The Fall(45)

“My daughter loves it, about the only thing we have in common. Our love of the universe.” He whirled his fingers in the air as he grinned. Although I was sure that his and his daughter’s idea of the universe were vastly different.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” I smirked, the kid he was referring to absent. “What a wonderful father you are?”

“It seems the theme lately for you, huh?” He laughed, his chin tipping to the pavement indicating we should walk.

Franco didn’t like to stand still, and judging by that little quip he assumed I was involved with Jimmy. “Daughters—daughters are trouble. My advice to you if you have kids, have only sons.”

Yeah, because having kids of any kind were on my to do list.

“Franco, what is it you want?” I looked him dead in the eye, something I knew men like him responded to.

“I like you, Michael.” He continued walking, ignoring the question. “You work hard, stay out of everyone’s business. Self-made man.”

“And you want something, which is why I’m here.” I stopped midstride, at my limit with condescending bullshit as the wind cut through me like a knife. “What is it?”

“Sofia Amaro.” He smirked, facing me. “I know you spoke to Jimmy.”

“I talk to a lot of people, but like you said . . . I stay out of everyone’s business.”

“Not what I wanted to hear.” The smile curled at the side of his mouth as he moved closer. “You either know where she is or how to find her.” His hand clasped down heavily on my shoulder. “You have twenty-four hours to bring her to me, or it will be your head there is a price on.”

“I don’t have her.” I didn’t even blink as I lied to his face. “And I don’t respond well to threats.”

“Oh, no, no, Michael.” Franco laughed, his hand digging into his thick woolen coat. “I never threaten. I’m a man of action.”

For an older guy, he sure moved quick. Our guns were pointed at one another at the same time. We kept them close to our bodies, the people milling around oblivious they were seconds away from seeing one or two dead bodies.

“Like I said, I don’t respond well to threats.” I nodded down to the gun in my hand. “So, how about we go our separate ways.”

“No.” Franco smiled. “Not an option.”

“You shoot me and I shoot you, kind of counterproductive, don’t you think?” My grip tightened on my weapon as my eyes swept along the people not far from us.

“That we can agree on.” Jimmy smirked. “I have a better idea.”

I hadn’t seen it coming. Which is why when the hit came to the back of my head, I went down like a sack of shit. I’d been careful, trying to keep my eyes moving, but there was only one of me, and clearly more of them.

My finger squeezed on instinct, a round shooting out of my forty-five before I dropped. Hopefully it caught Santini, but I couldn’t be sure; the screams from the crowd were the last thing I heard.

They didn’t waste time either, a second blow knocking me to my knees before I’d had time to move or recover.

And just before I blacked out, I remembered staring down at the concrete and Franco’s shiny black shoes. Firstly hating it was probably the last thing I was going to see, and secondly knowing that I probably wasn’t getting out of this alive.

***

Very slowly my body came back online.

Everything felt wrong.

My eyes were barely able to crack open, the pain of the light so intense I had to shut them and reopen them again so they had time to adjust.

My head tried to toggle from side to side in the hopes of gauging where I was, but no dice, my body protesting at every step with zero cooperation.

My arms and legs had been forced apart but my brain was unable to compute why I was spread eagle and why I couldn’t control my limbs.

Underneath me was soft—a mattress of some kind—while the only other thing I could make out was a ceiling fan whirling slowly above me. Its blades moving slower than they seemed they should.

Everything was foggy, like my eyes and brain couldn’t focus right, my head felt like it was full of cotton and yet I couldn’t lift it from the mattress.

“I’ve given him the maximum dose.” A voice in the distance spoke, “He hasn’t cracked. I think we have to accept the possibility he might have been telling the truth.”

It sounded so far away, like I was in some kind of tunnel. The noises distorted so I had no idea which direction they were coming from.

“No, he knows where she is, and she needs to be taken care of,” Franco’s voice countered. “Give him another shot. If he won’t talk, I want his mind so fried he doesn’t remember this.”

“Another shot could kill him.”

“Worth the risk.”

Intellectually—even without the preamble—I knew I’d been drugged. But my brain was misfiring so much that all intelligent thought went out the window. I tried to will my body to move, but it was like swimming against the tide—nothing. I assumed my arms and legs had been tied but who knew, I could have very easily been tripping out with my incarceration being mental rather than physical.

My skin was hyper sensitive, like it had a million ants goose-stepping up and down my arms and legs, and then I felt a pinch in my forearm.