Page 107 of Being Lost

I wave at my men, not needing to say anything. We’ll head to where we can safely get Curtis there with the truck and get gone. Like me, they sidle silently, keeping close to the walls. No problem, we’re going to make it… until Salem trips over something and goes down, hard.

“Who’s there?” a voice shouts out.

Fuck it.We all freeze, but it looks like we’re going to be caught. If we move now, we could be spotted, if we don’t move, they’ll find us. I freeze, hardly daring to breathe, hoping they’ll dismiss the sound as a stray cat hunting. One striding by would be great just now.

A burst of coughing sounds loudly, and Smoker comes around the corner, doubled up trying to get his breath. His coughing fit is genuine, as he’s obviously hurried to get here from the restaurant parking lot.

Now they’re distracted, I pull Salem out of sight behind a dumpster, Token and Niran too sinking into a crouch.

I peer around the side.

“Who the fuck are you?” A man appears and challenges Smoker, who can’t reply as he’s struggling to breathe. I count four more men gathering.

“I asked you who the fuck you are?” the angry voice demands.

“I ain’t no one,” Smoker manages to rasp. “I just…”cough, cough. Cough, cough, cough.“I’m just trying to find some food.” He manages to straighten and wave his arm toward the restaurant. “They throw out good grub.” Then he starts coughing again, bending double. I’m genuinely worried about him. He sounds like he needs medical treatment.

I expect them to tell him to get gone, but they don’t actually say anything. It’s dark, and I don’t think any of us actually see the gun appearing in the man’s hand until the bullet’s been fired with a soft pop through the silencer attached to the barrel, and Smoker crashes to the ground, his final cough echoing into the silence.

One of the men kicks at his body, but Smoker’s gone. He doesn’t even flinch.

Niran’s hand comes out to grab me, one hand going over my mouth. Grumbler holds me back on my other side.

“There’s no helping him,” Niran whispers directly into the ear without an earpiece. “He’s gone man, that was a head shot. Don’t let him die in vain.” That Niran’s right doesn’t sit well with me. Smoker had come to our rescue and had lost his life as a result. But if we confront them now, we could join Smoker, or at best, come out on top and blow our chances of shutting down this operation.

“Now we’ve got a fuckin’ body to get rid of,” a newcomer states, approaching the group who just killed Smoker. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Don’t need any witnesses and look at him. No one will fuckin’ miss someone like that. Put him inside. He’ll keep until tomorrow, then we can ship him out along with the merchandise and dump the body somewhere.” The shooter doesn’t sound bothered. “Get the front doors open and the trucks inside, then we can start unloading them.”

When they unlock the door and disappear into the auto-shop, with no shouts that we’ve left signs we’ve been there, we slip away into the night and I instruct Curtis to come get us with the truck.

“I sent the others back to the compound.” I’m surprised to see Dart. “I wanted to make sure you got clear, so came around to meet Curtis. What the fuck happened?”

I realise I hadn’t said a word, so Dart’s been left in the dark. I hardly want to say it now, knowing it will make it more real.

In the light of a streetlamp, I let him see the distress in my eyes. “Smoker’s fuckin’ dead.” I slam my hand against the bodywork, probably leaving a dent.

“It’s my fault,” Salem says, rubbing his ankle. “If I hadn’t stumbled—”

“It’s no one’s fuckin’ fault except those motherfuckers.” Niran, his voice catching, but once again the voice of reason says, “Fuckin’ useless pieces of shit who shot a harmless man.”

“What happened?” Dart repeats, looking from one of us to the other.

I nod toward Salem. “Salem hurt his leg, stumbled over something when we were getting away. Smoker heard, came around to provide us with cover. They fuckin’ killed him for no reason.”

It’s my fault he’s dead. I should have put two and two together before we went in. But how was I to know they had a place for storage? Never in a million years could I have guessed. I thought we’d be clear going in tonight, expecting all the action to take place tomorrow.

A voice crackles in my ear again. “I’m still in place. They’ve taken two trucks into the auto-shop. Can’t see what. They’ve closed the doors behind them.”

Drugs don’t need bunks or soundproofing. Their cargo must be the traumatised women Shark was talking about. They’ll be crammed into those cells for twenty-four hours. Frightened, scared, and knowing their horrors are only just beginning. I wonder how many of them there are and hoping those cells won’t be full to capacity.

I wished we’d killed the motherfuckers when we had our chance, and freed the women.

A hand grips my shoulder making me realise I’d spoken aloud. “Couldn’t have done that, Prez.” The whites of Niran’s eyes are about the only thing I can make out in the dim light as his voice of reasonableness continues, “We’ll get our revenge tomorrow night. We’ll do it for Smoker. Free the women and blow this operation to smithereens. This shop of horrors won’t be used for trafficking again.”

He’s right. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I couldn’t have known anyone would turn up, or that they’d be as cold as to kill an apparently homeless man with no reason.

“Want me to stay on watch?”

---