Page 118 of Fire Fight
“I’m not sure I believe you,” I said, almost conversationally, completely masking the hatred coursing through me. This man…he’d taken advantage of me. Preyed on me when I was in a delicate situation, used both my mental and physical struggles against me until I became another one of his willing little mules.
IknewChris Taal, better than most, which is why I’d never trust a single word coming out of his fucking mouth.
“C’mon, man,” Chris said, grinning to expose each of his decaying teeth and equally rotten breath. “You know fire ain’t my style. I like to be a little more up close and personal.”
The tip of another blade once again pressed against the skin of my stomach, this time with enough pressure to draw blood, and I swore internally.
How could I have forgotten he always kept two on him? The man was a moron, but he took his personal safety seriously. In my angry haze, I’d failed to notice the flailing he’d been doing with his arms was really him trying to reach the second knife.
I inhaled shallow breaths, trying to keep my stomach from expanding too much lest I drive the blade deeper.
“You know murder ain’t my style either.”
That was also true.
Evidenced by the tip digging into my flesh, Chris enjoyed carving people up as a way of keeping them in line, a few slashes here and there to remind them he meant business.
I had a few on my back to prove it.
But he’d never killed anyone—at least not at the end of his blade.
All the anger coursing through me dissipated in an instant,leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.I’m free, I reminded myself. And this man couldn’t hurt me any longer.
Curving away from the blade, I removed my arm from his neck and took two healthy steps back.
“Do you know anything?” I asked him. “Anything that can help us. You cooperate, and it’ll go a long way toward easing your current legal problems.”
“I don’t know shit,” he spat.
I nodded, turning for the door. My work here was done, and I didn’t want to spend a single second longer in this nightmare from the past.
My hand was on the knob when he said, “Okay…maybe I know a little.”
I looked at him over my shoulder. “How much is a little?”
“Missy Plano,” he said. The knife blade retracted with asnick, and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy cargo shorts, backing away from me. “That’s all I got.”
Better than nothing, I thought as I escaped at last, dialing Lane before I was fully settled behind the wheel of my truck. I peeled away from Chris’s house in a cloud of dust and burning rubber.
“You’re alive,” my brother said in greeting, “so I’ll take that as a win as long as Taal is too.”
“He’s still breathing,” I confirmed. “Fucker actually managed to get the drop on me.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Good. I haven’t tracked down Tito yet, but I’ve got deputies out looking for him. What’ve you got?”
“Name Missy Plano mean anything to you?”
Under his breath, Lane mumbled the name to himself over and over. “Ahh! Shit, yeah, it does.”
I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. The line was silent save thescritch-scratchof what I could guess was Lane’s pen against his notebook.
“Lane? Care to share with the class?”
“Right, sorry bro.”
