Jane M. Choate - Inherited Threat

Now he stood in one of those back alleys, with the intention of trading money for information. Steam rose from the concrete, turning the air thick and murky. A sliver of moon cast eerie shadows. The stench of overripe garbage permeated the night.

Mace ignored the stinging in his nostrils as he did the gang graffiti that covered every surface. Guilt scratched at his conscience as he thought of leaving Laurel behind. He soothed it with the reminder that she needed rest.

In his experience, security/protection jobs had prolonged periods where things moved at a glacial pace intermixed with intense action. With Laurel, there’d been few times of inaction, only continuous engagement with the enemy. He wanted to take advantage of the lull and get a handle on what he was dealing with.

Tony slunk out of the shadows. Quick as a snake and twice as crafty, he was whip thin with an oily edge that made Mace want to wash his hands after dealing with the man. Now, Tony hedged and dodged Mace’s questions about the Collective.

“You know me,” Tony whined to Mace in a singsong voice that was his trademark, “I don’t mess with the Collective. They’re bad news.”

Tony had his share of faults, but he had always been on the up-and-up with Mace. So when Tony said he didn’t mess with the Collective, Mace believed him.

As Tony fidgeted, Mace dug in his wallet for a fifty-dollar bill. It was a game where both parties knew the rules. Tony pretended not to know anything; Mace coaxed out what he needed by flashing cash under Tony’s nose. In the end, both got what they wanted.

“The Collective’s been active lately,” Mace said, easing Tony into the conversation by slipping the fifty into the man’s grimy hands.

“Word on the street is that someone took somethin’ they want back. They want it back real bad like.”

“Any idea of what that something is?”

“Some money. Maybe ten grand. But that ain’t the big thing. It’s a book.” Looking genuinely perplexed, Tony scratched his head. “I don’t know why they’re all worked up over a book. Can’t be worth much, least not to my way of thinkin’.”

The ledger. That had to be it. Mace kept his excitement to himself. “What makes this book so important?”

Tony lifted a scrawny shoulder. “Don’t know. There’s a reward for it.” His eyes lit with greed. “A big one. No questions asked.”

“If somebody came across this book, who should they contact about it?”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” Tony said. “No one wants to deal with the Collective. Like I said, it’s bad news.”

“What about the money? Any reward on it?”

“Yeah, but the book is worth a whole lot more.”

“You hear anything else, you let me know. Right?” Mace held out another fifty, which Tony deftly snatched and pocketed.

“Right.”

Satisfied that he’d learned all that he could, Mace headed back to his truck just as a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Laurel.

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