Two black sedans rumbled outside of the cabin at 22 Chancery Boulevard.  Their pale, dim lights made Su Jin’s grin seem even less human than usual. 

“We will follow you from a sizable distance so as not to attract unwanted attention.  Enter the pub and don’t give any signal that anything out-of-the-ordinary is going on.  Don’t try anything fancy, and you might go home tonight.”

He gave back Sam his hand gun and turned to the pale light of his car.  Sam mechanically got into his own car and turned the ignition.  There was nothing else to do.  Shooting The Shaman in front of his cronies was no good.  He’d be a dead man.  A hero, perhaps, but where would that leave his family?  His wife, a petite thing who waitressed on and off, couldn’t possibly support herself and two children.  He imagined her sweet face and the havoc news of his death would wreak on it.  Sam cringed and put the car in gear.

Just persevere.  

When enough time had passed after Sam’s departure, Su Jin gave the word to move out.  

“When we get there, do not move until the Cordaro boy shows.  Claus would not sacrifice his company for Mr. Vancouver, but for his son I am certain he will comply.”  The Asian man clicked his tongue impatiently.  “He will comply.”

The phone Su Jin had lent Sam earlier buzzed and whirred.  The Shaman squinted in confusion, as the caller ID was Unknown Number


There was only static.  It lasted a few seconds before changing to an ear-piercing sine wave.  Su Jin cursed in a foreign tongue and clamped the phone shut, tossing it towards the trunk.  Karl chuckled.

“Maybe we should tap a cell phone company n’ get some actual service.”

“Shut up.”


Grant fist-pumped in the passenger-side seat of his father’s Bentley.  

“Got it.  The phone has signal, so we can use the GPS to track it’s location.  Right now it’s in East End, just a couple miles ahead.  Keep going north.”

“Do you think that’s Victor?”

“I have no idea,” Grant said as he tapped the GPS screen, “let’s just hope we get to him before anyone else does.”


The digital clock in the dash read 1:56 AM as I pulled into the lot at Pub 67.  More than two hours had passed since I’d left my brother broken-nosed in that cold, remote alley.  

Only another two hours until I’m out of here for good.  

I hopped out of the car, securing the magnum in the back of my pants.  No telling what could happen at a pub this late at night.  This one was known more for its quiet and out-of-the-way location than for its rowdiness, which is why Sam and I made it our meeting ground.  Upon entering, there were only three figures sitting at the bar.  Two wore black suits and trousers, while the third wore casual attire.  The casually-dressed man turned around, and I instantly recognized him as Sam.  My face lit up, but he did not respond in kind.  His eyes were intense with urgency.  I’d seen this look many times before when we were partners, and it meant “run.”  I turned, only to be confronted by a disproportionately large man with a tommy gun.  I was on the floor before I could even draw my pistol.  My head throbbed as I heard Sam’s voice yelling my name.  There was another snake-like voice in the room, but I couldn’t make out what it was saying.  I saw the barrel of the large man’s tommy gun dig into the wooden floor next to my face as I slipped out of consciousness.

The End

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