Dark Game (Merikh Book 1) (2 page)

I leaned against the counter, propped up on my elbow. “Normally I don't give people like you a chance. I have anger issues, and I don’t like bullies. Normally, I would have already broken your nose.”

“Is that so?” Trevor didn’t seem impressed.

“It is. But tonight I'm in a good mood. I've had some good coffee, some very good company, and a nice conversation. Overall I'd say this was a good day. Let's not mess it up by getting blood all over my suit. What do you say?” I kept my tone conversational, friendly even.

Trevor's tone was as relaxed as mine. “You're the new guy at the bank, right?”

I nodded slowly.

“What if you didn't have a job tomorrow? I can make that happen, if you like.”

“I'm fine,” Claire said. There were tears in her eyes.

“You hear that, the lady said she's good.” Trevor tightened his grip on her wrist and she groaned. “So why don’t you just sit down. Better yet, leave.”

I stood straight. If this was going to end in violence, which it clearly was, there was no point in beating around the bush. “I think you're done here, Trevor.”

The big man shook his head as he let Claire's arm go. She stepped away, her eyes wide as she tried to watch us both at the same time. Her wrist was bright red, almost bloody.

“I gave you a chance,” Trevor said. He smiled at Claire. “You saw, I tried.” He too stood up straight and looked down on me as his hands curled into fists.

I got ready, going to the quiet place. The world slowed down and the faint noises from beyond the diner windows faded away. All that was left in the world was the target and me, a dead man and a killer, prey and predator.

I attacked, closing the gap between us in a fraction of a second and lashing out at Trevor's throat. The blow landed but I was already twisting away, finding the perfect position to strike again with a downward kick at his knee. The blow to the throat would disorient him but the kick would disable him. Everything after that would be easy.

Trevor stepped away before the kick could land. His counterattack was coming before I was aware of it, before I could prepare. The open handed slap took me by surprise as it lifted me off my feet and threw me across the room and into a table. I crumpled in a heap beneath it, blinking to clear my vision and to prepare myself for what would surely come next.

“So, are we done here?” Trevor said. He stood with his hands at his sides, almost in his pockets, relaxed and confident. The throat punch hadn't done anything, hadn't fazed him in the slightest. It was like I hadn't done anything at all.

“You alright?” Mouse said, worried.

I pushed myself up on my elbow and waited for the world to stop spinning. There had been power in that hit, strength far out of proportion to even Trevor's build. He'd been trained, taught how to attack properly. Like a fighter. Like a warrior. Like me.

“Are you done?” said Claire. She stood behind the counter, cradling her wrist. There was a thread of anger in her voice, though it was drowned by fear.

“That's up to the banker boy.” Trevor took one step forward and stopped.

I held up my hand. “Hang on a second,” I said as I pushed myself up off the floor. I kept my breathing even, calming myself, preparing myself.

“You're going to try again, aren't you?” Trevor grinned at the thought.

“Of course I am,” I said. I managed to get my feet under me and shook my head. The world swam around a little more than I’d like. “We can't let bullies like you just walk around and do whatever they want. You people need to be put down.”

“And you're going to do that then? Boy, you’ve never met a bully like me.”

“I never did like bullies.”

Trevor attacked first this time. I was still dazed and I barely followed what was happening, but years of training took over where my conscious control had failed. I dropped and rolled to the side, coming to my feet and launching my own counterattack in one move. Muscle memory drove my elbow into the man's face, crushing his nose and forcing him back. I danced away, smiling through the heat on my face as blood erupted from Trevor's nose.

“You shit—”

Before Trevor could finish the thought, I was back. I chopped at his already broken nose before driving my fist into his kidneys a moment later. Trevor went down, crashing to his knees and lashing out blindly. I easily stepped out of the way before moving in for the kill. My knife was in my hand and ready to slice open the target's neck when Trevor suddenly came to life.

He rose like a storm, like an unstoppable force of nature, bashing me aside with ease. A moment later, as I came to rest on the floor again, Trevor was standing over me and breathing heavily through the veil of blood dripping down his face.

“I knocked the smile off your face, at least.” I tried to smile but it hurt too much.

Trevor got a puzzled look on his face for a moment before smiling and stepping away. “I was going to stomp on your head there. Crush you, like a bug, but I have a better idea.” He raised his right hand and clicked his fingers.

A faint line of energy shot from his outstretched hand, over my head and out the window. It brought with it the beginnings of nausea in my stomach, and shaking in my hands. No one else would be able to see the energy, feel the nausea. That was something just for me, some remnant of my training that let me see the impossible and know when magic was active in the world.

Bloody magic, again.

“Okay, I'm done,” I said quickly, scrambling to my feet.

“You don't get that choice anymore, boy.”

“Leave him be,” Claire tried, a quiver in her voice. Trevor's smile just grew broader. “He doesn't deserve this.”

“The goons are coming,” Mouse said anxiously in my ear. “It's like a siren went off.”

“It did,” I said. I was on my feet, wobbly but upright. Thoughts of helping Claire or finishing the job and killing Trevor were erased. Magic changed things. It was a force I couldn't understand, let alone fight. “Kill the lights.”

“What?” Trevor said a second before the lights went out.

This was my escape plan in case the police turned up before I could run, in case, for some reason, Claire pointed the finger at me as she stood over a dying Trevor. I ran for the exit out back, dodging tables and the counter before my eyes could adjust, going off the image in my head. I made it to the back room and threw the door open, which led me to the alley behind the diner and freedom. I dashed for the road running parallel to the direction the goons would be coming from.

“Are they following?”

“No,” Mouse said. “You're clear.”

“Come and get me.”

“I'm on my way.” There was a moment of silence and then she went on. “What the hell happened? I've never seen you run like this before.”

“Yes, you have. One other time.”

A sharp intake of breath and she said, “But that means...”

“We are done here. We're getting out of town.”

Chapter 2

The motel room smelled of years of stale smoke and sadness. There were stains on the carpet, the walls, the table; everywhere they weren't required by law to clean. Even the twin beds weren't spotless but at least they tried with them.

“Just take a breath,” Mouse said, stepping out of my way as I hurried across the room with another suitcase to stack by the door. “They aren't following. We have time.”

“You don't know that. You can't know that, not with this.” I gestured at the high-tech equipment we used for surveillance. “This is all useless here.”

“Stop.” Mouse stepped in front of me and brought me to a halt. She was taller than me, taller than most people, and hard to ignore. She had dark skin and long brown hair hanging loose down her back, and even stuck in a motel room on surveillance, she was dressed in an expensive suit. In her forties, she also had the kind of confidence that came from growing up around mobsters, marrying a hitman, and holding her own. When she gave an order you obeyed, even if you didn't want to.

“We're not discussing this. We're leaving.”

“Oh? You're putting your foot down?” She crossed her arms and spread her stance so she took up more of the room.

“Where this is concerned, yes.”

“Why don't you just tell me what happened?” She gestured at the bed, telling me to sit. I obeyed and she followed, sitting beside me and taking my hand in hers. “So, tell me about the diner.”

I gave a quick rundown, hitting the high points and not sparing her from the parts where I got smacked around like child. When I got to the scary part, the magic part, my voice dropped to a whisper, as though the goons might crawl out from under the bed at any moment. For all I knew, they might.

“So you're saying this is going to be harder than we expected?” She paused, letting me prepare an objection before speaking over me. “Magic or not, we're doing this. We don't have a choice.”

“I'm not facing something like this again. It didn't exactly go well last time.” Images of Mouse's husband disintegrating ran through my imagination, and I could see that she was thinking it, too. ‘We’re not the right people for this job.’

“Somebody thinks we are.”

“Or somebody is smart enough to know they can't face it, and so they picked us for the firing squad.”

“Maybe.” She looked thoughtful, staring off into the distance as she weighed our options. She'd been affected far more than me the last time, losing a husband and her old life in one night. So when she finally spoke, she took me by surprise. “We won last time.”

“We survived last time. We managed to not all die; I wouldn't call that a win.”

“What do you think the Broker's going to say when we call him and tell him, with three days left, that we can't do this? No, don't answer; I'll tell you. He'll threaten our lives, then you'll call his bluff. Then he'll threaten our livelihood and you'll tell him to shove it, at which point he’ll make some comment about how statuesque and black I am, and it’ll piss you off even more. And then I'll have to save the day.”

“And then we'll leave,” I said softly.

“And then we won’t be able to find work ever again, let alone pay back our debts. And it’s worth keeping in mind who we owe, and how they deal with people who can’t pay their debts.” She stopped and allowed the silence to do the work for her. I had no answer, no plan that didn't end with us destitute or dead, and the longer neither of us said anything the more convincing her argument became.

The night Mouse's husband died I hadn't been worried; none of us really had been. Even able to see the magic in a way no one else could, I hadn't truly believed in it. It was a trick, a way to convince people you were more powerful than you were. We rushed in and ran into something none of us understood, and some of us had died because of our confidence and our ignorance. Now I had an idea what we were up against and I was scared.

“I could become a baker,” I said. “It's honest work, and I get up early in the morning, anyway.”

“I don't think it really fits with your skill-set. Besides, the first time a customer insulted your cakes, you'd slit their throat.”

“Just be sure this is what you want to do.”

She paused a moment before speaking, watching me and easily seeing through my façade. We’d only been doing this a few months and already she knew me better than anybody else ever had. I’d never understand why she was willing to trust me after all that had happened, but I was glad she was on my side.

“Are you scared?”

Her words were meant to be comforting, helpful, the sort of thing a friend was meant to ask. But with me they had extra weight, bringing memories of my childhood to the surface. A childhood where admitting you were scared meant a beating, or worse. A childhood that had royally messed me up. I sat up straight and pulled my hand away as I turned to glare at the only window in the room. I knew I was being stupid and I didn't want her to see it, but I couldn't stop himself.

She tried again. “I'm pretty scared, if that helps.”

“It doesn't.” I took a deep breath and held it a few seconds before slowly letting it out. “But that's because I'm a petulant child.”

“I agree.”

I turned to face her without first clearing the look off my face and she laughed at me.

“What, it's true,” she said.

“So what does that make you, my mother figure?”

She slapped my arm and shot me a fake frown. “No, more of a brilliant mentor. Wise in the ways of the world while still maintaining a youthful charm.”

“And so modest.” I smiled despite myself but all that did was remind me of the jam we were in. “So let's come up with a plan. We're faced with otherworldly, unknowable, unstoppable power. By default I'm amazing, but that's still a pretty tall order.”

“You're amazing at jumping in and punching things. You have a problem with control.”

I started to object, but she had a point.

“Maybe this situation calls for more subtlety.”

“I can do subtlety,” I said. I could, too. I’d studied it in school. I’d even paid attention to most of it. “I assume you have something in mind?”

She rose and moved to a position across from me, leaning against the battered dresser. “I say we keep our covers running and keep our eyes open. We know who we have to kill, and we know something about the challenges we’re going to face doing it. As far as Foster is concerned, you’re just a guy he got into a fight with, so your cover is probably still fine. We've got two days before we actually have to do anything. As long as he's dead on Friday, we win.”

“So what you're saying, basically, is that you have no idea. Your plan is to keep your eyes open and hope a miracle happens.”

“My plan, dear Merikh, is to gather intel.”

“That does sound exciting.”

“No, exciting would be attacking the magic man and hoping for the best.”

“Fair point.” We’d been observing the town for a week already and we hadn't managed to see everything. But I was willing to concede that now we knew what we were looking for.

“Besides, if we haven't come up with anything by Friday we can always use a rifle from a distance. Let's see if he can magic his way out of that.”