The Dark Path: a gripping crime thriller by Kevin McManus

Author:Kevin McManus [McManus, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books
Published: 2019-10-27T16:00:00+00:00

At noon, he decided to make a stop at the recently discharged Denny Maisano’s house to ask for a quick favor.

Maisano threw his hands in the air when he answered the door. An “Ah fuck!” emitted from his lungs the moment he laid his eyes on Morrigan.

“What’s happening, Denny?” Morrigan said with a beam.

“I don’t want trouble, Morrigan. I’ve had enough as it is.”

Morrigan motioned inside the house and waited for Maisano to give his blessing. Maisano eventually relented and stood aside, walking away from the door as part of him hoped in vain that the visitor would just turn on his heel and leave.

Maisano groaned with pain from his fractured ribs as he pulled a beer out of his fridge, the television blasting highlights from a football game played the night before. “What do you want, lieutenant?” he asked, half irked, half trying to convey a sense of submission, an overall sense in Maisano’s voice that he would play ball—if he had to.

Morrigan shrugged. “Nothing you haven’t done before.”

“What does that mean?”

Morrigan cut to the chase. “I need three passports, identical to the ones that you made for your previous client. You know, the one you got busted up over.”

Maisano crooked a finger. “You assholes brought that to my doorstep.”

“Don’t play the innocent with me, Denny, I ain’t gonna run around in circles with you.”

Maisano made a puttering sound with his lips. “Jesus,” he said, as if Morrigan’s words were lost on him. “You can fuck off, I held up my end.” He wagged a finger. “I’m not making anything else for anyone again.”

“You’re going to have to. One last time. Unfortunately.”

“The hell I am. I’m done. Out. Finished. Look at me, I’m bust up. I should be still in hospital, man.”

Morrigan was grinding his teeth. There was no way he could play this straightforward. He was operating off the book. He needed those passports. It was the only tactic he could think of employing to help dig himself out of the hole he had dug himself in, back when he pulled the trigger on Damian Huerta.

“Okay,” he said, sounding depleted. “That’s how you want to play this?”

Morrigan took his pistol out of his holster, took off the safety catch and fired a round into Maisano’s television, a flash of light flaring in the room as one of the players on the screen was cut off mid-pass in the middle of a video recap.

“Whoa!” Maisano threw his hands up. “What the fu—?”

Morrigan trained his pistol on Maisano, who was turning white and rigid, holding his hands up like he was backing up a plane.

“Three passports,” Morrigan said. “Identical to the last ones you made for Klein.” He shook the gun like he was testing a paperweight. “Do we understand each other?”

Maisano cleared his throat. He had already agreed but it took him a moment to recall his muscle memory and physically nod his contrition. “Three passports,” he repeated, like a short-order cook not wanting to foul up a food order.

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