Come To Me (Owned 3)

Crunch.

Sigh.

“So was my popcorn…”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“So it is help.”

Laugh.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Crackle.

Hush.

“I’ll send you your information. In the meantime, maybe you should get a subscription to Netflix.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“And Vic?”

“What?”

Hush.

Crackle.

Laugh.

“Blood for blood. I hope she’s worth it.”

Click.

The neon T was burned out and the L hung limply to the side. Other than that, the exterior looked okay. With wooden molding and white stucco, it reminded me of the bohemian hotels I’d frequented on my trips to Amsterdam. Like those trips, though, I knew better than to take what I saw at face value.

According to Seven, GEM only had two outfits in California; one in San Francisco and one in Los Angeles. That was official though, and according to Seven, “The last time GEM did anything official, Gorbachev was getting fucked in the ass by Reagan.” He went on to say there was an unofficial GEM outfit on the outskirts of Santa Barbara. It had popped up a week before and was masquerading as END, but after some minimal digging was clearly GEM.

He didn’t give me any more than that. He ended the email by saying, “I could tell you who is pulling the strings on this one…but that’s never as fun.” I didn’t need more. I was sure now that Alice was the puppet master of the whole goddamn thing.

Four floors besides the bottom one. A roof. A shitty fire escape. Two balconied floors. Possibly a basement. I quickly scanned the building, trying to learn as much as I could in what little time I had. It was anyone’s guess as to where they were keeping Lenny.

A doorman sat outside an arched, heavy wooden door, his face in a crooked scowl. I didn’t need to bet money to know he was more than a doorman. He was the first line of defense, but still probably just a brute with no other training than punch-hit-lights-out. If this was as low key and unofficial as Seven said, Alice couldn’t spare many men and would have likely had to outsource i.e. pay random street thugs.

I could take him down easily, but that runs the complication of letting my presence be known. It would be better to wait, scope out the building’s weak points, and discover the rituals of those inside. It would take time, but results in less bloodshed.

Fuck it.

“Hey you!” I yelled out. A short smile played on my lips when his head spun around, looking for me. Calling out like that wasn’t smart. It sure as shit wasn’t how I was trained. Maybe it was testosterone, or maybe it was just a side effect of living with Lenny, but I was sick of playing it smart.