Page 9 of Shadow Dance

My nerves flare, then settle. “What you been hearing?”

“You race, right?”

“Used to.” I outgrew my street racing antics, but I guess my reputation never outgrew me. I don’t do stupid shit on the road these days, but I’ll always appreciate a good ride. “Haven’t been to a meet in years.”

“What’re you rolling on these days?” he asks, lighting a joint.

“Audi R8.” The last of its kind, as they don’t make that model anymore.

“Very nice.” Nodding, he blows a massive cloud of smoke into the air and hands Wolf the joint. “I’m thinking you got the job, Brooklyn.”

“Is that right?” I sit back, keeping my expression neutral. That easy? Everybody knows Cal’s a slippery fucker, suspicious of anyone not already in his crew.

But see, I’m from Brooklyn, just like him. Doesn’t matter that he’s a private school kid from Brooklyn Heights, as far as possible from the Bushwick streets I used to run. I knew he’d look into me, that he’d findout we were from the same place. That maybe we even know some of the same people.

Cal dips his chin, squinting at me through the smoke. “Listen, the job I have for you is hella delicate. I can’t have somebody that’s gonna fuck it up.”

“What exactly do you need me to do?”

“My girl needs someone to drive her where she needs to go, make sure no one fucks with her. You’d need to start as soon as possible,” he says. “Like, tomorrow.”

I nod, having expected as much from what Cedro told me. Cal and his crew are movingquantitythese days, bringing goods in from their suppliers on a weekly basis. They have to, because Cal’s in high demand—he can’t keep his shit stocked. In a party scene that’s becoming increasingly fucked up by dirty drugs, trustworthy dealers with clean, dependable product are unicorns these days.

People know who they are, and that makes them targets. It can make the people closest to them, like girlfriends, targets.

“I can do that.” Accepting the joint from Wolf, I take a quick pull.

“Good. I’ll send you my addy.”

“What time?”

“Sunrise,” he says, leaning forward. “I’ll introduce you to my girl before I head out.”

“I’ll be there.” I hand him the joint. “I can?—”

The door to the Pink Room crashes open. Two masked men in black suits storm in, their gunfire obliterating the soft, smoky atmosphere. The room devolves into chaos and screaming, patrons diving under tables while girls scatter in every direction. Wolf’s eyes meet mine as his beer bottle shatters. We dive to the floor, shoving Cal’s stoned ass down with us. Grabbing my gun, I peer over the table and aim for the entrance, where the shots are coming from.

One of the masked men is coming our way. Guided by survival instincts, I look him right in the eye and shoot. His friend, too. Wolf pops up beside me, but it’s already over. Guess they weren’t ready for the Trejo .22. No one ever is.

We get to our feet, scanning the room for additional threats, but there aren’t any. The screaming quiets into crying, and there are injured people everywhere.Where were the bouncers?

“What the fuck,” Cal snarls at the huge, beefy guy helping him to his feet. “What the actual fuck?” Picking a shard of glass from his cheek, he steps in front of me, shaking, his eyes gleaming with rage. He’s taller than I thought, around 6”3 like me, and solid like he was born that way, not necessarily because he spends time in the gym.

“You good, man?” I ask, not too sure about the vibe I’m getting.

“My uncle’s club just got shot up and we almost got blasted the fuck apart,” he snaps, shoving a cigarette into his mouth. “What d’you think?”

Fair enough. Nodding, I slide my piece back into its holster and step out of the booth. The music’s off now. Regular, bright lights come on, illuminating the carnage and the mess. A pack of security guys burst into the room, guns at the ready.Too late.

“You’re gonna take care of my girl,” Callum says, jabbing his finger into my chest. He’s probably traumatized, so I allow it, but he better not make a habit of it. “You’re gonna protect her the way you just protected me, and I’ll pay you more money than you’ve ever seen.”

I sleep maybe four hours,rising before dawn so I can make a few phone calls and get a workout in before heading out. I stayed in the extra bedroom at Wolf’s place in Albany, which isn’t far from the address Callum Barry gave me; ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops. Unfamiliar with the area, I’m extra careful as I ascend the winding roads of the Berkeley Hills. It’s a clear morning though, and I spy the San Francisco skyline across the shimmering bay as first light hits.

The curving streets are lined lushly with trees. Most of the properties are set back from the road, but the houses I can see vary from old-school Craftsman bungalows to large, elegant homes. Callum’s house sits on a gated lot, where the houses are pretty spread out. I pull up to the gate and press the call button, glancing at the small camera. I’m guessing he has decent security up here. If he doesn’t, I’ll make sure to fix it up for him.

Seconds later, the large, black gates swing open, and I pull up to a multi-story, modern-looking house built into the hill, all clean lines and large windows. Parking in the brick driveway, I get out and walk thesucculent-lined path leading to the front door. I ring the doorbell, looking around the property as I wait.

The door opens. “Jaime.” Callum, looking a little worse for wear in a hoodie and sweats, motions me inside. The shallow gash he sustained from that piece of glass last night looks angry and red, but not infected. “Thanks for coming so early.”

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