Jericho

Chapter 10 To Catch a Snake

I lead the way in through the back door of the tattoo shop as confidently as one can. A rancid smell of sweetness and a stale, sour odor hit me like a wall, the type of smell that wasn't in the air now, but seemed to be clinging to everything porous, the kind that threatens to infect you and your clothes long after it's gone, the little dark room proving itself a much more pungent space then the rest of the shop. A half eaten burrito from that hole in the wall shop down the strip lay on a scratched up desk where a fly buzzed about, investigating what could be the best meal of his short life.

On the other side of the desk, stood Michael and all his tattoos crawling up the side of his neck. Digging through a set of rusty, cluttered cabinets, he turned at the sound of our feet and his face lit with a big smile.

"Hey! Daniel right? Told ya' you'd be back for more. Or is it your friends' turn now?"

My hard expression wouldn't budge. I realized this was personal as well as a matter of injustice. I trusted this man with mom's art, not to mention the fact that he had taken over her shop and turned it into a den of criminals.

"Something wrong with the tat? You know, you could have just come in through the front? I can probably fix it."

I dropped the paper bag on the desk as my reply.

His pale eyes flicked to the bag and his beard ate up that jolly smile pretty quick. Anger festered behind his eyes, but there was something else. Like he had sloughed off a layer of skin, he just looked different.

Pointing a slow finger at the bag, he looked at me carefully. "Now, that's no business of yours."

I was surprised he didn't offer us a cut. Was it something in our faces?

"It is now," I said.

Little beads of sweat had already gathered on his head, and though he tried to hide it like the snake he was, I could see the panic twitching in his gaze. He was about to do something and fast.

Too late.

He lunged for his desk, like an animal bursting out of where it's predators had cornered it, but this was no escape and I'm pretty sure we weren't the predators. Fear nailed my feet in place, as I could only imagine what he was reaching for. Luckily, Ben had been watching his every move and had plans of his own. Someone might have screamed, probably Isabella. It all happened so fast. In a blink Ben had him against the wall, one arm on his throat and the other pinning Michael's hand above his head, the hand holding the jet black 9mm that could have been our end.

Ben clenched his wrist like a vice, unrelenting and unforgiving. "You wanna put that down before you hurt somebody?"

Michael had no choice. He nodded and loosened his grip enough for Ben to safely take the gun. With a shove Ben let him go and set the weapon out of reach.

Michael rubbed his neck. "Look, you guys have to let me explain." He was different again. No longer in control of the situation, the last layer came off, leaving his fear bare and armorless. He'd try to lay the sympathy on thick no doubt.

"Go ahead." Ben folded his arms. "You just try and give us one good reason why we shouldn't turn you into the cops right now."

"Well, first off, you oughta know, they found me."

"The kids?" he asked indignantly.

"What? No. Of course not." He plopped down into his chair, raising a hand to his forehead. "The ones who give the orders."

"And who are they?" Kat asked.

"You think they tell me?"

That reply reeked of the Gate, and I struggled not to wrinkle my nose.