Nathaniel stood out in the hall, burning a cigar through his teeth. Dressed in the same black suit as the rest of the group, he almost seemed like a cross between Mr. Hyde and Dick Tracy who got slapped in the face with a clothing iron. A bulge in his coat pocket told me he was packing something - probably assuming I might try to bust out of here quick, the smug blue bastard.
The pistol in my coat, the Remington across my back, shells and bullets jingling around, I should bust out of here.
He puffed the cigar, blowing a ream of blue smoke into the air, and gave his standard asshole smile. "Alright, now it's time you got a taste of what we do 'round here, boy." He crushed the cigar between his fingers, and motioned his head.
We followed him through hallways, dark again, and remaining out of sight of anything. These were darker, dustier, older than the ones I crossed through earlier. I assume these were here since the building above ground was active, since leaks were falling through the ceiling, probably from busted pipes. Melissa had been moving quickly behind me, staying as quiet as possible despite the clatter of the weapons.
We came upon the original bar, now empty - it was probably much later in the day (or night, considering) and I assume everybody went home. Nathaniel pulled out a keyring from his coat and went to the door that had brought us down here. He began fiddling with the lock, going through the multiple keys and figuring which one was right.
As he was unlocking the door, I studied the room around me. The bar was actually pretty small, considering the crowd that was in here earlier - only six real stools at the counter, and four shelves behind it. The place resembled a British pub, like the surface building did but cleaner and not burnt to shit. Here and there, the wallpaper faded, whether due to age or lighting, and the fake oil lamps that lighted the room had been put out, leaving the ceiling fans the only lights in the room. The rumbling of the pipes above and below us stood out against the constant grunts of Nathaniel.
Finally, a click sounded, and Nathaniel hefted the door open. Calling us over, he began up the stairs and we followed. Several flights, and we reached the cellar, with the closet door against the wall and broken in places. Nathaniel looked to me, then kept moving, leading us out of the cellar and into the tavern frame above.
---
The moon was full, and the night sky was clear, black and white stars moving across the firmament. The street lights of the town were on, yet it only seemed to make the surrounding area darker than black. Nathaniel turned to us and waved us over, his eyes moving to each small sound. "Alright, you need to be quiet here, buddy. We got an operation that needs doing, and you got a debt that needs paying. Wait here." He moved and disappeared behind the walls, leaving to get something.
For a moment, it was pitch black and quiet. Adjusting the shotgun strap across my shoulder, I took out my lighter and lit up a cigarette. Melissa sat down on one of the soot-covered chairs, trying not to get soot on her leggings, and held her hands over ears. Whispering the same incantation from earlier, her hands started glowing with a violet energy, then dimmed and finally vanished. Her ears were now small, human. The glamour was in effect, even if it was just something really small.
The sound of a car starting and driving up in front of the building frame brought our eyes to the door frame. The lights of a sedan pulled up outside and a door opened and closed with a slam. Nathaniel came back into view, holding a pair of keys.
"You need to be in Yuma by 4 AM. Leigh's gonna be expecting a call from you and Fae, here, so you're gonna either use her phone," he said, pointing at Melissa, "Or you better have a couple o' quarters." After a second, he tossed the keys to me and began walking back to the cellar.
Catching the keys in the air, I turned them over in my hand. Simple car keys, for a small vehicle. Looking at the door, the headlights were still on. Melissa stood up and walked towards the car; I followed behind her.
It certainly wasn't some cheapo salesman's used prop. Thing was properly cared, polished, the works. It also looked stock, so that could be it, but it didn't matter. Melissa promptly opened the passenger door while I entered the driver's side. Placing the key in the engine, I powered the thing to life with a loud roar. The radio came on - the sound of guitar, drums, and a Southern accent filled the cabin. I hit the pedal and we sped off, maneuvering around the old burnt pub that was our new workplace.
---
The highway leading out of the town was silent, dark, sort of what you'd see in a horror movie intro. Only illumination for miles was the headlights of the car and the signs passing every so often. Only noise we had was the radio going on and on - some group by the name of Kings of Leon, or something like that. Melissa pulled out her phone somewhere along the road and was pretty much occupied with it for a good hour or two.
No banter, no chatter, for that drive. Eventually we reached a pit stop; I never noticed that the damn thing didn't even have a full tank of gas. Pulling in, I pulled out my wallet. Only had enough for one full gallon, so these guys better be fronting the next fill-up.
I turned to Melissa, who was still looking at her phone. She looked up at me, then a look of realization came over her face as she pulled out a folder from behind her jacket. She opened it up and placed it on the center rest, leaning against the stick-shift. "Almost forgot - Ms. Stafferson handed me all this; said I should only open this when we're on the road or something."
I leaned against the seat, hitting the lights in the cabin. "What is it?"
"Information. On this "Buchanan" guy, mainly." She looked over and flipped the pages as she spoke. "Horse-better - big surprise. Says here he took out a loan from Mickelson, promised to pay it back tenfold once he got his motel business up and running, or maybe after he struck it big from all the races." She whistled as she pulled out a receipt, looking and turning it over in her hands. "Del Mar, $4 exacta on 4 and 2; lost." She took another few out, going through them one by one. "Turf Paradise, $12 on a box trifecta; lost. Sunland Downs, $9 across-the-board on 2; lost." There were numerous receipts like these, all in various combinations of bet types, amounts, and choices; apparently, the man loved the races. "Every single one, a loss. A grand total of $466, on horses alone." She pulled more receipts from the folder. "And he wasn't just a gambler when it came to horses, either."
I leaned back a little more against the door and stared at the visor. Getting out, I walked to the pump and started paying. The station was quiet - it looked like it was two in the morning, dead time, and all the truckers and cross-country guys were sleeping. Only sounds were the hums of the lights and the whirrs of the pump as the tank filled up with a click. Withdrawing the pump, I looked through the window - Melissa was still looking through the folder. I knocked on the windshield to get her attention; she turned to look at me.
"I'm gonna get something - you want anything?"
She paused. "Just, like, juice or anything. Thanks." She turned back to the folder and picked out more pages.
---
Walking in to the station store, the beeping of the door alarm going off, I searched and picked up a bottle of juice and a large soda. Standing behind the register, the cashier - some weird looking kid, probably barely into his twenties - nods to me, and I pay for the things. Soon as I hand him the money, however, he pauses, then looks at me.
At this point, several seconds have passed by and I haven't had a proper night's sleep. I ask him, "Something wrong, man?"
He smiles. "Nah. Just wondering if you noticed."
Now I was confused. I studied him closely - nothing strange: a simple uniform, baseball cap, light blue pants, curled brown hair. Nothing was strange, so I nodded my head.
He points out to the parking lot, directly at our car. Following his hand, I saw a small black dot on the front bumper of the car - if I wasn't staring directly at it, I'd never have noticed it ever. It almost disappeared in the night. He turned back to me, then smiled. "Stafferson left you a present, Ferguson."
I froze. This kid knew? "What present?"
He leaned against the counter, putting the money into the register. As he hands me the change, he chuckles. "A little back-up. In case something goes wrong with Buchanan. But I ain't heard nothing, man." He looks up at me and blinks - with his eyes turning yellow once they opened.
---
Walking back to the car, I took a closer look at the black dot - which looked like a coaster attached to the bumper frame. It had a latch on it and I pulled it off, causing something to fall out. Picking up the object, it turned out to be some kind of stone, a lot like the one Melissa held in the room. A runic letter was carved into the face of it, but it wasn't glowing and I couldn't make out what it said in the dim light of the station lamps. I placed it in my back pocket, then opened up the driver side door.
Melissa was back on her phone, probably chatting with whatever friends were up at fucking 1 in the morning. Climbing in, the folder was open on the armrest, turned to Buchanan's medical records. I handed Melissa her drink and we sat there in silence.
Finally, Melissa looked at me and spoke. "His name is Archibald. Archibald Buchanan." She brought up her phone and showed me the screen. There was a picture of a man in his late fifties; white, black balding hair, definitely out-of-shape. He looked like the guy from All In The Family, except if he lost a drunk bet. The picture was of him, standing at a coffee shop counter, paying for his drink. He seemed to be looking around, probably hoping no one caught a good picture of him. "He owns the Jackal's Overnight Motel, just on the outskirt of Yuma. According to the records, place has stayed in business despite hemorrhaging money for a couple years."
Poor bastard. "So, we need to get to Yuma, put two in this guy's head, then our debt is gonna get paid."
Melissa looked at me with a look of concern in her eyes. "Liam, we... we're not actually going to kill him?"
I was confused. "You saw the records. The receipts." I pointed at our guns currently holstered. "They wouldn't have given us these if they didn't expect something."
"Yeah, but... it just seems wrong."
I sighed. "Of course it's wrong, kid. But, what the hell are we going to do?" I turned the key in the ignition, and brought the car to life again. The same song played over the radio. "We got debts to pay."
The car pulled out of the station, and a minute later, we were on the road to Yuma to murder a man for money. "I've just... I've never killed a man before." Melissa spoke up around ten minutes after we left the station. "I don't think anyone gets around that."
The signs passing by us, I glanced at her and brought my eyes back to the road. "No one does, Mel. It just isn't right. But neither us is this whole situation." I smiled and turned to her. "At least you can go into hiding. I have to keep up appearances."
She sighed, then brought the seat back, lying down in an attempt to get some rest. "My dad is going to freak."
