Through the shadows we work, we are the Devil’s hawk…

  That’s the gospel they preach when you step into this life—if "stepping" is what you call being dragged in by your hair. You don’t join this outfit; you’re broken into it, tricked, or bled until you don’t remember who you used to be. My hands are stained so deep a lifetime of penance wouldn’t wash 'em clean. Redneck was the one who broke me, and when the Reaper finally claimed him, the Devil himself stepped in to keep the cage locked. There’s no parole from this Pandemonium.

  "Boss, get a load of this." Crush slid a manila envelope across the desk, the paper scratching against the wood like a warning. "Web pulled this on our mark."

  I scanned the file, the smoke from my cigarette curling around the words. "An address. Boot Street, near Cloud Depths. That’s it?" I looked up, the dim light catching the edge of my scowl. "It’s thin, Crush. Too thin."

  Crush’s face soured like curdled milk. "Take it or leave it. She says the guy’s a ghost—wiped clean from every official ledger in the city. Best we could find is that some Indian family called it home about six years back."

  Six years. In this city, six years is long enough for a memory to turn into a corpse.

  6 year ago? Just what happened back then.

  "Guess we’re buying our way out of the dark," I said, tossing the file onto the heap. "Call the informant. Tell him midnight. Rose Petal Cemetery, behind Mother Oak Church. It’s time to see what’s buried in the dirt."

  Niro stepped in from the rain, shaking the dampness off his coat like a stray dog. "Michelle, baby, that dress looks divine on you," he cooed at the empty air beside him. "Don't mind my barbarians; they've forgotten their manners."

  Crush rolled his eyes, the irritation etched into the hard lines of his face. But me? I felt a cold twinge of envy. Niro had his delusions to keep him warm—hallucinations that offered a gentle touch in a world made of jagged edges. All I had were the ghost of the past I want to forget, its shadows clinging to the corners of the room, mocking every breath I took.

  I looked at my reflection in the window, but all I saw was a man in chains. I was still just a slave to a past that refused to stay buried.

  But I had no time for that. I had a ghost to chase.

  I went inside, strapped on my trusted Handgun named Butterfly—a cruel joke for something I wanted to be, free and untouchable.

  I stepped back out, lit my cigar, and blew a stream of smoke toward the leaden sky. “Crush, go with Web. We need money,” I said, pulling my grey fedora low. Then I turned to Niro: “Time for a ride. We have work to do.”

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  Crush grunted. “Seems like my kind of work. We need the usual amount, right?” I nodded, adjusting the black suit jacket over my shoulder holster. Crush and Web peeled out like bats out of hell. Niro got behind the wheel of the black Mercedes. He might see things that weren't there, but the man could drive like the devil himself was offering a hot pursuit. The car was a gift from a judge who’s hands I had chopped off; he had no use for it after that.

  Our first stop was near the Blackpool Café, the place where she works. The only patch of light in this swamp I wanted to crawl to. She doesn’t know I exist, but I know the curve of her brunette hair, the gentle smile that belonged in a better world, and those brown eyes that had never seen true rot. Sadly, our worlds would never pass each other, and it was better that way.

  Our next stop was Sandalwood Harbor. There’s no honest reason to be here unless you work the docks or live in the slop, but in a city like this, you have all the reasons in the world. Like extracting knowledge on certain things.

  And there he was, in a grease-stained hood reeking of all sorts of wormwood and the worst kind of alcohol. We hid behind a dumpster, holding our breath. Step... step... The moment he passed us was the time for action. Niro moved swiftly and tackled him down. I was on him like a cheap suit, closing his mouth with his own dirty rags to silence his pleas for help, the kind that never gets answered in this town. We dragged him behind the building to a piss-stained alley and tied him to a pole. I gestured for Niro to stand guard.

  I yanked the rag out of his mouth and punched him square in the gut. “Shhhh… Another cry and you are fish food. Your time is up; it’s my turn to ask the questions.”

  I stepped back. “A few years back, when you wore the badge, you had a guy arrested for murder, and without a fair shake, he got the cell. Does that ring a bell, flatfoot?”

  His trembling face had a wicked, twisted sneer. “Oh, looks like that guy got out. Must have paid you a lot to get to me.”

  I stopped the wild urge to shoot his head off right then, but I wanted the truth, raw and ugly.

  “You want to know why? Because we were the ones who murdered that woman. She was one of our colleague’s wives. She had fine curves, we had her for several hours, but the consequences would have been damning, so we killed her, then burnt her body. We arrested someone who was new, a nobody, and we got lucky that night.” His face twisted darker as he said, “But you know what? You won’t be able to kill me, because my partner from back then is now the Deputy Chief of Police, and the Chief is his brother-in-law.”

  I paused. Then, I opened his restraints.

  “Good. You should know your place.” He sneered again, a flicker of hope in his pig eyes.

  Then smack. He fell down like a sack of wet cement.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass,” I said, leveling the Butterfly at his chest, “because I am that man you framed that night, and don’t worry, your partner will join you soon enough.”

  I put a bullet in him. Dead before he hit the ground.

  I went toward Niro. “Set him on fire. Send a message. Then take me to Rose Petal Cemetery. We have a deal to finalize.”

  We drifted into the night as dark clouds roared for the storm that awaited the city.