Page 72 of Damon

“Fuck off, pretty boy,” the deep voice says. “Leave now and you won’t end up at the bottom of the Thames. This has fuck all to do with you. Find somewhere else to wash your shirts.”

“You have two elderly people tied to chairs,” Connor says clearly. He’s trying to impart as much information as possible to us. “Your guns are pointed at their heads. The young lady behind the counter has a knife at her throat thanks to your colleague. Me leaving isn’t an option, but if you leave quietly, we can avoid involving the police.” There is the sound of laughter from multiple men. “Last chance,” Connor tells them.

“Who are you?” a familiar voice interrupts the laughter. Moreno has approached the door and is standing blocking the entrance, his other men behind him.

“Merely a concerned citizen,” Connor responds.

“Well, unfortunately for you, concerned citizen, you’ve wandered into the wrong launderette today. Your day will be a sad one.”

I turn around to speak to Hunter and Greyson but find my backseat of the car empty. “Where the fuck did they go?” I hiss to Russell, sitting beside me; he gestures to the small grassy area beside the car. Greyson pulls a small handgun from his waistband, and Hunter holds a knife in his left hand. The two men stride off in the direction of the store.

As they cross the street, Greyson raises his weapon and promptly shoots one of Moreno’s bodyguards in the calf. He crumples to the ground. The silencer attached to the gun makes the shot barely audible. Greyson moves the line of the barrel slightly and takes out the second man; the shot hits him in the back, and he falls to the floor. Moreno spins on his heel as Hunter steps up behind him and places the small blade in his hand at his captive’s throat.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Connor’s voice sounds through my handset. “One move and that maniac will kill your boss.” Without seeing what’s happening, I can guess that one of Moreno’s men has made a move to hurt someone inside. Connor has brought their attention back to Hunter, who has hold of Moreno.

“Fuck’s sake,” I say, pissed off that my vigilante idiot friends have decided to have a shoot-out in the middle of the city. “So much for trying to stop the collection’s team justice quietly.”

“There was no way this was ever going to be quiet,” Russell replies bluntly. “What do you think was happening?”

“A stand-off most likely. Come on, let’s go sort this shit out before Hunter murders our only link to Brenton.” I push my door open and step out of the car. Russell does the same, then the two of us move in the direction of the launderette. By the time we arrive, Greyson has pulled the two men who were shot into the store; they’re lying on the dirty gray tiles, whining. Trails of their blood run over the floor. Hunter has Moreno pushed against the wall, his knife tip touching the skin at his Adam’s apple. A young woman stands behind the service counter, and Luke holds a knife to her throat. He glances at me, but I give him a blank look. The last thing I want to do is rat the boy out as one of us; that would be signing his death warrant.

An elderly gentleman and lady are sitting on wooden chairs in the center of the store, their wrists and ankles tied to the legs. The woman visibly shakes; her tight gray perm is cemented to her head with sweat. The man has a bag over his head which is expanding and contracting with each of his breaths. His feet are bare. A pair of black shoes and matching socks are discarded to the side of the chair.

“Chief Constable McKinney,” Moreno says as I come into his line of sight. “What an unexpected pleasure. Should we expect the boys in blue to attend, or are you here in another capacity?”

“I’m here in the capacity of justice,” I reply, narrowing my eyes. He laughs, and Hunter pushes the tip of his knife upwards. A droplet of blood runs down the shiny metal. “It’s over, Moreno. Let these innocent people go. We know you’re here to inflict harm.”

“Chief Constable,” he replies with a sneer. “I am merely an innocent bystander caught amongst gang violence just as you have been. I wish these Londoners no harm.”

My focus moves to the lady restrained on the chair. I walk toward her and bend down to untie the bindings.

One of Moreno’s men steps forward, lowering his gun to my forehead. “Stop what you are doing,” he growls, in what sounds like a Russian accent. “This bitch is my possession and won’t be released until she pays my boss her debts.”

The launderette is filled with men pointing guns at each other. In this moment, I have no way to end the stand-off peacefully to ensure the safety of the owners. I’m crouched in front of the female prisoner when the shit hits the fan. The granddaughter of the couple jumps across the counter and knocks the man holding the gun to my head across the back. He spins, and the sound of a gunshot reverberates around the store.

Men scamper in all directions, and the captive couple screams. I quickly pull the plastic bag from the man’s head so he can at least see, then grab my pen knife from my pocket to cut them both free. When I glance around, my friends are wrestling with the gang members. Luke has grabbed the young woman who caused the commotion and has pushed her to the floor. He pulls her hands behind her back, and she screams frantically. Once freed, I tell the older couple to hide behind the counter—they disappear from view.

Hunter has Moreno in a headlock, but his opponent has hold of his knife and swings it wildly at his stomach. As I stand to pull my gun on whichever bastard I can aim at, five police officers burst through the doorway.

***

“That was close,” Connor says as we walk out of the police station.

“You think?” Russell snaps back. “Thank fuck you were here to talk us out of that, McKinney.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure. I have a feeling there will be awkward questions when I get to the office tomorrow. I’m not convinced they fell for the three of us walking in on a heist in a launderette.”

“Maybe not,” Russell says, “but they could never make anything stick anyway. Trust me, I’m a lawyer.”

“That’s the exact reason I wouldn’t trust you.”

“Bastard. It won’t be that when you need representation to keep your ass out of jail.”

“I’d ask Waite to do it. No doubt you would be my cellmate. So you wouldn’t be any fucking use at representing me,” I tell him and he scowls.

“Would you two shut up,” Connor interrupts. “Let’s go back to The Level and get a drink. I know I fucking need one. Where did Hunter and Greyson disappear to anyway? And Moreno?”

“That’s what I need to find out.”

---