Zed
Leaving Lily was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I couldn’t be honest with her about how much danger I was putting myself in. I knew that the gang would likely leave her alone now, provided I was able to let the boss know what Peyton really thought of him.
As I drove downtown, the anxiety started building in my stomach. Even though Lily’s sweet little body had taken my mind off the danger at hand, sex was only good for so much. Stop it, Zed. This is no time to be distracted by the pussy.
I had no idea what the old man at the bar would say to me when I showed up. He certainly wasn’t expecting to see me again, and with good reason; I had a feeling that most of the people who met the famed Manticore face-to-face didn’t walk away with all of their limbs.
And it was funny, after all: I’d been working with Peyton for over a year and still hadn’t had any clue that he was the one responsible. It made my blood boil to think of how he’d tricked me and used me. He probably had spent the entire time of our “friendship” laughing behind my back.
I had to shake my head to rid myself of the anger. I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Hopefully, that was the exact thing I’d be doing later that night.
“Old man,” I called out, slamming open the door of the bar. It bounced against the wall with a loud crack, and the bartender winced. When he realized it was me, his look of annoyance turned to one of fear. “It’s been a while,” I said gaily. “I need your help again, you piece of shit.”
The old man looked at me with tired eyes. “What do you need, Zed?” His tone was much more patient than mine would have been if I’d been in his shoes. “I can’t give you anything now. I don’t have anything left.”
I shook my head. “It’s not about Peyton. Or The Manticore, whatever. Now I need to find the boss of the Iron Angels. I need to know where to go as soon as possible. I have something I’d think he’d be very interested in hearing.”
The old man looked at me with a shrewd gaze. “Is that so, boy?”
“Don’t call me boy,” I snarled out. “This is serious shit, old man.”
The bartender leaned back against the wall. There was a bruise on his face from where I’d clocked him during one of my previous visits. For someone who I could tear limb from limb, he seemed remarkably cocky when I was around. It was irritating.
“You know something,” I blurted out. “Tell me. You know something, and you didn’t tell me before. What is it?”
He shook his head sadly. “I’ve told you before, I don’t want no more killings around here,” he said in a gruff tone. “It ain’t worth it to me to see my city blowin’ up every day.”
“Tell me, or I set this place on fire right now!” I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter and my brass lighter from my pocket. When I knew he was watching me, I dumped the whiskey out all over the bar and lit my lighter. “I’m serious,” I warned. “Don’t fuckin’ test me or I’ll do this. And you won’t be getting the rest of your money, either.”
The old man blinked at me. “Fine,” he said in short. “Go find one of those junkies in the alley and bring him here. I’ll ask the right questions. Just pay attention.”
“You’re fuckin’ infuriating. I can’t fuckin’ believe you’re making me do this.”
The old man didn’t answer, he only shrugged. In anger, I stomped to the door and threw it open. As usual, junkies were crawling around in the alley like cats. I bet they were desperate for a fix; Peyton hadn’t been around in a couple of weeks.
One of them must’ve somehow been able to smell that I was carrying money. He crawled over to me, gripping the brick wall with shaking hands. Up close, I smelt his rotten breath and saw that his skin looked doughy and moist. He stuck a crooked finger in my direction and opened his mouth.
“Man, you know where I can get a fix? I’m dying, man,” he pleaded.
I nodded and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “You’re gonna help me out, and then I’ll help you,” I growled out. He looked nervous but then relieved, and a warm grin spread across his fucked-up face. “Now.”
When I started to walk away, he let himself be dragged by the collar of his shirt. The junkie weighed nothing at all; under his baggy clothes, I saw there was no meat or fat on his frame. He closed his eyes as I pulled him into the bar. When we weren’t outside, I smelt a strong odor of piss wafting off him. Shaking my head in disgust, I dragged him to the bartender.
The old man leaned over the counter and looked at the junkie with scrutinizing eyes. “It’s been a few days, hasn’t it?” he asked in a voice that wasn’t unkind. The man nodded desperately and held out his hands as though the old man bartender was a god. “I bet you’re feeling pretty desperate, aren’t you?” the old man asked in the same soothing voice.
The junkie nodded quickly. “I am,” he said with a ragged breath. “I am. You have no fuckin’ idea, man. Please, please help me.” He turned his gaze back to me. “What the fuck did you bring me here for, man? Am I gonna die, man?”
The old man shook his head. “You’re not in danger,” he said quickly, answering for me. “But you need to help us. If you help us, we might help you. Got it?”
The junkie kept nodding as though in a trance. The bartender turned to me. “This man has some questions about the Iron Angels.”
The junkie fell to his knees. “Man, I can’t, man,” he sobbed. “I can’t fuckin’ talk about them, man, don’t you fuckin’ get that?’
The old man shook his head. “Then we won’t be able to help you,” he said crisply. “Are you sure that’s your final answer?”
With big, pleading eyes the junkie looked from the old man to me and back again. I nodded and growled at him, and finally, he took a deep breath and started to speak.
“I haven’t seen anyone from the gang around in weeks. The Manticore ain’t here no more,” he said with a trembling voice.
“Who’s been giving you a fix, then?” I asked gruffly.
The junkie shuddered and trembled. “I don’t know, man,” he replied, his jaw twitching. “I don’t know. This car rolls up, and some lady comes out and gives us all baggies. I ain’t seen her maybe more than once or twice.”
My eyebrows flew up. “A lady?”
The junkie nodded. “She smells good, man, like she has a good pussy. She’s clean. Always wears sunglasses and a dark suit and a hat.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What the fuck are you talking about, homes? Are you fuckin’ high right now?”
“No, sir,” the junkie replied in a shaking voice. “I ain’t, I promise I ain’t. But it’s a lady.”
In disbelief, I looked at the bartender. “Is this true? Is he lying to me to fuck with me?”
The bartender gave a quick wag of his head. “No,” he said after a moment’s pause. “He’s not lying. There’s a woman affiliated with the Iron Angels.”
“That’s fucking crazy.” I raked a hand through my hair. “Are you sure?”
The junkie nodded.
The bartender turned to me and said, “Yeah, this is the real deal alright.”
I pulled up a barstool and sat down. My head was spinning. I’d always imagined the Iron Angels as a traditional, kind of thuggish gang. They sold heroin, for fuck’s sake. I couldn’t imagine some moneyed woman stepping in on their turf. Maybe she was someone’s old lady, but I couldn’t believe for a second that she’d been around for a long time.
“And you think this woman is the new front-runner of the gang?”
The junkie shrugged. “She’s been around for a long time, man, I just hadn’t seen her ’til now. I thought she was a fuckin’ legend, man.”
I swallowed hard. “Fine,” I said after a moment. “Thanks,” I added.
The junkie held out his hand. “So, you’re going to help me now?”
I sighed and stuffed a wadded up twenty in his pocket. He grinned like a schoolboy and ran out into the alley, presumably to wind up in a dope coma. I shook my head once he’d gone.
“I can’t believe this,” I said slowly. “Where am I supposed to find these people?”
The bartender looked up at the clock on the wall. “She comes around in the early afternoon. Hang out and wait for her car. Then you can follow her back to wherever she’s going. She’s a tough broad, but you could take her. I bet she’ll spill where the boss is.”
I thought it over. It was risky, but so far it seemed like the best idea possible. “Fine,” I said after a beat. “I’ll do it. Throw me a beer while I’m waiting.”
The old man looked at me before uncapping a bottle of Coors Light and passing it down the bar to me. “That’s two-fifty,” he said in a slow tone.
Leaning forward, I dashed some of the beer on his face. “Fuck you,” I replied. “You could have helped me earlier, and you didn’t. I’m not paying for shit.”
The old man seemed to accept that, and he puttered away, going into a back room. I sat and thought hard. If I was going to catch this bitch, I had to be sneaky about it. I imagined she probably had some kind of sleek black car with a driver and tinted windows. Something that would really stand out around here.
With the rest of my beer in my hand, I moved to the window. The street was deserted, and I heard the junkies moaning loudly in the alley. It sounded like they were all about to die. I wondered how they got money for a fix whenever no one was around to give them cash. Then I remembered what the bartender had said about all of them helping The Manticore hide bodies.
A black Mercedes with tinted windows glided past the front window of the bar, and I pressed my face to the glass, forgetting for a moment to be subtle. It was the most gorgeous car I’d ever seen. I imagined propping Lily on the hood and spreading her legs, letting her pussy juice leak down the hood. Between my legs, my cock twitched and stirred and grew into a half state of arousal. Damnit, Zed, pull yourself together, I ordered myself. You know better than this.
Draining my beer, I sprinted out the back exit of the bar and ran to where I’d parked. My car took a few tries to start, and I thought about that rich cunt’s Mercedes with envy. I bet she never waited freezing for her engine to turn over in the cold Detroit winter. Finally, my car sprang to life, and I guided it down the side street.
I saw the reflection of the Mercedes’ headlights on the brick wall. I decided until she’d gone to start following her. It didn’t take long; I was only idling for ten minutes or so before the Mercedes gunned out of the alley. It was an extremely quiet car for something with so much horsepower, and I had a feeling that it could easily outpace my little beater.
The windows were so dark that I couldn’t make out the shape of heads in the back seat. The Mercedes effortlessly weaved through traffic. Following it wasn’t a problem; there were simply no other cars around that looked that fuckin’ good. It wasn’t hard for me to stay three or four cars behind.
The Mercedes stood out like a sore thumb among rust-spotted cars that were at least fifteen years old. We pulled onto a highway and cruised out of Detroit, out of the city limits, and finally through the country. I was just starting to worry about gas when the Mercedes turned off onto a country road, marked with a green sign. Not wanting to follow them down the private gate, I ditched my car in the shrubs and followed on foot.
There was a loud crashing noise as I approached and I darted into the trees.
“Fuck,” I murmured. This was going to be harder than I thought.