Micah

 

“I fucking knew there was going to be a catch,” I said under my breath, shaking my head at how unsurprising this all was. “I just knew it.”

 

“What was that?” the FBI tech asked as he wired me up with the listening device beneath my shirt and light jacket.

 

“Huh?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, man. We almost done?”

 

“Almost.”

 

I was sitting in the back of an FBI van, inside the parking garage of Petrov Arms down in Baton Rouge, two days after Avery had given me the good news over the phone.

 

Turns out, the case wasn't as airtight as they thought it would be. At least, the US Attorney's Office didn't seem to think so. For something this big, with so much money and creative accounting going on, so many go betweens and no video of the Bear touching the money, they needed proof. Real proof.

 

And that meant a confession, on tape.

 

I'd raised my hand to volunteer so fast you'd have thought I was Billy the fucking Kid.

 

There wasn't much of a plan, this time. No warning for Efraim, either. Just a rough idea of confronting him, getting him talking, and get him to admit what had been going on.

 

“All set, sir,” the FBI tech said. “Just a few tests and we'll be go.”

 

“Good deal,” I replied.

 

We ran through the short set of tests to check the connection, and placement of the microphone for best pickup. This had to count, and had to be good.

 

“We've got him on visual,” one of the men up front said. “Agent Brumfield's truck has him spotted.”

 

“Guess it's time,” I said and, with my chest wired up like some bad 80s sci-fi movie, I hopped out of the van. I walked around it and out into the lane between the parking spots. Up ahead, I could see Efraim Petrov with his cellphone pressed to his ear. Flanked by two bodyguards, he was headed to his Mercedes with briefcase in hand. Looked like it was the end of the working day for the Bear.

 

He didn't glance my direction, and neither did the guards. I still hadn't had a chance to swing by my house and pick up my clothes, so I'd had to stick with my used car salesman get up. Kaci had mentioned she kind of liked it. Said it felt like she was getting a new man in her life.

 

I approached his car as he was just about getting into it and came to halt. At this distance, I'd be a sitting duck. “Hello Bear!” I called out as he beep-booped the alarm off and unlocked the door. “Efraim Petrov!”

 

Efraim stopped, his hand hanging in midair. “Excuse me?” he asked with his thick Russian accent as he turned back to me. He glanced at the two bodyguards, who were watching him for instructions. He nodded. “Do I know you?” he asked as the two security guys started to walk quickly towards me, hands stuffed inside their jackets.

 

“What?” I asked, my eyes solidly on the two likely-armed men coming my way. “Don't recognize me from the park a few months ago? Came to you with a deal?”

 

Efraim raised a hand as he barked a command in Russian. The bodyguards stopped in their tracks, not more than ten feet away. Just like attack dogs. “Yes, I think I remember you. Mr. Marlow, correct? Micah Marlow?”

 

“Yeah,” I said.

 

“What can I do for you today?” he sneered as he looked me up and down.

 

“Came here to talk about my grandpa, Quentin Marlow.”

 

He made a face and shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know this man.”

 

“Sure you do,” I said. “You sent some of your lackeys after him because you thought I was coming after you.”

 

He laughed. “Oh, yes,” he said, clapping his hands together a single time. “The fat FBI agent who hated me so much. I remember him, now.”

 

I gritted my teeth together and balled my fists at my side. “You had him killed as a message to me.”

 

The Bear shrugged. “Why would I do that, Mr. Marlow? What do you think I am? Someone like you?” He switched to his sarcastic American accent. “An outlaw Billy bad ass?”

 

I took a step forward, my fists still at my sides.

 

His bodyguards took a half step back and drew their pistols from beneath their coats.

 

“I know who you are,” I said. “I know you a hundred times worse than me, or I could ever be. I know you sell guns all over the world, I know you run sex smuggling operations, I know you sell to anyone willing to pay. But you're not going to fucking get away with.”

 

He shrugged again, his hands out in front. “So fucking what, Mr. Marlow? Why do think I won't get away with it?” He laughed. “You think this is, how do you yanks say, my first fucking rodeo? I'm Efraim fucking Petrov, Marlow. I'm more connected than you'll ever imagine, with more people protecting me than you could ever conjure up in your tiny American brain.”

 

I grinned, knowing he'd said enough. “Know what?” I asked. “You're probably right.” And, with those words, I did the sensible thing. I turned around on my heels and walked away.

 

Behind me, the Bear just laughed. “That's it, Mr. Marlow. Scurry away to your little suburban home. See if I won't find you,” he said, before switching to Russian and speaking another command to his security guys.

 

# # #

Kaci

 

I grabbed Agent Brumfield by the shoulder. “Something's wrong,” I said, “get him out.”

 

We were all in the security van at the other end of the parking structure from where Micah was squared off with the Bear. A camera they had trained on the pair of them, though, showed in almost perfect resolution what was really going on, though. Between that, and the feed coming in from the mic on Micah, we saw and heard everything that was going on.

 

We sat there, crowded around the TV monitor, watching everything unfold. I'd kind of drawn the worst spot, I guess, sitting on a folding chair right behind the driver's seat. I could see the TV just fine, but the audio could have been louder.

 

But, from the what I could hear of Efraim, I knew something was up. He spoke freely, without a damn care in the world. No way he would admit to all this shit just so Micah would just walk away. He must have had one last ploy left to play.

 

Avery looked back at me, her eyes narrowed and searching. She didn't believe me, I could tell. She just thought I was getting nervous.

 

“You got what you need,” I said. “Get him out, now, or I'll go up there and do it myself.”

 

She sighed and shook her head. “Fine, Kaci. Have it your way.” She turned and nodded to one of the agents sitting near the back of the van. “You heard the lady. Go bring her boyfriend home.”

 

Before he could go for the door, or even say, “Yes, ma'am,” though, the audible click of the hammer being drawn back on a semi-automatic pistol filled the security van. There were only so many places it could have come from. It sure as hell hadn't been Gov, who was right next to me. Or Avery, or even the agent Avery had ordered to get Micah.

 

“Not so fast,” a voice said from my left. “Mr. Petrov wants all of you right where you are.”

 

I turned and looked at the source. The driver had his pistol out, with the barrel leveled at Gov, Avery, and the other agent. He had a big silencer attached to the end of it, like you see in the movies. At this distance, everyone but me was in the line of fire.

 

“Really Jenkins?” Avery asked, clearly disbelieving what was happening.

 

“You have to even ask me that?” Jenkins replied. “You don't even let me in the goddamn office when you're having meetings.”

 

“Well,” Gov added in, “kinda makes sense now, doesn't it? The whole not letting you in.”

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Jenkins shouted, the pistol shaking a little bit from his nerves.

 

I glanced down, realized he didn't have his finger on the trigger. Instead, it was resting up against the side. If any of the other three tried something, like going for their gun or rushing them, he'd be able to fire off a few shots before they could get to him. Me, on the other hand . . .

 

“I still don't even know what the fuck biker trash like you is even doing here,” Jenkins continued. “That's half the goddamned reason I flipped and started working for-”

 

I lunged forward out of my folding chair, grabbing his pistol and forcing it upwards to the ceiling. He got his finger on the trigger, and the gun quietly popped as he fired into the roof of the van.

 

Jenkins fought back, nearly wrestling it away from me, but Gov was soon by my side. Together, we kept the gun up and Gov was able to twist the gun away.

 

The turncoat screeched and there was a loud crack as Gov ripped the gun from his hand. “My fucking finger!” Jenkins yelled as he cradled his hand and its broken finger in his lap, a look of complete disbelief on his face. “My fucking finger!” he screamed again, holding it up to shake it at Gov.

 

“Serves you right, asshole,” Gov replied as he stepped back a little, out of Jenkins's reach.

 

I glanced down at the TV monitor as Gov got the situation under control, just in time to see The Bear's bodyguards draw their sidearms.

 

“Avery!” I screamed. “He's going after Micah!”

 

Avery's attention turned back to the monitor, her eyes as big as saucers. She turned to the agent who had just been about to leave before Jenkins stopped us. “Go go go!” she shouted.

 

Gov looked back behind him at the FBI agents leaving to help Micah. He turned back to Jenkins, who was still clutching his busted hand, and cracked him hard in the temple with the barrel of his gun. “Not sorry,” he muttered, then we were scrambling out the door as Avery Brumfield's shouts filled the air.

 

“FBI!” Brumfield yelled. “Everyone get down!”

 

A single gunshot pierced the air. From inside the van, I couldn't tell which side fired.

 

My mouth went dry, my stomach dropped, and my heart felt like someone had just mainlined meth into me. Please God, I think, don't let it be Micah. Don't let it be Micah!

 

“Gun gun gun!” shouted Avery's partner. The pop-pop-pop-pop of 9mm peppered through the area, the report of the gunshots echoing throughout the concrete structure.

 

I flew out of the security van, my eyes searching for my man. I saw him, just beyond Avery, Gov, and the other agent. He was leaning back against the trunk of one of the parked cars, staying low and out of the way of any crossfire.

 

Beyond him, I saw Efraim, his hands in the air. If I'd had a gun just then, I don't know what I would have done.

 

I ran forward in a crouch, my body as small as I could make it, as one of The Bear's bodyguards dropped to the ground, a pistol tumbling from his slack hand to the parking garage floor. The other bodyguard was smart enough to put his hands in the air, avoiding the same fate as his buddy.

 

Efraim dropped to his knees, his face serene like this kind of thing happened to him every day. He put both hands behind his head, a wide grin spreading on his face as the FBI agents approached.

 

“Micah!” I yelled, running forward.

 

“So nice of you to join us, agents,” Efraim said in his thick Russian accent. “I'd like to speak to my lawyer,” he added without missing a beat.

 

His smile widened as they yanked him to his feet and put his hands behind his back so they could cuff him. “You know,” he said, “my men were just responding to the threat.”

 

Micah winced as I slammed into him. “Are you hurt?” I asked. “Did they get you?”

 

“Yeah,” Avery said. “Sure, they were.” She began reading him his rights.

 

“Nothing you can throw against me will stick,” Efraim continued, his eyes set on me and Micah. “You have no concrete evidence against me.”

 

“Really?” Micah asked. “Nothing concrete?” He tore open his shirt, showing Efraim the wire he'd been wearing.

 

“Babe?” I asked, looking down at Micah's chest, and the red, sucking wound in his side. I tried to push him down by the shoulders, but he wouldn't budge. He just kept grinning at Efraim, savoring his victory, even as I watched his eyes begin to waiver and skin begin to grow paler. “Babe, you need to lay down or something.”

 

Micah turned back to me, the grin on his lips fading. “Told you we'd get the fucker,” he whispered before sliding down the back of the car till he was sitting on the bumper.

 

“Micah? Babe?” I tried to catch him, to keep him supported, but he slipped off the rear bumper of the car and landed on the concrete as his eyes rolled back in his head.

 

“Gov!” I screamed, shaking Micah. I turned back to the agents who were busy reading the Bear his rights. “Avery! We need a fucking ambulance!”