Free The Last Deep Breath by Tom Piccirilli Page A

stepped in and the Asian madam immediately barked something.  She had a good eye and remembered him from three months ago when he’d stirred trouble.   The two bouncers moved in but they did it slowly, with a real wariness because there were some other johns moving in and out of the parlor room where the girls were lined up and drinking cocktails.  Grey tried to smile pleasantly but could guess he was probably only grimacing.
     A strange sense of vertigo hit him.  His head was dizzy but his legs didn’t waver.  He felt rooted and light on his feet as he moved to the first bouncer, spun, and brought an elbow up high to the no-neck’s temple.  The guy dropped like a dead rhino.  The madam yawped again and the second bouncer unsnapped two buttons on his jacket and reached inside a shoulder holster for what looked like a snub .38.  Grey didn’t give him time to pull it.  He danced over, head still fogged and kind of whirling, lashed out and punched the prick in the throat.  It was a cheap move he’d learned in the Army, but an effective one.  The guy went to his knees choking.  Grey reached in and grabbed the .38, then clipped him on the back of the head with the barrel.  A gout of hair, scalp, and blood flew through the air and the guy fell flat on his face and didn’t stir.
    The beautiful thing about New York is no one ever wants to get involved.  The girls fled to the back rooms.  The johns bolted out the door.  No one was going to call the cops.  Grey   grabbed the madam and held her up against the front counter where she welcomed clients.
    His head cleared.  He’d had the answer the whole time but just didn’t know it.
    All that had been in Ellie’s purse that day was the heroin, the needle, and the business card.
    Ellie hadn’t worked here.
    This was where she scored her heroin.
    If you want to find a junkie, go to a drug dealer.
    He asked the woman, “Who runs this place?”
    She tightened up, shut her eyes, hugged her elbows.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know anything.”
    “You’re in a position of responsibility.  I think you do know something.”
    “No no.  I just set up the dates.  That’s all.”
    “Open your eyes.”
    “No no.”
    “Open.”  She squinted at him.  “You report to someone.  I would like to know who that someone is.”
    “No, no report.”
    “Yes, report.  Get him on the phone.”
    “No, no phone.”
    ”I’m really enjoying our talk,” he said.  “But seriously, it’s time to get the show on the road, lady.”  He cocked the .38 and held it up to her forehead.  “Give me a name.”
    The gun alone didn’t scare her, but she took a look into Grey’s face, saw that he’d come to the end of his road and played out his entire string, and that was enough.  She whispered something.
    “Again,” Grey prompted.
    “Mr. Jericho.”
    “Full name.”
    “Benson Jericho.”
    “And where is he at the moment?”
    A silky voice came from behind Grey.  “I’m right here.”
    Grey turned.
    He thought, Is this the end?  Am I there yet?  Is Ellie around the next corner?
    He took two steps forward and stood practically toe to toe with Jericho.  The man was younger than might be expected.  He didn’t look like a whoremaster and drug dealer.  At this level it was all big business, and he projected the cultivated persona and attitude of the wealthy and cosmopolitan businessman.  Refined with expensive tastes.  Silk suit to go with the voice.
    Grey took a breath.  Jericho’s cologne, face cream, exfoliates, and hair product all smelled like money.
    He thought, This man has an enormous backstory.  This is the kind of role a serious actor could set his teeth into.  Jericho.  You’d run the lines and think off the page, like Kendra had said.  No matter what the dialogue was you had to figure out, Did he hate his father?  Was he bullied as a child?  Was he allergic to strawberries.  Jericho.  Grey looked and saw him flayed open, his whole