Black Skies Read Free

bar, feeling the patrons’ eyes burning holes the backs of their heads. A short, dark hallway led to the bathroom in the back, and a grimy old ATM stood there as promised. But they were interested in another door, on their right, an old-fashioned door with a glass window that was obscured by dirty, bent venetian blinds on the other side.
    “Let’s try to be subtle about this,” Conley whispered. “I’d rather not fight a bar full of surly drunk Irishmen.”
    Morgan tried the door, which was locked. Then he knocked.
    “Bathroom’s the otha dooh!” a man’s voice came from inside.
    Morgan looked at Conley and shrugged. He took a step back and kicked in the door. A chunk of wood and a spray of splinters flew into the cramped room inside.
    Time slowed down as Morgan assessed the situation. Three young men and a blond woman huddled around a small table, two men on his right and other man and the girl to his left. A snub-nosed revolver lay on the table, in front of the man on his immediate right, sharing the surface with bags of crystal meth and stacks of money. The blond hair and fair skin advertised the girl as their target.
    The man’s hand went straight for the gun. Morgan grabbed his arm and twisted until he heard a crack, while taking the gun in his left hand. Morgan released the man’s arm and kicked him in the chest with a heavy wet winter boot, tipping his chair so that his head banged against the wall. The man next to him just sat petrified. Morgan heard the thump of the other man hitting the ground.
    “Stay,” Morgan ordered the last seated man, pointing the revolver at his chest. “You can keep your junk and your money. We’re here for the girl.”
    She was shrieking and cussing, her pretty face contorted and red with rage. “We’re here from your father,” Conley told her. “We’re taking you home.”
    “That goddamn Nazi can go to hell!” She landed a right hook on Conley’s cheek, and Morgan winced. That was going to leave a mark. She then picked up a baseball bat and retreated against the wall, brandishing it wildly to keep Conley away.
    Morgan could tell Conley was at a loss for how to deal with the girl, and they had seconds before the rest of the bar was drawn to the screaming. He turned his attention to the man Conley had laid out, who was now trying to stand. Morgan pulled him up by his lapel and laid him on the table, money and bags of meth spilling on the floor. He was red-haired with finely freckled skin, and his green eyes were dazed and blinking from Conley’s blow.
    “Is this your boyfriend?” Morgan asked the girl, still holding him by the lapel.
    Her anger now turned to Morgan. “Don’t you lay a finger on him!”
    “Then let’s do this the easy way, all right?” Morgan said. She held up the baseball bat. Morgan took the middle finger of her boyfriend’s left hand and pulled it back with a crack. This woke him from his daze and he screamed in pain, writhing on the table and clutching his hand.
    “Now be good and come with us,” said Morgan, “and I’ll stop.” He forced the boyfriend’s palm against the table and wrapped his muscular hand against his ring finger. “Your choice.”
    She let the bat tumble to the floor and leaned over the redheaded kid. “Baby, are you okay?”
    “He’ll live,” said Morgan. “Now come, or he might not.” He looked at the kid, contorting in pain on the table, square in the eyes. “And you, ” he said. “Come after her and Daddy is going to do a lot worse than a broken finger, you hear?”
    “Come on,” Conley said, playing good cop. “We won’t hurt you.”
    She let herself be led by Conley. Morgan took the lead out of the back room, the man’s revolver in his right hand. He emerged to a bar where every single patron was frozen still, looking at him. The barmaid, standing behind the bar, had a shotgun with a sawed-off handle pointed at his chest.
    “Honey, we’re leaving with the girl,” said Morgan, gun trained on