Chapter 3 - The Arrival of Silver Blade
By two in the morning, Ashgrove Street was dead quiet again, save for the patter of rain against the windowpanes of Number 42.
Inside the small living room, Milo lay on a thick wool blanket in front of a modest electric heater, eating slow, gentle mouthfuls of braised beef from a porcelain bowl. Wilton sat on the edge of a kitchen chair, cleaning a small silver pistol with a cloth, his forehead slick with nervous sweat.
"Boss," Wilton muttered, not looking up. "The Dixons didn't stay in their house. The kid ran down to the diner on 5th Street. That’s where the Silver Blade crew hangs out."
Kayla sat at the small formica dining table, holding a mug of black tea that had long gone cold. Her hands rested flat on the laminate surface. "Let them go where they want, Wilton."
"You don't understand," Wilton pressed, his fingers tightening on the gun. "Silver Blade isn't just a neighborhood street crew anymore. Their local captain, a guy named Marco, just got engaged to Gwen Vane. Gwen is the daughter of Arthur Vane."
Kayla’s eyes didn't flicker. Arthur Vane was a low-level loan shark who used to crawl on his belly for scraps from her late husband’s table ten years ago.
"Gwen thinks she's a queen now," Wilton continued, his voice rising in panic. "She struts around the lower east district treating everyone like dirt. Word is she’s in town tonight checking out Marco’s territory. If that Dixon kid tells them a lone woman and an old man broke his dad’s wrist..."
"Let them come," Kayla whispered.
At that exact moment, two miles away at the 24-hour Neon Diner on 5th Street, a young waitress named Maya was wiping down the counter with a greasy rag. Her eyes were red, her apron stained with grease. She was nineteen, working two shifts to pay for her mother’s insulin, and her legs felt like lead.
The front glass doors slammed open, letting in the cold wind and six people in heavy leather coats.
At the front was Gwen Vane—a woman in her late twenties wearing an oversized fur coat, heavy gold jewelry, and a sneer that looked permanently painted onto her face. Beside her was Marco, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar running from his ear to his lip, carrying himself with the violent vanity of a mid-level gang captain. Behind them whimpered Tyler Dixon, his arm in a crude sling, tears drying on his dirty cheeks.
"Where is she?!" Gwen demanded, slamming her designer handbag onto the diner counter so hard a napkin dispenser fell over. "Where’s the crazy bitch who touched Marco’s people?"
Maya flinched, stepping back toward the kitchen pass-through. "I... I don't know who you're talking about, ma'am. I just work the night shift."
Gwen’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Maya’s worn shoes, her faded uniform, her timid posture.
"Don't lie to me, you pathetic little mouse," Gwen hissed. She reached across the counter, grabbed a full pot of scalding black coffee, and held it inches from Maya’s face. "The kid says a woman with an old dog walked right through his yard. He says she operates around Ashgrove. You know everyone who lives on that street. Give me a name, or I’ll repaint your pretty little face with boiling water."
Maya trembled, her eyes darting to the phone on the wall. She knew Kayla. Kayla came into the diner every Thursday morning, sat in the corner booth, always left a fifty-dollar tip on a six-dollar bill, and spoke to her with gentle respect.
"I don't know her name," Maya sobbed, holding her hands up defensively. "Please... I don't know!"
Gwen smiled—a cruel, vicious curve of red lipstick. "Wrong answer."
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Gwen swung her foot around the edge of the counter and kicked Maya hard in the shins. Maya gasped, her knees giving out, and she hit the floor behind the counter with a thud. Gwen reached down, caught the waitress by her hair, and pulled her face up to eye level.
"Listen to me, trash," Gwen spat. "Marco owns this district now. Which means I own this district. Tomorrow morning, you’re going to show us every door on Ashgrove Street until we find that dog. And if that mutt is still breathing when I find it, I’m going to make you skin it alive."
