Page 1 of Saltwater Promises
Chapter 1
The bullet whizzed by his left ear.
Interesting.
Mike stayed calm, but the shot got his attention. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his trip to Queens going, but he didn’t freeze or wait around for the second, third, or fourth bullets. He ran, and after a moment of shock, the small crowd outside the art gallery followed suit.
Mercifully, the shooting stopped then, just as Mike ran into a guy standing on the sidewalk, arms outstretched. “It’s firecrackers,” the guy insisted. “Just firecrackers! C’mon, calm down!”
Oh, the poor fool. Mike shoved him out of the way – he was blocking the escape for everyone – and the confusion amongst the sea of art enthusiasts gave him enough time to duck into the liquor store on the corner.
He pointed at the clerk. “I need access to the upper floors, now!”
The man stared at him for a moment before nodding and rushing to open a door in the back.
Mike followed him, running up the stairs and into a darkened hallway, a perfect hiding spot. Hopefully the shopkeeper wouldn’t sell him out. He didn’t seem the type.
He peeked out of the window onto the street below. The people that had been inside the gallery were panicking now, pouring onto the street and running in every direction. Mike scanned the crowd, determined to spot a break in the pattern.
He found it at the opposite street corner. Two guys were walking briskly, looking over their shoulders. They were far too controlled to be one of the petrified innocents.
He squinted. One of them was recognizable even as he disappeared around the bend. The man wore a characteristically loud white jumpsuit, and despite the dark hour, had sunglasses on top of his head.
Lenny.
Dang. Just as Mike had suspected. This wasn’t a random attack – it was targeted. And Mike was the target, no doubt.
Except…was he the target as former FBI Special Agent Mike Grady? Or was it his old undercover persona, Gary Bomba, whose relationship with the Ukrainian mob recently came to an abrupt and suspicious end?
As far as Mike knew, Lenny wasn’t aware that “Gary” was a fake. And the more he thought about it, the less sense it made that Lenny would attack an FBI agent.
In fact, if Lenny had known that Mike was an FBI agent, he wouldn’t dream of firing shots at him. No need to bring the wrath of the Bureau upon whatever illegal enterprise he was running.
Mike’s real identity was likely still safe then. Good.
But why did Lenny feel comfortable enough to travel across the country while he was out on bond? Surely San Juan County didn’t know that Lenny took a trip all the way to New York City. Or that he took it upon himself to fire into a crowd.
Thankfully, he was a terrible shot. Or rather, his friend was. Lenny never seemed able to do the dirty work himself.
Mike scanned the scene below him. The street was clear now, and it didn’t look like anyone was obviously injured. That was good. Sirens were approaching, so someone must’ve called 911.
He had a thousand questions, but for now, there were more urgent concerns. He pulled out his phone and made a call to the FBI undercover emergency line.
“Sandy Bay Cottages, how can I help you?”
“I’d like to report a leak in my unit,” he said.
“One moment,” the woman said before connecting him.
“Agent Summers, how can I help you?”
Mike frowned. That wasn’t someone that he knew, and he’d only been gone for a few months. “This is retired Special Agent Mike Grady. I believe that I was just targeted in a shooting. I counted four shots fired. I’m unharmed, but I think that we’ll need to work quickly. It would be best to make it look like I was harmed.”
Silence, then, “Okay. We’re contacting local police now.”
Mike let out a sigh. So much for being “retired” from the FBI.
The days following the shooting were interesting. Thanks to the quick-acting undercover unit, they were able to work with the local police to concoct a story.
