Page 37 of Shrapnel

Jamie double checked the address Elijah sent him. “Yup.”

He pulled out a wad of crumpled cash and began sorting through it as the cabbie looked between Jamie’s thin frame and the two men standing outside the store. Rough looking, their faces were obscured by plumes of smoke as they leaned against the smudged glass doors of the store. Their heavy shit kickers were crossed, and they made no move to hide the knives and guns strapped to their belts.

“This part of town isn’t the best,” the cabbie continued. “Skinny thing like you shouldn’t be wandering around alone.”

Jamie slapped a wad of cash on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry.” the driver took the cash and blanched when he noticed half the bills were stained with what was unmistakably blood.

“I’ve got a rape whistle.”

Jamie exited the cab and sauntered over to Abrams and Thomas. They stuffed their cotton candy flavored e-cigs into their pockets and stood up straighter as Jamie approached.

“’ Sup?” Abrams greeted casually.

“You tell me,” Jamie glanced over his shoulder at the store. “Why am I here?”

He didn’t need Abrams and Thomas to explain whytheywere present. Protection for local businesses was one of the oldest rackets in the game. Business owners paid the Weavers for protection from low-level thieves and thugs. This gas station was one of hundreds the Weavers regularly patrolled. The subtle cloud sticker present on the plate glass window was usually enough of a deterrent for most thieves. Whatever pocket change they got from the register wasn’t worth the wrath of the Weavers.

Abrams and Thomas worked on the protection side of things. They looked suitably intimidating—even though Abrams couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn—and they didn’t mind the monotony of it.

The two thugs shared a look. “We…well…w-we uh, we…. found something.”

“It wasn’t a complete sentence, is it?”

“They called me, and I wanted you to see.” Elijah came around the corner of the building, primly wiping his hands. Jamie’s eyes were quick enough to catch the flash of a blade sliding into Elijah’s wrist sheath.

Ah, it's business business.

Jamie rolled his shoulders and let the familiar weight of his shoulder holster slip into place. “Then lead the way.”

Abrams and Thomas scurried out of the two assassins' way as they entered the convenience store.

A store clerk was standing behind the counter as far as possible from the front door. Her eyes were puffy from crying and she was chewing a hole in her nails. The scent of blood and death cut through the cloying smell of processed plastic and grease.

The bell above the door tinkled as Abrams followed in behind them.

“Store has been held up a couple of times by some homeless guys. They mostly made off with cash, but we were waiting for them this time.” He nodded toward the aisles.

Bright red blood was sprayed across a section of Little Debbie cakes. Elijah wrinkled his nose, but Jamie stepped around him and looked down at the two bodies.

The first was face down, his head covered in a ratty looking beanie. Blood pooled around his face and even from a distance, Jamie could see just how deformed his face was.

“Jesus Abrams,” he looked back at the tall man. “Was it necessary to cave his fucking skull in?”

“That’s the thing,” Abrams said with a sheepish shrug. “I only hit him once…”

That made Jamie pause. Abrams was a big guy, and he was strong, but not even Roland with his brass knuckles could cave a face in like that with one hit.

“And the other guy?”

“Thomas said he barely touched him and he started spitting up blood. Grossed him out.”

Jamie cocked his head and looked at the wash of blood on the dingy linoleum floor. There was a lot.

“But that’s not why we called you,” Abrams jerked his head to the clerk. “Tell ‘em.”

She considered the three men and looked like she wanted to be anywhere else. Elijah gave her a reassuring smile and she turned her attention to him.

“They’ve come in a few times, different guys but they’re all homeless.”