Murder in the Magic City: A Micah Brantley Story

Sucia. It wasn’t in the best part of town, but it did well despite its poor location. As far as the government knew, the business’s profits resulted from high prices and the owner’s tenacity for nickel-and-diming each of his customers. In their eyes, Nicky was just another overweight mechanic who would do almost anything in the name of the almighty dollar and a perverted interpretation of the American dream. It also didn’t hurt that he was a relatively forgettable guy. He didn’t have scars, or any visible tattoos, and he wasn’t the type of person to make an impression on anyone in the looks department. Plenty of people knew him, but few knew much about him other than that he owned a coffee shop and liked arepas a bit too much. He preferred to keep it that way.
The shop was in a moderately sized building with a quaint storefront area that provided a comfortable space for people to wait on their cars and pay for services rendered. They only saw what the shop wanted them to see, and they had creature comforts to keep them occupied while the mechanics looked for even the tiniest issue with their cars. A larger space with bays for six vehicles lived on the other side of the wall, and an unassuming office made its home in the very back of the premises.
Micah entered the front of the shop and took a second to absorb the mundane decorations scattered about inside. A cheesy clock that resembled a brake caliper adorned the wall closest to him, and posters from various automotive part manufacturers beckoned him to choose their products for his vehicle’s every need. A dark-haired woman sat behind the reception desk in the room’s corner, eyeing him for any sign of willingness to part ways with the money in his pocket.
“How can I help you today, sir?” She asked in an oddly cheerful tone.
“I need to talk to Nicky.”
“And you are?”
“Just tell him that Jimmy sent me.”
The receptionist gave him a puzzled look but got up all the same and stepped out of the room. Moments later, she reappeared at the door leading to the shop and motioned for Micah to join her. “He’s right through the door at the very back.” She smiled nervously and returned to her seat.
Micah walked back through the shop, stealing glances at the various cars and trucks being worked on while also trying not to run into anything on his way to the office door. Once there, he knocked three times.
“Come in,” came the disinterested voice on the other side.
The first impression Nicky’s office typically invited wasn’t a good one. Wallpaper was peeling off in spots, his desk plastered with various papers, and the leather chair he sat in had a noticeable four-inch tear in the headrest. He had more important things to spend his hard-earned money on than a spruced up working environment.
“Have a seat,” Nicky said, motioning toward the empty chair in front of his desk. Micah sat rigid in the uncomfortable chair, immediately regretting his decision not to remain standing. “I hear Jimmy sent you to see me?”
“Yea, about the thing with Cagney.”
“Do you know what supplies you might need?” Nicky asked this with a quizzical tone as he formulated an opinion on the man who sat in his office. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t spectacular at hiding it. The uncertainty emanated from his being like ocean spray from a breaching whale.
“Just a forty and something to keep things quiet.”
Nicky’s face filled with doubtful surprise. Most people would try to do something like this from a distance greater than what would be capable with a silenced pistol. Typically opting for something with enough stopping power to take down a foe far greater than they were often after. Not only did the distance associated with a rifle provide the marksman the chance to walk away with little to no witnesses, but it was also markedly easier to escape the area once the deed was done. “Why not take care of things from a rooftop? It would get the job done quickly and cleanly.”
“It’ll be more fun this way,” Micah replied.
Nicky smiled and stood up from his seat. The man before him may be a sociopath, but he had balls. “I can’t argue with that. Give me a sec.” He strolled over to a room behind his office and emerged shortly after with a small briefcase in tow. “Take this. it’s got all you’re going to need. Security isn’t too bad at Cagney’s but you ain’t getting past the guard desk without clearance from Senor Cabron himself.”
“Security won’t be a problem,” Micah replied with a straight face.
-#-
Micah left Nicky’s shop and meandered down the street to a dilapidated structure that purportedly held the vehicle belonging to the keys jangling about inside his pocket. He leaned down and placed a brass key in the garage lock, twisted it, and raised the door. Inside the garage was a phantom blue 1968 Chevrolet Impala SS, with white racing stripes. It was in pristine condition. Micah raised an eyebrow as he walked over and sat inside. He expected a car with considerably less power and in much worse shape.
Perhaps I should be more open to giving people the benefit of the doubt.
He turned the key and listened as the engine roared to life. The bone rattling sound of the cammed engine pumping through the exhaust forced his brain to release a cavalcade of neurons whose sole goal was to make him smile like a child opening gifts on Christmas morning. Without hesitation, he placed the car into gear and sped off.

Chapter 14
The loud roars of Sheridan’s pistol escaped the deafening silence inside his house and produced a mixture of fear and suspicion amongst his neighbors. Most of them were content to look on in morbid curiosity from the safety of their front stoops, while a few of the neighborhood men decided it was their collective duty to