The Executioner's Game by Gary Hardwick

Gray Shirt.
    Luther stepped around Gray Shirt and kicked the big man in the jaw, breaking it. The sound made Gray Shirt flinch. Luther repeated his question.
    â€œI don’t know!” said Gray Shirt. “He just started coming here and paid us to watch his car. He stay here all night, and then he leave.”
    â€œWhat room is he in?” asked Luther.
    â€œHe up on the second floor, first door. Don’t nobody live in the place, man. It used to be a rock house, but—”
    Luther didn’t need to hear the rest of the statement. He punched Gray Shirt in the ribs, knocking the air out of him. Then he slammed his forearm into his jaw, and the man dropped to the ground. Luther took the bullets from their guns and tossed them, and then he tossed the guns into the sewer grate at the curb.
    â€œAnd no one’s dead,” Luther said to Hampton. “See how nice I can be?”
    â€œExcellent,” said Hampton. “I can’t wait to find out Kraemer’s situation.”
    Luther entered the building. The odor of decay and urine assaulted him. Dried blood and gang signs covered the wall of the stairwell he ascended. His mind was filling with memories of his life on the streets of Detroit. He’d been in many places like this. He’d watched them turn from homes filled with love and hope to abandoned shells, haunted by the ghosts of destroyed lives.
    Luther got to the landing and approached the first door. He had to act quickly. This was looking more and more like some kind of setup.
    Luther kicked in the flimsy door and entered with his P99 in hand. Kraemer turned and was startled, dropping his beer to the floor. He got up from the chair he’d been sitting in.
    â€œAbout time,” said Kraemer.
    â€œDon’t speak unless I ask you a question,” said Luther.
    Kraemer said nothing. Luther looked around for a second, then back to Kraemer.
    â€œI’m only going to ask you once,” said Luther. “Who sent you here?”
    â€œA man named Luther Green,” said Kraemer.
    Luther almost lowered his gun. Alex. He knew. Somehow he knew that Luther would be sent after him.
    â€œAnd why did he send you here?”
    â€œHe said you’d know. Said you two worked together for Immigration and were on the trail of some bad men. I didn’t believe him at first. I mean, he looked like hell; his face was all mangled. He said he got that in Desert Storm. I was in the service, too, the marines.”
    â€œWhat else did he say to you?” asked Luther, and now he almost wanted to laugh at the use of his name. Alex had not completely lost his mind. He still had a sense of irony.
    â€œHe gave me a lot of money and told me to keep coming here until a black man showed up asking questions,” said Kraemer. “You’re here, so I’m out.”
    Luther read the man. He was scared of what he was doing, yet he seemed a little relieved to see Luther.
    â€œWhy here?” Luther asked, almost to himself.
    â€œSaid you’d know that, too. Look, I did what he asked. Can I go now? I hate this place, and them guys outside are gonna jack me sooner or later, I just know it.”
    â€œHow long was he here?” asked Luther.
    â€œA few days. Luther found this place. Look, I thought he was some kind of stowaway, but he had government ID, and he said he was working on something big. I don’t want no trouble, you know? I was trying to help my country.”
    â€œThink carefully,” said Luther. “Did he say anything else, anything at all?”
    â€œNo, but he did make me take him down to Veterans’ Hall one day. He went in empty-handed and came out the same way, but he seemed to be different when he came out.”
    â€œDifferent how?”
    â€œI dunno. Happy, pleased about something. And I didn’t ask him nothing. The man didn’t like questions, and I ain’t stupid.”
    Luther lowered his weapon and told Kraemer to