Page 37 of Ignite

Jazz had no words. Emotions crowded them out, and she could only nod at the man moving inside her for the second time tonight.

The man she recognized as the only one she would ever love.

20

Edgar Medflin staredat the display case of vintage fiber-optic lamps. The sprays of thin plastic spaghetti changed colors at random times, and he found it mesmerizing. Of course, the weed he just tried probably had a lot to do with his current state. The Rainbow Belts strain of pot had him seeing colored arcs in the haze around the slowly rotating clouds of sparkles.

“My people are gonna love this shit,” he told the lamps, imagining they approved of his opinion.

His vape store was empty this time of night save for himself and the spinning lamps. The music was a widely eclectic mix, ranging from Gregorian chants, ’70s rock, club techno, and Tibetan bowl singing. Bongs and hookahs lined the shelf behind the main counter, along with rows of vape devices and accessories. The store’s decor hadn’t changed since the ’80s and was sadly a little dated, but Edgar didn’t care. He had plenty of people who bought fruity vape juices and CBD oils from him. Enough to keep the place open and his side pot business laundered.

Lately, though, he’d been thinking about selling everything and taking his happy ass down to Florida. It was all because that biker gang wouldn’t leave him alone. First time the Slaggers came through, they offered a business deal to store and distribute the hard stuff. Crack, meth, fennies, whatever it was, he wasn’t interested.

They came back with a bigger offer and a threat: Work with us or lose everything. To make that point, they’d trashed a whole display of mini-waterpipes. Still, Edgar wouldn’t play ball with them. Yeah, he dealt a little weed out the back door, but he wasn’t a big player in the greater scheme of things, so the cops generally left him alone. Edgar liked it like that and had no intention of upsetting the apple cart. Start dealing in the hard stuff? It was only a matter of time before someone fingered him and his whole world collapsed.

He’d heard from other businesses on this strip that the Slaggers had hit them up, too, either for “protection” money or distribution deals. The Iron City Knights had the titty bar down the street and were also a holdout. Edgar figured they would be the ones to kick the rival bikers out of this area for good. But so far, nothing.

Until the drive-by a week or so ago. Edgar couldn’t quite recall what day it happened, but he did remember hearing and seeing the vehicle with the guns shooting into the sky. The incident had him thinking maybe it really was time to sell and move. He had cousins in Florida who spent their days on the beach and their nights running the beach stores that sold tourist shit.

“That could be kinda cool.”

He wasn’t sure why he was talking to himself. A giggle came out of his throat.

“Damn, I’m freakin’ high as fuck,” he informed the lamps with a nod.

He noticed the black sky outside. Time was relative, and at the moment, he had no idea if it was just after sunset or just before sunrise. Either way, he decided he was hungry.

“Munchies suck.”

He thought about the soft pretzels he had in the freezer. Just needed to nuke in the microwave for two minutes, but he’d have to leave the store unattended while he ambled back to the office. Instead, he unwrapped an expired Tastykake and crammed half of it into his bearded mouth.

Prolly got crumbs in my facebush,he thought as he brushed at them.

The sudden crash of glass startled him, and he sucked the wad of masticated dough into his windpipe. Air became a precious commodity as he started choking and tried to dislodge the blocking food.

Death by butterscotch krimpet.

But he was wrong.

It was the bomb that killed him.

21

Wolf and Camshaftwatched the inspectors sift through the rubble that was left from the exploded vape shop. The smell of ash still coated the air as the men in suits poked through the debris.

“Bomb.” Officer Denny sidled up to the two bikers and joined them in their observations. “Homemade, but more than a Molotov cocktail. Poor fucker was prolly high when he bought it.”

Wolf’s face remained impassive. The coroner’s van had already come to collect Ed’s twisted, burned remains. Wolf never had an issue with the man. They weren’t friends, but he didn’t wish him dead. “Any clues to prove who did it?”

Denny sighed. “Nothing so far we can use. No traffic cameras on the streets. No witnesses.” He huffed as one worker lifted a chunk of wall. “We know who did this, but we gotbupkisto go on.”

Camshaft spoke. “I’m surprised the buildings on either side weren’t damaged.”

“Targeted explosion,” Wolf said with a grim voice. “One of the Slaggers either has demolition experience or was in the military.”

Denny raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“Walls collapsed inward.”

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