment of distraction to quickly draw out something small, black, and shiny.
A gun.
“Don’t tell me how to run my damn business!” Mickey shouts, a wicked grin on his face as he lowers the gun to point toward Leon’s chest. My whole body goes hot and cold with fear. Instantaneously, several biker guys come barreling down the aisles of liquor, bottles shattering to the floor left and right. One of the guys closest to the showdown between Mickey and Leon dives for the store owner, his thick, tree-trunk arms wrapping around Mickey’s legs as the two of them fall to the floor in a heap.