Shadows Ablaze

Chapter 29- Jaxon

My footsteps echo as I walk the vacant streets of downtown. I pass a group of kids who shift in formation as they push one another, laughing as they travel through the darkness. They aren't Elites, that's for sure. Elites would never allow their children to tramp through this part of town late at night. The thought of Shyah, the girl from the lab, walking this area with her Elite friends is nearly unimaginable. That would never happen. They would never venture from the comfort of their gated community. Unless their job, like Shyah's, required them to. The kids in the street now are definitely all Skids, born and raised here. These parts don't scare them. This is their home.

The street grows empty again as the kids move on, pushing closer to center city. I turn down an alley, navigating between the piles of trash and discarded furniture. Despite the cloudless sky, the light from the moon doesn't wiggle between the buildings' walls. A skinny rat scampers across the ground in front of me, dragging a wrapper behind it. Even the rats can't find anything to eat. Whatever was edible has already made its way to a human's stomach. No one would waste food, even if it is stale and only the size of a crumb.

I emerge from the alley, turning onto a quiet street. Most of the lamps lining the sidewalk have blown their bulbs, but no one has bothered to replace them. It isn't worth it, and the government isn't too concerned with the upkeep of downtown. After all, the people running our government rarely even step foot in these parts.

The hairs on my arms stand, prickling at a feeling deep in my gut. Something is off. I don't know how I know it, but there's a static in the air that doesn't feel right. I work at quieting my steps, but the act is difficult with everything being so quiet.

The sound of heavy footsteps and a whir of air reaches my ears. I spin, but I'm too late. A large body collides with mine. I fall to my knees, catching myself just before I pancake against the ground. "Nice to see you again," a rasped, accented voice greets.

Chills lick at my spine as my limbs thrum with adrenaline, preparing themselves for what comes next. I push myself off the ground, standing close to the wall behind me. My eyes find the man's steel gray stare. "I knew you'd show up eventually."

"Did you?"

I toss my shoulders into the air. "I assumed you would. What's it like? Operating a whole drug ordeal by yourself?" I'm not carrying anything that could pass as a weapon, I really shouldn't act too cocky, but I can't help it.

The lone drug dealer chuckles, but the sound is sinister. "You think I run this all by myself?" He snorts, tossing his head from side to side. "I will say, though, you made things difficult when you took all of our inventory."

"What makes you think it was me?"

He chokes on a snicker. "Please," he drawls out the word. "Who else would it have been? The law has never been able to find our place. But the second you showed up on the force—a week after you tried to join us, by the way—they suddenly knew where we were, killed one of my guys and took the other." His body swells in the open space as he steps toward me, pushing his spine straighter. A silent challenge. "Does that sound like it was you?"

I reposition too, doing my best to reach his height, but I'm a couple inches off. When I try to speak, my mouth is suddenly dry. "I don't know what you're talking about." I push out the sentence, despite my discomfort. He knows one of his guys is dead, and he's blaming it on us. Me. He's blaming it on me. That can't be good.

A sly smile crosses his mouth. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," he states. "I have eyes and ears everywhere. I know you showed up at my warehouse with your police friends, there were gunshots, then you walked out with one of my guys and left the other one dead on the floor. Sure," he adds, with a wave of his hand. "His body was cleaned up and gone by the time I returned, but my neighbors are very hospitable and had no trouble telling me of your trespassing."

I snort. "Trespassing? There was illegal activity and probable cause. We had every right to enter."

"So you admit it happened that way," the dealer remarks, the bottom of his shirt shifts as he places his hands on his hips and reveals a pistol handle resting against his skin.

I freeze. He's got a weapon and I just admitted we were there. "We didn't kill your guy, Tarrik did."

The dealer makes a satisfied sound. "Good boy, following protocol."

"What? You're okay with the fact that he killed his partner?"

"He had to."

"Why? How is that justified?" I ask, horrified.

The dealer's tone is cold and rough when he replies. "You don't have any right to ask questions! If you want to start pointing fingers, blame yourself. You're the one that stormed our property and set the action into motion. He did what he had to do." He pauses for a long, silent moment. "Want to make amends?"

"I'm not really sure I do." My cockiness sets back in, even when it shouldn't.

The dealer finds the gun at his waist and pulls it out, resting it at his side. The threat is clear. "I think you should reconsider."

"You killing me doesn't make amends." Immediately, I'm aware of how much of a mistake the statement is.

The dealer shrugs, pointing the barrel at my face. "Maybe not, but it would make things even."

My pulse drums in my ears. Was this how Tarrik felt when Zieb angled the gun at him in the warehouse? No, this is way worse. Everything in me screams to run. Fast. To escape. But I know I can't outrun a bullet, especially if the dealer has good aim. "What amends?"

"Good question, I'm glad you asked," he says. The barrel continues to stare at me as he explains. "You're going to help me get my guy out of jail."

"How?"

"That's for you to figure out. Or, you can settle for the alternative." He gestures to the gun, making it obvious what that option is. Not much of a choice if you ask me.

"You're going to have to give me some time it figure it out."

"Great! You have twenty four hours."

I shake my head. "Twenty four hours isn't—"

The muzzle nudges my temple. "Is a long time to be in jail," the dealer finishes my sentence. "Figure it out." His graying eyebrows form a straight line against his forehead. "I know where to find you if you don't perform." He lowers the barrel to his side, the threat diminishing, but still present if he needs it. "Don't underestimate me or the people I work for."