Page 28 of Violent Skies
I clench my jaw and turn back to Murphy.
“Do we know anything about this Malosi guy? Is it a man, or a company…” I ask him.
“Yes,” Murphy gawks, his words clipped as he reads the screen. He sighs softly. “All of it.” He turns the computer to me and I take in the picture on the screen of a man who doesn’t look like he’d be in the business of roughing up other gangs or stealing runs. He’s a clean-cut-looking man with dark features complemented by a well-fitted suit framed against the background of windows and the Phoenix skyline.
“We need more,” I say to him.
“There’s nothing. Dude is squeaky clean,” he says. His eyes glance up at me and I can tell he’s at a loss because he looks defeated for a second.
“What about the card?” Cress asks.
“Nah, that’s blank. I checked it…” Jesse says, but Cress’s face tightens in thought.
“What?” I prompt her and she shakes her head, but I know that look. “Say it.”
“It might be an NFC.” She turns to Murphy and it’s like his entire world shifts. “We use them at work.”
“Smarty pants,” he says to her and looks at the table with a smile as he shifts back to the card and flips it around in his hand while he pulls out his cell phone. He taps it against it as we all sit in silence and wait.
He cocks his head to the side, squinting through the lenses of his glasses and uses his finger to flip through a few things.
“So?” Rafe asks, sitting forward. The chair wiggles a little, causing Cress to lose her balance but she pushes off it and stands uncomfortably.
“The suspense is killin’ us, mate,” Jesse pokes.
“It’s a fucking race…” His voice is confused as he turns back to us.
“What?” Birdie stands, her attention absolute. “Show me.” She moves toward him and stares at the phone over his shoulder. “He’s right, it’s a race.”
Murphy scoffs at her. “That’s offensive.”
“I wasn’t insulting your brain,” Birdie whispers, “just confirming.” She scrunches her nose up at him and leans against his side as she stands up straight and I prepare for the fight. “Let us race it.”
“We know nothing about it,” I respond and she huffs.
“It’s obviously something if they’re keeping it a secret like that, hard to find, hard to race.” she argues.
“Races like that bring in massive pots,” Rafe adds, and it’s no surprise that I’m being ganged up on. Not big enough to solve our problems but it would be a good chunk.
2021
Koa is uneasy.
The Cuda swerves on the highway ahead of me and I have to correct my own car to keep from smashing into his bumper. He was determined to drive it today, to stand out. To be annoying and flashy. I reach across the console to the lap of Murphy and wrap my hand around the radio as he hammers on the gas. He stares at me and then puts his eyes back on Koa when the ass end of the Cuda whips unsteadily again.
“What are you doing?” I yell into my side of the radio and wait for a response. In the rear view I can see Rafe darting in and out of traffic to catch up to us. We only have a small window today because Koa threw the job at us at the last minute and Murphy barely had time to make us a route.
There’s a mile stretch—it’s barely enough.
Koa never answers, but I watch as he slides into position next to the driver’s door. He’s the distraction today, keeping the driver's eyes at the front of the cab while we unload a moving target into the truck that Birdie handles with precision on Rafe’s tail.
We caught the highway too late and are behind. Murphy forces the unmarked Civic faster and I get ready to move. “Take the right side, out of the mirror.”
“What about—” Murphy starts, watching as I push up on the seat to get into the window.
“Whatever Koa is doing it’s going to get someone killed. Focus on the job.” I remind him and he breathes in slowly before he nods in understanding.
The wind on the highway impairs my vision for a second as my hair rips around my face, but in a brief flash I see that Rafe and Birdie are ready. I extend my hand and form a gun with my fingers, watching the truck ahead of me and the team behind me for a second longer.
