Jericho smiled regrettably. “Seriously, if any of you lay a hand on me, I’ll fucking break it.”
The man took a step back; his face a split-second picture of shock, before lighting up with a large, white and gold smile.
“Ah, shit — you just gone and got yourself killed, bro.” He turned to his friends. “Fuck this fool up!”
Jericho turned to look at them as they moved toward him. Their bulky frames and weathered faces gave the impression they were professional muscle, but they posed no serious threat to him.
He took one giant step forward, right foot first, and met the one on his left head on. Before he could move, Jericho thrust his left leg forward without breaking stride and kicked him hard in the groin. The man buckled over instinctively. As his head lowered, Jericho took another step and lifted his right knee, smashing it into the man’s face. He felt the cartilage in the nose break under the impact, and he watched as the guy dropped to the floor like a dead weight.
Jericho turned to face the other man, who hesitated briefly before throwing a right punch at his face. Jericho caught the punch in his large right hand, stopping it dead. The impact stung his palm, but his face betrayed nothing. He stared into the man’s shocked, wide eyes and saw a wave of fear sweep across them.
He threw the man’s hand down and launched one of his own — a quick left jab that connected flush on the jaw, sending him backward, crashing unconscious to the ground next to his friend.
Jericho spun around, breathing heavily; not through exertion, but through sheer adrenaline. It felt good to get involved again — to feel capable. His world had been turned upside down, and being able to take down a bunch of low-lives made him feel… himself again.
The man who engaged him when he first emerged from the alley stood holding a gun, and was aiming it directly at him. He was maybe ten feet away, and Jericho could see the faintest of quivers in the gun’s barrel. The man was afraid.
And so he should be…
“Give me that gun and whatever cash you have on you, and I’ll let you off easy,” said Jericho, feeling that was a perfectly reasonable proposal.
“Sc-screw you!” came the response. “I’m gonna shoot you!”
Jericho smiled. “No, you’re not.”
The man frowned. “And what makes you so sure, fool?” he asked, regaining a hint of confidence. “I got a gun pointing right at you.”
Jericho nodded. “Yes, you do… but you’ve got the safety on.”
The man’s eyes went wide with panic, and he shifted his gaze to the weapon. In that split second, Jericho charged forward, covering the minimal distance between them in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the guy’s wrist, twisting it away from the body so the reflex caused him to loosen his grip and drop the weapon. As it clattered to the floor, Jericho launched a thunderous right elbow — the point of which, along with the bulk of his large forearm, connected with the man’s left temple. He let out a low grunt as the consciousness was smashed out of him, and he hit the ground with a dull thud.
Jericho took a step back and scanned the area, making sure no one else was coming. Satisfied he was alone, he checked the man’s pockets and found a handful of small bags, each containing varying measurements of cocaine.
He shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.
Even though the president had legalized cocaine, people still sought to make money from selling cheap, and presumably poor quality, imitations to gullible idiots looking for a quick score.
He put the drugs back in the guy’s pocket and continued his search, quickly finding a roll of cash and a cell phone. He counted close to a thousand bucks, which was useful. He stuffed the money and the phone in his pockets, and reached over to retrieve the gun, which had landed a couple of feet away from them. He stood, looking at it with a wry smile as he flicked the safety on, and then tucked it in his waistband, pulling his T-shirt down to cover it.
He checked the other two guys, but found nothing besides a couple of hundred dollars between them. “Every little helps,” muttered Jericho to himself, adding their cash to his new wad.
He looked around one last time, and then made his way back to the street. He re-entered the crowd of eager partygoers, mingling casually for a moment or two before strolling back across the road and climbing in behind the wheel.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash, dropping it on Julie’s lap. She stared at it, surprised.
“Where the hell did you get all that?” she asked. “There must be close to a thousand dollars there!”
“Twelve hundred,” corrected Jericho, shrugging. “Like I said, a place like this… you just have to know where to look.”
He gunned the engine, spun the car around and drove back to the hotel they had found earlier in the day, parking in the same space as before.
“Book us in for one night,” Jericho said to her as they walked through the main entrance and across the small foyer. “You’re less memorable.”
“Gee, thanks…” she responded, sounding slightly disgruntled.
“I just mean we’re trying to keep a low profile, and if anyone’s questioned, they’re more likely to remember a guy who’s six-five with half his head wrapped in bandages.”
“I know what you mean,” she said, smiling. “Is one night long enough?”
Jericho nodded. “By the morning, I’ll know exactly what we need to do, don’t worry.”
Julie approached the young woman sitting behind the desk while he hung back, casually checking out the place. The décor was simple, yet effective. There was minimal furnishing in the entrance, with a stand in the left corner by the door that had several different pamphlets detailing local attractions. The floor was plain, clean tiling, and the front desk facing the doors was a simple counter, about waist height, with two people sitting behind it. The elevators and stairs were off to the right.
After a few minutes, Julie returned, holding a swipe card.
“They only had a double left,” she said, looking sheepish and a little awkward. “Sorry.”
Jericho shook his head. “That’s fine — I’ll take the floor. I’ve slept on worse.” He turned and strode over to the elevator, pressing the button to call it. “What floor?”
Julie checked the key. “Third,” she replied.
The doors opened, and they stepped inside. Jericho hit the button for the third, and within a minute, they were walking down the corridor toward their room.
Julie worked the door and opened it, stepping inside and holding it open behind her for Jericho. He followed her in, pausing to quickly check up and down the corridor outside, making sure there was nothing suspicious. Satisfied they were alone, he closed the door and locked it.
The room, like the reception area, was basic but functional. A double bed against the right wall; a window facing them, offering a view of the street below and the restaurants opposite; a bathroom off to the left, with a shower cubicle in the corner… Luxury, compared to some places Jericho had spent the night.
He walked over to the window, glancing down to the street before closing the drapes. He turned and saw Julie sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
“Thank you,” he said. “For everything you’ve done for me.”
She smiled weakly. “It’s okay. I was just trying to do the right thing.” Her voice lowered. “I hope I have.”
Jericho regarded her for a moment. She was still wearing her white uniform and name tag. Her flat shoes fitted shapelessly to her feet. Her shoulder-length light brown hair was worn down, tucked behind her ears on both sides. She looked deflated and afraid.
“First thing in the morning, we’ll get a change of clothes,” he said. “Then I’ll disappear and you can return to your normal life. Now sit tight, I’ll be back soon.”