Color Photographs, Chapter Six

Logan Resnick sat in his dimly lit office smoking a cigar. He expected Meyer to show up at any moment, but he didn’t know what would happen then. He’d issued a long string of threats to Sadie after he’d finished with her, but he wasn’t sure if she’d kept her mouth shut.

Sadie was a hard girl to control. He knew how to reason with Meyer, and could threaten most people he couldn’t reason with into submission, but Sadie wasn’t so simple. She always refused to listen to his suggestions, and Meyer gave her a sense of security that gave her the boldness to refuse to be bullied.

If Meyer found out about what he’d done, he figured the fool would come in with guns blazing. In retrospect he figured Meyer’s woman was the wrong girl to mess with—Sadie’s confidence was justified. Meyer was impulsive and dangerous when angry. Resnick should have picked a less crazy man’s old woman. Still, Sadie was the prettiest wife he could think of. Not many men could say they’d taken their pleasure on a woman like her.

“Boss, Mey’s here,” a man said.

Resnick sat up, tugging his suit jacket straight. He pulled his pistol from where he had it tucked in his belt and worked the action to chamber a round, then slid it under his leg. If Meyer wanted a fight, Resnick would be happy to oblige him. “Send him in.”

“Hey,” Meyer said. He stopped in the doorway. “I delivered that shipment yesterday that you wanted me to, Boss.”

Resnick hesitated, narrowing his eyes slightly. Meyer was dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned button up shirt—what he always wore on his hits—but his tone was completely neutral. Maybe he didn’t know.

“Great,” Resnick said. He gestured at Meyer. “What’s your plan for today? I see you’re not wearing your suit.”

“I figured I’d go after Ronny.”

“Reneve’s nephew? I thought you said you weren’t interested in getting in the middle of that?”

Ronny was still a kid practically, a scrawny sophomore wide receiver on the varsity football team, and Karl Reneve’s pride and joy. Anyone that messed with Ronny answered to Karl, which usually meant they were dead in a few days. But that scrawny brat stole from Resnick, so he was a target.

“Changed my mind.”

“Why?” Resnick asked suspiciously.

“Reneve started threatening Sadie,” Meyer answered coldly. “You don’t mess with my woman.”

Resnick hesitated, tightening his grasp on the pistol as he looked into Meyer’s threatening eyes, waiting to see what accusations would follow. To his surprise, Meyer fell silent.

“I see… well, have at it, then,” Resnick said, taking a puff from his cigar. He was glad Meyer chose this assignment. Either he’d get that little high-schooler out of his hair, or he’d get himself killed by Reneve—both options would solve one of Resnick’s problems.

“Yep,” Meyer said then walked out.

Back in their apartment Sadie flopped down in the chair, crossing her arms and glaring at Karson. “Did Mey leave you babysitting?”

“Not babysitting,” Karson corrected. “Looking out for my little sis.”

“I can handle myself,” Sadie said coldly. “If I’d had a gun last night none of this would’ve happened.”

“Of course you can,” Karson said, seeming to realize he was on thin ice. “But it’s always good to have a backup.”

“Then why aren’t you backing Meyer up? He’s the one actually doing something dangerous.” Sadie wasn’t actually quite sure what Meyer was up to. She realized after he left that she’d never pulled the details of his plan out of him before he left, and Karson just kept pleading ignorance now. She knew it was something dangerous, though, with the way he stormed out with his guns.

“‘Cause I told Resnick I was sick. He wouldn’t be pleased to hear about me riding around with Meyer.”

“And if he shows up here?”

“Then my lie is going to be the least of our worries.” Karson sighed. “I know you’re not happy with me being here, but I ain’t leaving.”

Meyer visited many classrooms before someone finally told him that Ronny never came to school that day. He spent the rest of the day tracking the little punk down. Meyer finally found him in a rattle little alley in a bad part of town, near where Sadie was the night before.

Ronny had nine or ten of his friends with him, obviously selling them some of his uncle’s merchandise. Meyer parked near the end of the alley and got out of the car. Ronny’s face sank as he watched Meyer approach. He ran a hand through his curly red hair. “Whadda you want, old man?”

“Old man?” Meyer scoffed. He’d just turned twenty-four. He still had a few years to go before he was actually old, but his figuring. “You’ll be here in a couple of years… maybe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ronny set his jaw in the annoying way that high school boys often do.

“What do you think it means?” Meyer asked, moving his shirt so the boys could see the pistol still tucked into the front of his jeans. Dear god, was I ever this obnoxious? Meyer thought as he looked at the high-schoolers in front of him. “You’ve got a price on your head, Kiddo.”

“Yeah? Well you do, too,” Ronny said, then turned his attention to his friends. “Uncle Karl will give seven large to whoever kills this bastard.”

“Tsk, tsk, such strong language for a little boy,” Meyer said, deciding to have a bit of fun before he had to work. High school boys were notoriously easy to provoke—their tender little pride could easily be bruised. “Does your mother know you talk like that?”

“And free weed for the rest of school this year,” Ronny added. “Just kill him.”

“You know, you really should say ‘please’,” Meyer said, as he heard the clicks of many switchblade knives flying open. He sighed. They were just a bunch of juvenile delinquents, probably not one older than sixteen years old—he didn’t want to kill them. “Just like a dumb kid, bringing a knife to a gun fight.”

Meyer was a little disappointed that none of the boys seemed to get his reference as he pretended to go for his gun, making two of the boys bolt. Seven left, plus little Ron-Ron. Meyer sighed. These odds usually left him bruised—he just hoped these boys didn’t know how to fight, yet.

The first boy approached and recklessly made a pass at Meyer’s throat with his knife. Meyer grabbed his arm and used his momentum to throw him face first into the brick wall nearby. The boy crumpled to the ground and another boy stepped forward to take his place.

At least they’re taking turns, Meyer thought. He grabbed the next boy’s wrist as he made a jab towards Meyer’s abdomen, then twisted his arm behind his back. Meyer jerked swiftly, listening to the sickening pop of the boy’s arm dislocating, then roughly threw him onto the asphalt covered ground.

Five left.

A boy charged him with his knife raised over his shoulder like a spear, a second boy following close behind. Meyer grabbed the first boy’s arm, deflecting the blow, as he brought his right fist into the boy’s abdomen, hard. The boy doubled over in pain and Meyer put his boot on the boy’s hip, shoving him toward his advancing friend.

The second boy tripped over the first, and both fell into a heap on the ground. The second boy pushed himself to his hands and knees. Meyer walked up and kicked the boy so hard in the jaw he fell onto his back. He didn’t get up.

Three left.

All three of Ronny’s remaining friends charged him at once. Meyer grabbed the first that approached him and threw him into one of the other boys, focusing his attention on the heavy-set brunette that neared him.

He grabbed the boy’s arm that held the knife, then hit him in the face as hard as he could. A moment later he slammed the boy into the wall, releasing him as he crumpled to the ground. Meyer turned toward the third boy, only to see a scrawny little blond that barely came to his chest.

The boy couldn’t have been older than twelve and didn’t even have a knife, but he approached with balled fists and an uncertain glare on his face. Meyer’s fists relaxed, then he grabbed the boy’s shirt and lifted him high in the air, his back against the brick wall.

The boy screamed, his eyes seeming to get as big around as saucers. Meyer nearly laughed at the boy’s obvious distress, but kept an intimidating glare on his face. The boy melted under his gaze. “I didn’t mean it, Mister! Honest!”

“Get on home, boy,” Meyer ordered, setting the boy on the ground just rough enough to scare but not hurt him. The kid sprinted as soon as his feet touched the ground. Meyer watched him for a moment too long, he realized as he saw a flicker of motion in the corner of his eye.

A moment later the only remaining boy tackled him into the brick wall, making him hit his head. Meyer grunted, dodging the fist that flew at his head a moment too late. He struggled against the boy for several long moments, until he finally was able to throw him off.

Meyer stumbled to his feet just as the boy charged again. At the last moment he stepped to the side, making the boy run into the brick wall behind him. Meyer grabbed his shoulders and yanked him a few inches away from the wall, only to throw him into it once more. He kicked the boy in the side as he crumpled to the ground.

Meyer stepped back, swaying slightly and panting. He looked towards where Ronny had been standing, but the boy was gone. He looked the other direction and saw Ronny running as fast as he could toward the end of the alley, trying to make an escape.

Cursing, Meyer sprinted after him, quickly closing the distance between them. He took a deep breath and focused all of his energy into a burst of speed that got him near enough to Ronny to tackle him. It was worth a shot.

Meyer dove toward Ronny, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist and tumbling across the asphalt with him in his arms, taking an elbow to the face and a knee to the ribs. As soon as they stopped rolling, Meyer wrestled the boy’s arms behind his back and secured them tightly with a zip tie. He pinned the boy to the ground with a knee in Ronny’s back.

Meyer knelt on top of the boy for several long moments panting, head throbbing, side aching, lungs screaming for air. He looked down at the boy who thrashed under him, fighting for his freedom, and shook his head. He didn’t look nearly as beat up as Meyer felt. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”