There were three of them, Native American boys though you wouldn’t think it to look at them. They didn’t embrace their heritage the way others of their generation did, but rather the Goth scene that had boomed in the past decade. Even in the sultry heat of the evening they were dressed in leather coats, heavy boots and eyeliner. One of them had a shaved head and enough metal piercings in his face to make him top heavy. The other two had long black hair, worn so that it concealed one each of their eyes. One had his hair parted to the left, the other the right. When they stood shoulder to shoulder they looked like mirror reflections.
Samuel had been watching them for some time as they haunted the doorway of an abandoned shack in the back streets of Holbrook. Other kids came and went, their visits to meet with the Goths short and sweet. Cash changed hands for small bags of white powder. Samuel had tried cocaine on more than one occasion and had liked the effects but that wasn’t why he was interested in the small group.
Arizona has a relaxed gun law: so long as a firearm isn’t loaded you can carry one without recrimination or fear of prosecution. That made Samuel’s task so much simpler than if he’d been in a more liberally minded state. He could possibly have picked up a weapon without much problem, but he wanted something that was ready to go, and chances were that the young hoods trading drugs in this shanty area were prepared to defend themselves from others who might have the idea to move in on their business. Once, as he’d watched them from the shadows of an alley opposite, he’d seen the bald one delve in his trouser pocket for a pack of cigarettes; his heavy leather coat was an encumbrance that he swept back out of his way and Samuel had recognised the semi-automatic pistol jammed in his belt. In all likelihood the other two would be similarly tooled up.
Could he take three armed men?
Damn right.
These young punks had no idea. They were so open about their trade that they had grown sloppy. Customers regularly arrived without any of the gang checking them out first.
A pale blue sedan car pulled up at the kerbside and a young white girl leaned out of the window. She waved a handful of dollars at the group, and Samuel watched as one of the mirror men went to her to deal through the open window. He could hear laughter. The car pulled away and the youth went back to join his buddies in the doorway. Samuel moved from the shadows of the alley and walked across the street towards them. Only the baldy saw him approaching as the other two were sharing a joke, probably at their recent female customer’s expense. The Goth didn’t seem perturbed by his sudden appearance, and his study of Samuel was cursory. He would see a middle-aged man in a suit and think he was some businessman suffering executive stress and seeking release for the evening.
Maybe the bald one was more aware than Samuel initially gave him credit for because he suddenly hissed something to his friends and they turned quickly to face him. Of course, Samuel realised, another reason that a guy in a suit would approach them would be if that guy was a detective.
‘Relax, guys,’ Samuel said showing them his open hands. ‘I’m no cop.’
The three eyed him up and down. They seemed interested in the bruises on his face. Maybe they thought he was an easy target for a mugging. That suited Samuel because it would make them underestimate him. They were tall guys, although enhanced by their thick-soled boots. Nevertheless Samuel barely stood as high as the shortest one’s eyeliner.
‘What do you want?’ The bald one was the elected leader.
Samuel raised his brows, opened his palms by his sides. ‘I think that should be obvious.’
‘Show us the money,’ Baldy said.
‘I don’t have any money.’
‘Say what?’ The three shared incredulous glances. Then the baldy stuck out his hand and shoved Samuel’s shoulder. ‘Get the fuck outta here man, wasting our time.’
Samuel glanced down at where the hand had touched. He dusted himself off. The three Goths made a loose semi-circle around him, puffing out their chests. Baldy had felt how solid he was under the suit, but the others hadn’t yet. Samuel peered directly at the bald one. ‘I don’t have money, but I still want to deal. Give me what I want and when I walk away you’ll all still be alive.’
The mirror men laughed, their long hair swinging. The baldy pushed Samuel’s shoulder more forcefully this time. ‘Are you fucking insane?’
Samuel grunted. ‘Yeah.’
The laughter suddenly went brittle. His forthright answer was the last they expected.
Baldy rolled his neck. ‘You need to walk away now, crazy man. You’re scaring off valuable paying customers.’
Samuel took a look around. At a far intersection traffic flashed by, but there was no one else currently on the street.
‘I am?’
‘Yes. Now get outta here.’
Samuel didn’t move.
‘Look, last chance. You go or we move you on,’ the baldy said.
One of the mirror men said, ‘Don’t know why we’re giving this asshole any of our time. Kick his ass, Duane.’
‘Duane?’ Samuel twisted his lips into a sneer. ‘That doesn’t sound like the name of a tough guy.’
‘The fuck?’
Samuel pointed at Duane’s right ear. The lobe was elongated, a thick steel circlet embedded in it. ‘Does something like that hurt?’
Duane leaned in, shoving his chin directly in Samuel’s face. ‘Not as much as my fist in your face will, asshole. Now, last chance, get away from us.’
‘I thought the last time was my last chance. You should make yourself clear if you want people to understand.’ Samuel shot out his left hand and made a fist around Duane’s earlobe. He twisted counter-clockwise, and the baldy had no option but to go with it to avoid his ear ripping off. He let out a startled shriek. ‘See, that’s how you get someone’s attention,’ Samuel added.
‘Get your hands off him!’
Samuel wasn’t sure which of the mirror men yelled at him. He didn’t care. He continued to twist Duane’s ear and the Goth reared up on his augmented boots, his spine arching backwards to alleviate the agony. His coat fell open and with his right hand Samuel tugged out the gun. Samuel wasn’t an aficionado of firearms but he thought the gun was a Glock. The butt felt heavy where he gripped it, indicating a full load. He lifted the gun so that it was aiming loosely at the mirror men.
‘I’m not an unreasonable man,’ he said. ‘Seeing as you gave me a chance, I’ll offer you the same terms. Leave now.’
The mirror men didn’t know what to do. They looked at each other, then at their friend who was still writhing in Samuel’s grasp.
Right Parting said, ‘Let him go, man.’
Samuel exhaled. Then he shot the youth in the face.
Left Parting let out a girlish scream as he watched his friend collapse to the ground. Samuel turned the gun on him. ‘See, last chance means last chance with me.’
He shot the second youth. The bullet took him through the throat, cutting off his squeal of terror.
But now Duane’s screams had grown louder.
His howling was magnified threefold: he’d just watched his friends brutally gunned down, he thought he was next, and Samuel had just ripped the steel ring off — and the lobe it was attached to.
The Goth fell to the ground, his hands trying to stem the flow of blood. His eyes were hollows of disbelief. He couldn’t get his legs to move, no matter how much he wanted to flee the scene.
Samuel studied the ring between his fingers, the gun momentarily forgotten and hanging at his side. He used his thumb to rub off some of the adhering flesh then held the steel ring up to see it more clearly. It was a quarter-inch thick with a deep groove around its entire circumference. Samuel jiggled it round and allowed it to slip on to his pinky finger. He showed it to Duane. ‘Does this mean we’re going steady?’
Duane let out another howl, then tried to propel himself away. His boot heels caught in the hem of his leather coat and he sprawled on his back. He rolled over, tried to get his feet under him, but Samuel stepped on his lower back, forcing him down in the dirt. ‘What, you’re breaking up with me already?’ Samuel asked. ‘Well, sorry Duane, but that just doesn’t work for me.’
He leaned down and placed the muzzle of the gun to the nape of the youth’s neck. Duane squealed, but it was cut short. Pressed deep in the flesh of the youth’s neck, the retort of the Glock was muffled.
He allowed the earring to slip from his finger. ‘We’re finished, Du-ane,’ he said.
Somewhere a dog was barking. Samuel could hear startled voices rising in alarm. He surveyed the three dead boys scattered around him. Then he looked at the gun dispassionately. Not much fun to be had with a gun in your hand, he thought. But he could see its value.
He went quickly to the mirror men. He could tell them apart now that they had different wounds. Neither had a firearm, but one of them had a bone-handled knife, the other a regular lock-knife. He pocketed both items, then went back to Duane and checked his coat pockets for extra ammunition. He didn’t find any, just a handful of small baggies with white powder. Samuel took them.
The dog was barking louder now, or more correctly closer to him. The voices were also approaching.
Samuel walked away quickly, escaping through the alley towards the main strip. He could hear the wailing of approaching sirens. He wasn’t too worried that he’d be identified as the shooter. In this neighbourhood, a middle-aged man in a suit would be the last person anyone would suspect.
Back on the main strip he watched as two police cruisers swept by. He pursed his lips, deciding that this was as good a diversion as any. He began walking towards the hotel where Jay waited for him.