Page 21 of Don't Trust Him

Seriously, as we walk toward that asshole, now kneeling on the floor as he tries to open the storage container door, it almost feels as if we’re walking in slow-mo. Only thing missing would be an explosion going off behind us.

I’m fine without it, though, since that would probably mean someone had placed a bomb on our car.

Reaching behind my back, I mimic Grayson’s movements and grab my Beretta, careful enough to keep my finger off the trigger.

Yeah, I’m packing a gun. And, most important of all, it comes in a shade of dark gray that matches my shoes. Always dress to kill, right?

It’s not hard for us to get into the storage facility and find our target.

He doesn’t even see us as we come in behind him.

By the time Grayson presses the barrel of his gun against the guy’s head, it’s already too late for him.

“Oh God,” he whimpers, slowly turning around to face us. “This is not what it looks like. I just...I just came here to check some stuff. I would never steal from the bosses, they know that!”

Great way to implicate yourself, fucker.

“Shut the fuck,” Grayson tells him, going down one knee in front of the accountant so that he’s level with him. “You know what happens to people that steal, don’t you?”

“I would never, ever—”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Now with the gun pressed against the man’s forehead, Grayson sighs. “Look, Alejandro—yes, we know who you are—we don’t work with your employers, and we don’t give a shit if you’re stealing from them or not.”

“Then...then what do you want?”

“Well, a little bird told us you have something more valuable than money,” I start, taking a step toward them both and giving Alejandro a nice smile. What? It doesn’t hurt to be nice to people.

“I...I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

I roll my eyes. Grayson just looks at me, shrugs, and then points his gun at one of Alejandro’s foot. Next thing I know, there’s a flash of light and a loud sound as a bullet flies straight into his foot. In a matter of seconds, blood starts dripping out from his shoe.

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” he groans, rolling around the floor like some kind of demented hedgehog. “I told you I don’t know anything about a formula!”

Wow.

Did you hear that?

This one is really smart, huh?

“We didn?

?t say anything about a formula,” I smile once more, and then give him a little wink. “But now that you mention it...that’s exactly what we’re looking for.”

There’s a pause. Grayson uncocks his gun. It makes a loud clicking noise.

“Alright! Alright!” Alejandro yells. “I have the formula, okay! The chemist, he gave it to me in case anything ever happened to him. But I never knew he was going to blow up his lab. And I never knew people were going to be dying left and right! So I came up to Detroit. Got a start on laundering money through an operation I already had going for the local gangs that distribute product.”

“Where’s the fucking formula?” Grayson snarls.

“If...if I hand you the formula I’m as good as dead. Anyone who finds me, this is my get out of jail free card...”

“You’re wrong,” Grayson cuts him short. “They’ll do far worse things than just kill you if you don’t give them the formula. They’ll torture you. For days. Then they will torture your family, right in front of you. Only then will they kill you...if you’re lucky.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be convincing this guy to help us out?” I ask.

“Have you ever heard about these?” Grayson continues, ignoring me as he rolls up one of his sleeves and shows Alejandro the long rows of skulls adorning his forearm.

“Oh, God. Oh, Jesus Christ...you’re...you’re from the Bonita Muerte cartel,” he stammers, tears taking over his eyes. Throwing his head back, he starts to sob violently, tears streaming down his face.

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