Ghosts of our Pasts

Chapter Seven

Martin was wincing badly once he finally made it back to Slane's hideout. His visit to his last extortion target had gone exactly as well as he'd figured it would: He'd gotten Slane's filthy money, and he'd also earned more than enough hatred from the merchant—and in fact from all the merchants—that he was sure they'd all have a giant dance party on his grave if he should ever die. By now his face and body had begun to swell up from Vi's powerful punches, and he had to admit he really was in quite a lot of pain. Earlier he'd thought she hit like a barrel of bricks, but he realized that that wasn't an apt analogy—she hit like a barrel of bricks dropped from a third story window. He comforted himself with the thought that at least he wouldn't have to rob anything tonight, since he was now a Dayman. All he wanted to do was lie down, sleep and heal.

The front door guard thoroughly frisked him, as always. It never failed to both amuse and baffle him at the same time. What could anyone possibly smuggle in with them that would give Slane any kind of pause whatsoever? A gun would of course be a danger to him, but there were always at least a dozen if not more other gang members around him at all times. Anyone who drew a gun in there would get filled full of lead so fast they'd swear they were born with it.

As he made his way through the entry way, down the hall and down the stairs, he noticed a lot of gang members were up and about. This wasn't that strange—it was almost time for the Nightmen to start doing their business while the Daymen were coming back from theirs—but everyone seemed to be in a lot higher state of readiness than they normally would be. Things got even stranger when he walked through the guard room, and he saw several of them loading up long-range rifles and ammunition. He started getting an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach as he entered Slane's throne room.

Even the throne room seemed to be on high alert, with all gang members there wearing some type of body armor, and each of them checking their weapons and making last minute adjustments to them. He walked over to the Dayboss and threw him the coin pouch, not even bothering to say anything to him. Normally that would have earned him a scowl or a dressing down, but the bastard weasel just put the money away and didn't even make any comments. Now Martin knew something was going on.

He looked over to where Slane was sitting on his throne. The gang boss was in deep conversation with the Nightboss, and also with... was that Scarneck? Martin got a little closer and confirmed that it was indeed who he thought it was. It was surprising because Scarneck and his men usually stayed out until several hours late into the morning in case one of the Nightmen ran into some trouble and required assistance. He wondered why the man had come in so early.

Scarneck noticed him and pointed in his direction. Slane's head immediately came up, and he beckoned Martin to come closer. He started to get a really uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"I got all the money. Everybody paid," Martin said, a little defensively, as he approached. Slane just glared at him, then looked at the Nightboss and nodded.

The Nightboss closed his eyes for a second, and for a second Martin thought a wave of regret passed through the man's face. "You feeling up for another job tonight, Martin?"

Oh crap. Were they going to return him to the Nightmen fold? While normally Martin would have relished that, tonight wasn't going to be a good night for that, with the poor state his body was in. He gave the Nightboss an apologetic look. "Not really. I got my ass beat by an Enforcer earlier; I don't think I'm in much shape to be breaking into places."

"Good thing for you then that you won't have to break in anywhere," Slane said coldly. "We're going in straight through the front door."

"We? You mean me and you?"