The second I’m through the door I hit the stairs and keep running, my heart leaping into my throat as the heavy door slams shut behind me. I leap down the steps, not knowing if I’m going to be pursued or the goal was to gun me down in an enclosed garage.
Have to get out onto the street before they do.
In uptown traffic, they won’t be able to gun me down and speed away. Not without calling a lot of attention to themselves. The garage was the place they meant to take me down. I can only pray that they had their shot and missed it, and they’ll head out to regroup instead of continuing to come after me.
Bursting out the parking garage access door and into the bright afternoon sunshine, I squint but don’t slow down. I hurry down the half-block to Kevin’s corner and barely glance both ways before bolting into the street. Car horns blast, but I don’t give a shit. I pass Kevin’s building, not knowing whether or not the people who want me dead know about my destination or the fact that my uncle’s bar, The Corner, is just a few buildings down. I run down the block, hooking right and ducking into the alley that will lead back around to rear entrance.
It’s there in the alley that I allow the panic and the fear to register. My body moved on pure instinct when I saw that black SUV, and I hadn’t taken the time to feel the fear. The taste of it in my mouth is bitter and strong, the feel of it settling with heavy persistence on my limbs, almost making them seize. I drag myself down the alley, and when I slip through Kevin’s building’s maintenance entrance, I slam it closed behind me and lean against it.
Just breathing.
Shallow gasps of breath, my blood a crazed river rushing through my veins to the beat of my heart.
“That was too close.” My voice is a mutter under my breath. “Too close.”
When the stuttering in my chest regulates, I walk down a back hallway, my boots clomping on the carpeted floor with each hollow step. I pass through the swinging door into the wide-open lobby area with its glossy finishes and concrete floors. It’s not a huge building, and I cross the lobby in a few strides and press the elevator button. When it opens, I hop on and take the three floors up to Kevin’s unit.
I knock on his door at the same time I pull out my phone and pull up Carson’s name in my contacts.
I rap my knuckles against Kevin’s door, and he opens it a few seconds later. At the same time, my uncle picks up on the second ring. I move into Kevin’s apartment with one glance behind me, slamming the door.
“Carson.” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears. I grit my teeth together in what feels like a gesture hard enough to grind them down. “Someone just shot at me in the parking garage.”
Kevin’s muttered curse draws my glance, and his wide eyes focus on me in disbelief.
“Say what?” Caron’s voice lifts on the other end of the phone “God, Ace! You okay?”
Waving Kevin off, I’m agitated as I step toward the huge window overlooking the busy street below. There’s no sign of anything amiss, no telltale hint of what just happened in that garage.
Now that the raw fear is gone, I’m pissed. Total rage threatens to overcome me, the way it has so many times in the past. My words come fast as I talk to my uncle. I place the call on speaker so Kevin can hear everything.
“What do we know?”
“There’re a couple of regulars at the bar, guys who gamble a lot. Mostly game bets and stuff like that. Asked around in their rings to see if any of the sharks had it out for you. There’s an unspoken rule about owing money in one ring and then going and gambling in another. They both came up clean, Ace.”
I bow my head, pinching my eyes shut and blowing out a long gust of air. “So you’re telling me we got no leads on who came for the Suit that night.”
Carson’s voice is troubled. “No. They’re pretty sure their sharks don’t consider you competition. Just think you’re a kid playing around. Know your clientele is mostly college-aged. They wouldn’t waste their time on you, and none of their clients came to collect at the G-Ring.”
I rake my hands through my hair, looking up at the ductwork with a muttered curse. “I need to find out who the Suit was. Maybe somebody who knows him will know who he bet with.”
“His name was Marcus Wahl.”
I glance at Kevin, stunned. “Why didn’t you lead with that, C? Kevin can work with a name.”
He coughs. “I just found his name out when I got back to the bar after leaving your place. Marcus should have been well-off. Worked in the financial district. But he had a gambling problem. As you probably saw when he came into the Ring.”
Nodding, I rub my chin. “Know anyone who knows him? Or knew him?” A quick flash of the way those men in the Ring shot the Suit down like he was nothing leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Carson grunts a negative response. “One of my guys knows Marcus is a gambler, but the funny thing is he doesn’t gamble with any of the known sharks. You said he wasn’t a regular of yours, right?”
Confusion covers me in a cloudy fog. “Nah…he just came in a couple of times last week. Could smell the desperation on him...I knew he was in deep somewhere else.”
Carson silent for a moment, and I can almost see him stroking his chin the same way I do when I’m thinking. “That’s strange. No one knows where
