Page 86 of Shrapnel

Love was pain. Or was that beauty? Either way, they’d chosen to suffer together. The least Jamie could do was try and make it work for them.

Elijah joined him and together they pried open the plywood door. Because he was Elijah, he had a flashlight. The beam pierced through the darkened interior, illuminating a narrow swath through the debris-cluttered floor.

Jamie shielded his eyes from the beam, preferring to let his eyes adjust. The shapes began to solidify. In the center of the room, a large L shaped stage took up most of the floor space. At one point it had been trimmed in crushed velvet but now it was scuffed and barren. Three stripper poles were evenly spaced along the stage, with the last one stationed at the end of the L.

A wet mildew smell permeated the air. Jamie hoped it was a broken water pipe. They had to kick all manner of crap out of their way as they made it through the abandoned club. Blankets, wooden sawhorses, broken glass, and even a couple of old refrigerators and mattresses.

Jamie stepped into something wet and blanched.

“Ugh, what is it about these guys and basic hygiene? Is there some unwritten code in the sleazebag evil lair handbook that prohibits cleaning?”

Elijah snorted as he knelt and picked up some old rags. “Doesn’t exactly look like an evil lair, does it?”

Jamie kicked at the stage a couple of times before hopping onto it. Hoping it didn’t collapse under his weight, he made his way across with his gun held out. The boards creaked but held as he turned along the L. Against the wall, hidden by gauzy curtains, was a door that he assumed led to the back of the house. Pursing his lips, he let out a short whistle. Elijah’s light swung to him, and the beam bobbed once as he lithely ascended the stairs on his side of the stage, joining Jamie.

The snick of Elijah’s wrist sheath ramped up his heart rate. Together they moved as one unit, silently moving across the wooden stage with weapons raised.

A bottle clinked off Jamie’s foot and he glanced down. Covered in dust, the beer bottle rolled across the stage to butt up against the vertical pole. Three or four other bottles were grouped around it.

Elijah moved the bottle with his foot to look at the label. “French beer?”

Jamie looked down at the blue and gold label. “Belgian.”

“How do you know?”

That blue and gold label was seared into his memories. The bottles made great bowling pins for a bored kid killing time outside the apartment. There were always plenty around. They werehisfavorite.

“Just seen it around.”

Shaking himself, they moved towards the door. Unlike the front door, no one had stolen this one. Jamie kicked it in, foot slamming right next to the jam. The flimsy interior door buckled, bouncing against the back wall to come back at him. He slipped a foot in, catching it before it closed.

Two thin horizontal windows let in some weak light. Thick bars were bolted into the wall over the glass. Because of the windows, the room was illuminated by watery light. This must have been where the dancers got dressed.

The counters fixed to the wall weren’t covered in makeup and brushes. They were cluttered with newspaper articles, photos, and what looked like paper money. Stepping into the room, Jamie picked up some of the crinkled bills.

“Looks like several denominations—I see Bolivia, Peru, and Argentina.”

“Some Pesos and Real’s, too. Even some Rubles.”

Jamie grunted. Looks like he was quite the world traveler. He scattered some of the photographs aside, blowing off the dust covering the glossy images.

“Look at these,” he called over to Elijah. “They’re all of Noah.”

Elijah’s face was grim as he sorted through the photos. Noah at the store, Noah talking with Harvey, there were even photos of Noah with Elijah. And the Becketts. Judging by the length of Noah’s hair, these photos chronicled the last eight months of Noah’s life.

Leaving Elijah to flip through the photos, Jamie moved on. In one corner he found a stack of tubes from a bank. Dozens of them all stacked up. They were covered in a thick layer of dust. Kneeling, he pushed some of the tubes aside and found several big jugs. Empty, their lids discarded somewhere else. Jamie pulled them out.

In the dim light, it wasn’t easy to see the labels. Even if he could, Jamie doubted he could read them. They were long and science-y.

“Chemicals.” Jamie looked over his shoulder at Elijah, who was still short-circuiting over the photos.

Glancing around the room, Jamie doubted their murderer created his evil concoctions here. But this was the place he stashed his stuff.

“These articles…they’re all about White Sand Mesa. Stuff they’ve done. Even if the gang isn’t directly mentioned, this guy knew.”

Jamie chewed the inside of his cheek. They knew this guy was after Noah, but those photos were taken close enough that he could have just killed him outright. Why wait? Why the game? If this was just about getting revenge for Luther’s death, then it would be far easier and more satisfying to just kill Noah.

Besides a box of MREs and a big ass leather sheath, they didn’t find much else. Elijah gathered up all the photos. A few were of Noah at the Sunspot, drinking with his uncles, some of his Mesa crew, and even Evan.