Murder in the Magic City: A Micah Brantley Story G.P. Sorrells (books to get back into reading TXT) 📖

Sheridan found himself able to take a step back and look at the state of his new normal with more clarity and objectivity. Although his end goal may still be the same, allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement would prevent him from ever being able to follow through with the sole act his existence depended on.

With his head on straight and a laser focused goal in mind, Sheridan got to work figuring out just who the hell Jimmy Castillo was. The discovery process would normally take just a matter of hours to complete with a few targeted searches. However, with the way his house looked when he left it, Sheridan wouldn’t be able to make use of anything he owned. Almost immediately after leaving the neighborhood, he removed the sim card from his phone. He couldn’t afford to lose access to the data stored on it, namely the photos and videos of Emma, but he also didn’t want to leave a literal trail of breadcrumbs marking his every move. Using the plastic in his wallet was similarly out of the question, so he had used the services of a 24-hour ATM to access all the funds from his checking and savings accounts. With that nuisance out of the way, he had tossed his wallet down a storm drain and headed out of town.

I’ll probably be in the ground myself by the time anyone finds that worthless hunk of leather.

Chapter 19

Jimmy Castillo loved to look out at the clear, turquoise waters of Biscayne Bay, stretching toward a horizon that seemed to go on infinitely. He often wondered how terrible it must be to grow up in a place where the smell of the sea air is foreign. Where the sound of waves rolling in and crashing on the shore is only possible through a custom-made speaker. The thought of a life without the sea frightened him. He grew up in the water. He had escaped hell in the water. He had made his fortunes because of what sometimes came on the water. And so, it held a fond place in his heart, and likely always would.

“How’s it… uh, going there, Jimmy?”

And just like that, a beached whale ruined the view. “How’s it going, Anton?”

If it were up to Castillo, he would just ignore the man. It’s not that they weren’t kindred spirits. Quite the opposite. They both enjoyed the same beer, had a similar taste in women, and were both close to Carlos Medina. The problem was, in Castillo’s eyes, that Anton was different enough in the wrong ways. He didn’t like to get his hands dirty. Didn’t want to take care of his own problems. If it weren’t for his ability to cook the books, he likely wouldn’t be around in the capacity that he was. But it was because of that proficiency he had made himself untouchable.

Though they may have existed on the same rung of the proverbial ladder within Medina’s organization, Castillo couldn’t help but feel a bit overshadowed by the admiration his boss showed Anton for providing some legitimacy to their business. A bit of an edge did no one wrong, but Castillo was always careful to play his cards close to the chest whenever his counterpart was around.

“Shitty,” Anton said. He sat down on the bench next to Castillo, causing the platform to creak as he adjusted. “The son of a bitch down at the funeral parlor fucked things up with my mom.”

“What are you talking about?” Though they weren’t exactly friends, Castillo didn’t take kindly to the mishandling of a deceased loved one. Not even an enemy deserved the torment that went along with those added headaches.

“She was supposed to get fixed up real nice before they put her in the casket, you know. Her hair done up just right, makeup on point. Was gonna have her look like a red carpet was ready to roll out just for her.” Anton was trying to fight back tears and failing spectacularly. “But somehow, that dumb fuck Marco had her cremated!”

“What the actual fuck?”

“I specifically told that dirty commie that I wanted her buried in the most expensive casket they had, was ready to shell out for all the bullshit add-ons, but he still fucked it up.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Anton,” Castillo said. And he meant every word. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yea, take care of him.” A hint of reluctance welled up inside Castillo at the sound of those four words, and his bench mate seemed to pick up on it. “Look, I would love to do something about it myself, trust me. It’s just, I don’t know the first thing about it other than punching the guy or sitting on him.”

Both men laughed. “It’s okay, my friend,” Castillo said. He stretched out and patted Anton on the back. “I’ve got just the person to right this wrong.”

Chapter 20

Micah walked down a busy street, past a large church with a steeple that seemed to do its best impression of the Tower of Babel, and over toward a rather plain building with the words ‘Our Dearly Departed Funeral Parlor’ plastered across both front windows. Though the sight of such a building could discomfort some, it never bothered Micah all that much. Perhaps it had something to do with his chosen profession, but the notion of death was inescapable.

Try as he might, he knew that one day it would be his turn to close his eyes for the last time. It wasn’t a thought he entertained often. But sometimes he’d catch himself thinking about what lie in wait for him after he took his last breath. Were Heaven and Hell real? Did everyone worry for nothing? He always came to the same conclusion: it didn’t matter. In the grand scheme of things, he was but a puff of gas in the cosmos, barely recognizable relative to the time the universe had existed. Besides, he wasn’t sure he