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“I just need an answer,” I calmly say as I approach the injured man.
“Dude, we’re cooperating, just give us a second,” the first guy says. “Paul here… he’s confused, he’s hurt. We’ll tell you what you wanna know.”
“Shut the fuck up, Dwight. We’re not telling them anything,” Paul cuts him off, defiantly staring at me and my gun. “He’s not gonna kill us.”
Before Eric or Wyatt can react, I fire a second shot. It goes through his shoulder, covering his friend in a generous blood spatter. “You’ve got enough kitchen rags there to work with,” I say. “But he’s gonna bleed out unless you give us what we came here for.”
“You’re insane!” the first guy snarls.
But my guy Paul is already turning pale, gradually realizing that he played the wrong card with us. We may look clean, definitely not from this neighborhood, yet it doesn’t make us softies. I crouch so I can get a better look at both of them, so I can feed on the fear glistening in their bloodshot eyes.
“Colby Nash took the woman I love and her children away. I will not hesitate to splatter you all over this apartment until you tell me where I can find him,” I say, my voice low and cold.
“Chase,” Eric tries to pull me back into the light but he knows me too well.
“Crimson or Jefferson?” I ask.
“The faster you answer, the faster you’ll get your ambulance,” Wyatt chimes in, showing them his phone, ready to dial 911. “Come on, fellas, he ain’t playin’.”
“Jefferson, alright?” Dwight says, close to tears. “We know he was going to stay at the warehouse on 56th and Jefferson. It’s secluded enough, and he’s got easy access into the city from there.”
“Was that so hard?” I ask.
The second guy shakes his head. “No, wait…” He doesn’t look too spry, though. He’s hemorrhaging and losing more and more of his color. I doubt he’s got more than five, maybe six minutes left before he passes out. I don’t feel a damn thing for him. “He’s not at Jefferson.”
“Crimson, then?” Eric asks. The tone of his voice has shifted. He knows that the guy is on his way out of this world too.
“No,” he replies, his eyes struggling to stay open while his buddy holds him close. “Darcy Street. His grandma’s place. Mrs. Nash’s momma…”
I give Eric a curious look. He shows me Harriet’s note. It’s the last possible address. At least she got it right on the fourth try. “The place is abandoned,” he says. “No utilities, nothing. It’s practically derelict.”
“Yeah, that’s why,” Paul manages, unable to keep his head upright anymore.
“Call an ambulance,” Dwight says. “You got your answer.”
Wyatt is already on the phone, delivering a short but efficient messages about what the paramedics will find when they get here. “It’s go time,” he says after he hangs up. “They’ll be here in eight minutes.”
“Hang in there, Paulie, buddy,” Dwight tries to raise his friend’s spirits, to keep him conscious.
All I can do is shake my head as we walk out, leaving them behind. “He doesn’t have eight minutes,” I whisper as we go down the stairs, our guns holstered and our sights set on the next destination.
“You don’t seem too bummed out about it,” Eric grumbles.
“I’m going to do whatever I have to until we find her.”
My brothers know better than to tug my sleeve right now. I’m well aware of what I’m doing. Of the repercussions. Of the toll it will take on my very soul. But I’m also aware that it’s the only way I’m going to keep myself from spiraling completely out of control. It is better to let the beast roam freely and get his pound of flesh than to risk losing him into a crowd of potentially innocent people.
“I just saved us some precious minutes,” I tell my brothers as we get back in the car.
Red lights flash in the distance as an ambulance’s wail gets louder. Eric pulls out and onto the road, his boot pushing the pedal to the metal as we bolt past them, leaving this gritty neighborhood behind. I’m sure Dwight will remember this moment for the rest of his life. Paul is probably already dead. I will suffer in my own way once the nightmare is over. Provided I survive. Maybe I’ll join Paul in hell, who knows. It’s a price worth paying if it gets Halle and the kids away from Colby Nash for good.
“At what cost?” Wyatt asks, his jaw locked in anger.
“I’m sorry, brother,” I reply. “It’ll be my cross to bear.”
“We let you do it,” Eric says.
It’ll be theirs to bear, too, I guess. We have plenty of those between us, skeletons gathering dust in our closets. We ended lives for our country, for freedom and justice.
