You Do What You Have To - 15

 

"My name's Robin. Robin Sutton. I work for a group that would like to see Mackenzie and his thugs behind bars, and Darren Walker, aka Gary Freeman, and his people in jail as well."

 

"He's a crook?" Micky felt as if the ground had dropped out from under him at that revelation, even though he had considered the possibility at one point.

 

"Oh yeah."

 

"How…?" Micky shifted slightly, trying to get a look at Robin.

 

"If I let go of you, will you behave and come with me?"

 

"Why should I trust you?"

 

Robin chuckled. "Given the circumstances, you probably shouldn't. On the other hand, I haven't killed you. That should say something."

 

"I…guess. Okay, but I swear I'll scream bloody murder if you try anything."

 

"Deal." Robin stepped away, nodding to the driveway running from the garage to the street. "Follow me."

 

Micky looked at his captor. Although he really isn't that anymore, I suppose, since he isn't forcing me to come along. Robin was probably in his mid-twenties, with wavy, golden-blond hair. Despite his lanky build, Micky was well aware that Robin was strong, much stronger than he appeared.

 

"Where are we going?" Micky asked, barely whispering.

 

"Somewhere safe."

 

Micky nodded. "That would be nice. I haven't felt safe since Gary, or—whatever you said his real name is—was shot."

 

"Darren Walker."

 

"John, Gary, Darren. He's got more names than—"

 

"A porn star?"

 

Micky snickered. "I was going more for Fletch, but that works." He realized he was actually relaxing—for the first time since this whole thing had started.

 

By then they were across the next street over from Micky's place and still moving. Robin led him through more yards and across two more streets before saying, "Let's go in there and talk."

 

"They won't find us?" Micky asked, with a worried look at the church Robin had pointed to.

 

"Would you look for someone here?" Robin replied, walking up the tree-lined path to the side entrance.

 

"I suppose not," Micky agreed.

 

You Do What You Have To - 14

 

 

Micky approached the block where his apartment building was located very cautiously. He paused in the early afternoon shadows between two businesses across the street, trying to discern if any of the people walking up and down the sidewalks looked like threats to his well-being.

 

Like I can tell a good guy from a bad guy. I'm sure the shooter, or one of his friends, isn't going to be sporting a bad haircut or have a sign on his back saying "I'm your worst nightmare". They'll look just like anyone else and wait until I'm in my place to do something.

 

He decided it might be safer to go in from the rear of the building. It backed on a courtyard with three large trees, shared by the other buildings around it. If he was careful, he could move from one tree to another while checking to see if anyone was watching the back door. 

 

Easing into the alley behind the businesses, he walked to the street and dashed to the corner, expecting at any second to be shot. He raced across his street and from there to alley behind the courtyard. He didn't see anyone. Period. No one seemed to be outside as far as he could tell. Inch by inch—or so it seemed to him, as slowly as he was moving now—he made it one of the trees. Huddling against it, he looked up at his apartment windows.

 

Is someone up there, waiting for me? For a second he thought he saw something move in his bedroom—a shadow that could have been a person. He stared hard, trying to decide if it was real or his fevered imagination. Lifting his gaze to the roof, he could have sworn he saw the top of a head behind the parapet. Carefully, oh so carefully, Micky eased his way back to the alley and the garage across it from the courtyard.

 

Then the back door to his apartment building opened a bare inch. Micky froze, trying to melt into the shadows. A man came out, looking around. Not anyone who lived in the building. He knew all of them. The man leaned against the wall by the door, one hand under his jacket. Then the door opened again.

 

Just as it did, someone grabbed Micky, yanking him around to the side of the garage. An arm snaked around Micky's waist and a hand covered his mouth as the man holding him said, "If you value your life, stay quiet."

 

Micky struggled briefly, then stood still when the man said, "Your friend, the man you probably know as Gary, is there with two of his people. There's also a trio of men working for a bastard named Mackenzie. Both groups want to get their hands on you—and not to invite you to a frat party."

 

Shivering, Micky tugged at the hand over his mouth. The man lowered it—barely—and Micky knew it would come up again if he tried to shout for help.

 

"Who are you?" he whispered in a shaky voice. "And why do you care?"

 

You Do What You Have To - 13

 

 

Darren stopped after five more calls, rolling his shoulders to ease tense muscles. Giving the phone a dirty look as he set it on the desk, he went into the kitchen to make coffee and take a couple of painkillers. He definitely needed them, as he'd been so involved in the calls he'd forgotten to take them earlier. While he waited for the coffee, he went into the bathroom to take a piss. He glanced in the mirror, noting that the hair in the shaved area around his head wound was beginning to grow back. It looks like I have a five-o'clock-shadow there. He chuckled, rubbing his chin. Matches this one.

 

After getting his coffee, he sat down again to continue his calls.

 

Forty-five minutes later, he was about to tear his remaining hair out. He decided he make five more calls and quit for the day.

 

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Alan Forman." He went through the rest of his spiel, ending by asking, "Do you have anyone by the name of Michael working for you?"

 

"I did," the man replied sourly. "Damned good waiter, which nowadays is saying something. But he hasn't shown up for the last…hmm…four days, I think. When he does—if he does—he'll be getting his walking papers. He knows he's supposed to call at least an hour before his shift if he can't make it, so I can find a replacement."

 

Bingo! "What's Michael's last name?" Darren asked.

 

"Payne, and right now that fits. He caused me a big pain in the ass, pulling this."

 

"I wonder…" Darren paused, as if thinking. "If he was afraid, after filing the complaint…"

 

"Could be. He always struck me as kind of a wimp."

 

"Do you have an address for him?"

 

"Yes. Let me look it up. This will take a minute or two."

 

"I can hold." Darren did and was rewarded with what he hoped was Micky's address. Or more to the point, that this Michael was the right one.

 

As soon as the conversation was over, he called Olivia to give her the address. She promised to get people over there immediately to check the apartment and stake out the building if Micky wasn't there. That was fine with Darren, but he wasn't about to be left, waiting. He hurried to put on a shirt, grabbed his car keys and took off.

Find out why 'It Takes Two' - out today!

 It Takes Two

https://www.jms-books.com/edward-kendrick-c-224_229/it-takes-two-p-4360.html

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B2MF7KXL

 

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/it-takes-two-edward-kendrick/1141578226?ean=9781685501181

 

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/it-takes-two-51

 

GENRE: Gay Mystery Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 38,344 words
RATING:

Richard Blackbourne: Owner of an elite jewelry store. He assists the police, behind the scenes, when they need his considerable computer skills. Now someone wants him dead.

Kel: Small-time P.I. He also works incognito for the police, going undercover to gain information on criminals, then passing it on to one of three detectives who use his services. At the moment, he’s trying to learn the identity of the man behind a gang of B&E specialists.

Their paths cross when Kel learns of, and foils, an attempt on Richard's life by two members of the gang. The question becomes, why would their unknown leader want Richard eliminated?

Can they stay alive long enough find the answer while also trying to deal with their growing, but unspoken, attraction to each other?

EXCERPT:

In that instant, Kel knew what they had planned, and that the second man wasn't going to come back around to join his cohort. Kel pulled his phone from his pocket with one hand. With the other, he yanked his gun from its holster as he raced to the side of the house. His fingers flew over the keys, punching in Richard's number, praying he'd answer.

"Get the hell out of the house, now!" he ordered when Richard picked up. Then, aiming the gun at the would-be bomber, he hollered, "Drop it or you're dead."

* * * *

Richard heard Kel's words, both to him and to some unknown person, but it took him a moment to comprehend what they meant. Then he was rushing from the bedroom, heading for the stairs. He was halfway down when an explosion ripped through the basement at almost the same moment that shots rang out. He leapt down the last few steps, and was out the front door seconds later.

He pulled to a stop when he was off the porch, turning to see flames billowing from a basement window to his left. That meant, he thought, the shots had come from the other side of the house. He dashed around the corner in time to see a man fleeing toward the alley, a second man a few feet behind him. He reached the back corner of the house in time to hear a car start up and see one of the men dive into the back seat before it took off.

"God damned, mother-fucking, son-of-a-bitch," the remaining man spat out, pounding his fist against his thigh.

"You're going to have a lovely bruise if you keep that up," Richard remarked with a brief flare of levity before the smell of smoke sobered him.

"Yeah, well ..." Kel had his phone to his ear by then. "There's been an explosion," he said to what Richard knew had to be a 911 dispatcher. "No, everyone got out of the house but it's on fire, at least the basement is and it's not going out by itself. Yeah, that would be a good idea, and the cops, too." He looked at Richard with something akin to relief in his expression. Covering the phone, he said, "I was afraid you wouldn't answer."

"I usually do when I get a call in the middle of the night. They always mean something's wrong." He scanned Kel from head to foot and didn't see any blood. Not that he would have, he realized, given that the only light came from a streetlight in front of the house. "Were you hit?"

"Nope, but I did wing the bastard. Not badly enough to stop him from escaping with his partner."

Richard nodded. "I take it you knew something was going to happen or you wouldn't be here."

"Yeah, but I was figuring they'd break in, not try to blow you up, again."

"Seems like they have a fetish for dynamite, or TNT I guess." Richard gripped his hands together when he realized they were shaking. In fact, his whole body was now that the adrenaline had worn off.

Sirens and flashing lights announced the arrival of the fire department. By then the left side of the ground floor was in flames, too. The firefighters set to work and sooner than he expected they had the fire under control.

A familiar voice asked from behind him, "What's with you and explosions?"

He turned, shrugging. "I wish I knew, Eldon."

"I might suggest you figure out who wants you blown to pieces before they succeed." Detective Eldon North eyed his naked chest, then grinned briefly. "Good thing you wear sleep pants."

"Yeah, well. What are you doing here? Don't you ever sleep?"

Eldon snorted. "I try to, but ... I was on my way home from a domestic where the man stabbed his wife to death, when the call came in so here I am." He glanced at Kel in question, about to say something when Kel shook his head, gesturing to the fire personnel and the neighbors who had appeared to watch the goings-on.

"What am I missing here?" Richard asked quietly.

Before either man could answer, one of the firefighters approached, holding a hand-grenade in his hand. "We found this on the ground under a bush beside one of the basement windows. I'll give it to the arson investigator when he arrives, but I thought you'd like to know, detective. We're pretty certain another one was what caused the explosion and fire on the other side of the house."

"Thanks." Eldon glanced at Richard, shaking his head. "Why are they trying to blow you up instead of shooting you?"

"If I knew that, I'd be closer to knowing who wants me dead. Do you know?" he asked Kel. By then he'd decided there was more to the man than met the eye, as it were. The warnings, the fact he was here, now, said as much. That he appeared to know Eldon also said he was, presumably, on the side of the angels, whatever that might mean in the grand scheme of things. 

 

You Do What You Have To - 12

 

Darren held his phone to his ear, waiting for his call to go through. He'd been home two days now, and was feeling like he really would live. Despite his protestations to Olivia, he had been in a fair amount of pain. Even more so when the painkillers had worn off. Thankfully, he had his own stash of them at the house. Something he was pretty certain Olivia was aware of, although she didn't say anything when she dropped him off, other than to suggest he spend the next couple of days resting and healing.

 

At the moment he was doing the busywork Olivia had given him to keep him occupied. Not that he really minded. He had a long list of restaurants she had emailed him—a quarter of those that were being checked to see if Micky was employed by one of them. Other organization members were working on the rest of the list. She said, in the email, all fast food places had been eliminated, as well as high-end restaurants. Then calls had been made to dispense with any of them that didn't have a Micky or Michael on their wait staff. It was all presumption, of course, based on Micky's comment to Darren that the place where he worked was nice but not classy.

 

"Classy is in the eye of the beholder," Darren grumbled, just at the manager of the restaurant he was calling answered. "Good afternoon, ma'am," Darren said. "My name is Alan Forman. I'm calling on behalf of the Bureau's scam division. We're trying to locate a man who registered a complaint. Unfortunately the only information he gave us about himself was that his name was Michael and he is a waiter. The scammer in question is targeting restaurant workers."

 

"What sort of scam?" the woman asked.

 

"I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to tell you. We would like to get in touch with Michael however. Do you have an employee by that name?"

 

"I do."

 

"Can you tell me anything about him? The scammer is targeting younger men, within the twenty-five to thirty age range."

 

She chuckled. "Then it's not our Michael. He's fifty-six, and honestly not the sort who would report something to the FBI. He thinks he's above things like that and wouldn't waste his time."

 

He let the "FBI" comment pass. If she assumed that's what he meant by "the Bureau", well, that's why he'd phrased it the way he had. "You might be surprised. People fall for these every day. Anyway, thank you for talking to me."

 

He hung up and moved on to the next call. So far he had found four men who came within the parameters he'd set up. Each time, casually, he'd asked for a description. None of the people he'd talked to had found that strange, despite the fact he'd implied Michael had filed the complaint online, meaning he wouldn't know what the man he was searching for looked like.