Danger Close by James Sumner (classic novels for teens txt) 📕

“This is it,” announced Collins, pausing outside.

Julie frowned. “So, do we knock, or…”

“We do. Just… let me do the talking, okay? She’s a great lady, honestly. A real grand ol’ doll, ya know. But she has trust issues. Ya don’t get to do what she does for as long as she has by letting just anyone through ya door. If she thinks we’re anything besides disreputable contractors, we won’t get a foot over the threshold.”

Julie shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. Do your thing, Ray. Just… y’know… clock’s ticking.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right.”

He cleared his throat, cracked his neck, and composed himself. Then he raised a hand to the door and knocked firmly, twice.

On the second one, the door swung open, gently hitting the wall inside.

Collins and Julie exchanged a confused look and shrugged.

He stepped inside. The air smelled musty, just as he remembered it. The carpet was threadbare; its original color was lost to time. The walls were also discolored and stained, and what remained of their original paint looked like something from the seventies. There were two doorways on the left but no doors. Stairs lay ahead along the right wall.

Julie followed him in and pushed the door closed behind her.

“This place always this untidy?” she asked quietly.

Collins chuckled. “Looks just like it did the last time I was here.”

“Which was… when, exactly?”

“Not sure. Maybe eleven years ago.”

“Christ. You would think she’d hire a cleaner or something.”

Julie stuck her head inside the first room. It was mostly empty, save for a random chair and an upturned table against the far wall.

Collins looked into the second room. It appeared lived in. A torn and stained sofa rested against the near wall, facing an old TV. A coffee table stood in the middle with rings from drinks adorning its surface.

Julie sighed. “If this Mama is as renowned as you say, you would think she could afford to spruce the place up a bit. It looks like a crack den.”

Collins moved to the stairs. “All part of the disguise, Jules. Discretion is key. What were you expecting? Wall-to-wall luxury and a neon sign that says, ‘All assassins welcome?’”

She grunted but didn’t reply.

As they made their way upstairs, the air turned stale and damp. A sickeningly familiar smell crept into their nostrils, forcing them both to grimace and gag.

Collins looked back at Julie with a raised eyebrow. She nodded confirmation to his unspoken question.

“Dead guy,” they said in unison.

Both of them reached back and wrapped a hand around the butt of their Negotiators.

As they moved along the hallway, thin strips of faint light forced through the wooden boards covering the window at the far end. It did little to help them see, but it was better than nothing.

Upstairs, one room was on the right and one was at the end, facing the stairs. The room to the right, like the others below, had no door. Collins lingered in the doorway, squinting against the darkness to see inside. He could make out the shapes of furniture but no detail.

“Ray…”

He turned. Julie was pointing to the room at the end. He looked over. A thin strip of light emanated from beneath the door, which was standing slightly ajar.

He sighed. “I see it.”

They both drew their weapons and proceeded cautiously along the narrow, dark hallway. The closer they got to the door, the stronger the smell became.

They positioned themselves on either side of the doorway, guns held low and ready.

“I’ll cover you,” said Julie.

Collins placed his hand gently on the door and pushed it open, only an inch at first. When there was no sound or hint of a reaction inside, he slowly pushed it open all the way. He stepped inside and moved across the room. Julie followed, moving forward to cover the opposite side.

A lamp stood on a small desk in the corner, against the wall between two boarded up windows. Papers were strewn across it, covered in blood. Sitting in the chair in front of it, slumped with her head lolled backward, was an elderly woman.

“Oh my God,” said Julie.

The woman looked to be in her mid-seventies. Her dark hair was dyed, but the gray roots were growing through. Thin, loose skin hung from her face. She wore an apron over a blouse and long skirt.

Collins moved toward the chair. In the low light, he could see the bullet hole between her eyes. “Ah, Christ.”

Julie placed the back of her hand against her nose. “Is that…”

“Aye. That’s Mama.”

She moved closer to inspect the wound. The blood had run down Mama’s face, staining her clothes.

She stepped away. “I reckon she’s been dead thirty-six hours.”

“How ya figure that?” asked Collins.

“The blood looks thick and tacky. It’s not fully congealed and dried, but it’s not flowing from the wound anymore. That means it’s recent but not fresh. So, a day… day and a half, max.”

He shrugged, a little impressed. “All right, Sherlock. Take a look around. See if ya can find anything that might help.”

He scanned the desk. The papers seemed to be notes and Mama’s business books. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“I got nothing,” said Julie after a few minutes.

“Me neither,” said Collins, shaking his head.

“We should go. The less time we spend here, the better.”

“Aye, can’t argue with ya on that. Come on.”

They headed out of the room, back down the stairs, and out into the alley. They walked toward the street but stopped beside the dumpster, directly beneath the streetlamp.

“Okay,” said Julie, leaning back against the wall. “Are we seriously thinking this is a coincidence?”

Collins shook his head. “Not a chance. I told ya, Mama knew everything. Don’t let that shithole fool ya. That old lady was international. Best damn fixer in the game. No way she didn’t know who carried out the hit on Herrera. Two days after that goes down, we come looking for a lead and find her full-stopped at her desk.”

Julie nodded. “I agree. Twenty bucks says someone was on clean-up duty. If she were as