A Kiss To Send Us Off

Chapter 22

Salazar threw Amelia in the trunk of his practically rusted out Mazda and jumped in the driver's seat. He tore out of the tiny driveway, on his way to the small, shady bar Calavarez used as a meeting point. Climbing out he tossed Amelia over his shoulder and trudged through the back alley. There was a fire escape, and to the right a small, unlocked, rusted steel door that led to dry storage for the bar. Kicking it open, Salazar dropped Amelia down on the floor and hoisted himself up on one of the counters.

"What the hell is going on?" Amelia picked herself up from the floor and leaned her aching back against the cracked drywall.

"I'm making a deal." He chewed on his cuticle as he spoke to her, his beady eyes on the floor. Without Hale, Salazar felt monumentally alone even scared of the big dogs he was up against now. "Why would Hale have anything to do with you?"

She rolled her eyes, her fear subsiding a bit as Hector calmed and explained more to her. "He's got issues with my mom, and my dad, I guess. Look, don't make them kill him, just take your money. Please?"

Amelia didn't want Hale to die, she didn't want anyone to die, but she also knew not having time to plan meant someone would get messy. Salazar didn't acknowledge her request he just fiddled with his phone quietly.

-

When Tim and Raylan arrived the driveway was empty but the Marshals stepped out and cautiously looked around the property. Crouching down, Raylan dabbed his fingers along the thin layer of oil coating a small area of the driveway.

"Still damp," he remarked, "Someone was here."

"Long enough to leave a puddle, too." Tim didn't look back at Raylan he continued peering through scuzzy windows along the back of the house. "Whoever was here, they aren't now."

Raylan, smirking, wiped his sticky fingers on the side of the house before jimmying the lock without hesitation. "Then let's look around."

The house was scarcely furnished but it was messy, and any number of things could have been evidence or simply trash from whatever squatters had been staying or even Salazar himself. "I thought people stopped naming bars stupid cliché bullshit."

Looking up from the table, Raylan grabbed the matchbook Tim offered him. "Couldn't hurt to check it out."

"Where was this?" If it were a trap, it would have been blatantly strewn out on the table or counter.

Tim pointed to the small drawer he'd just opened, menus and junk spilling out. "There's about ten in there."

"Let's," Raylan shut his mouth quickly. "Did you hear that?" He pulled his gun and crept stealthily through the kitchen to the steps. The floor creaked, just barely, above them as they moved to the second floor. "You wearing your vest?" They both locked eyes on the attic door knowing whoever was in the house was in there.

"No," Tim shrugged trying to ignore the nagging in the back of his head. They should have been but routine and confidence dulled that part of their training.

"Yeah, me neither. Rock, paper, scissors?" Raylan asked, unsure how else to decide which man walked into the possible barrage of bullets.

"Who's there?" Lowen called out.

Tim looked at Raylan and quietly mouthed his next question. "That her?"

"No," Raylan whispered. "Her voice is higher, less raspy."

Pulling a face, surprised such a small detail would have even registered with Raylan after a short time with Amelia, Tim nodded. "Ma'am, are you hurt?"

"No, just get me out of here!"

"Are you alone?" With his hand on the rope, Tim asked before pulling the small ladder down.