The Double Cross

The gun pointed at Nickey's chest. The man with his face smiled wider.

"Surprised?" he asked.

Nickey's mind raced. "Who are you?"

"Does it matter? You came here looking for your brother. Now you found me instead."

"Where's James?"

"There is no James. Not anymore. The fire killed him. Just like it killed your parents."

"You're lying. I saw the video."

The man laughed. "Special effects are amazing these days. We hired an actor. Put some makeup on him. Easy."

Nickey felt sick. "This was all a setup."

"Of course it was. Michael needed you out of the way. Far from the courthouse. Far from witnesses. And here you are."

"He's not getting bail tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" The man checked his watch. "It's already tomorrow. Three fifteen in the morning. The hearing is in six hours. And you won't be there to testify."

"The police know I'm here."

"Do they? Did you tell them exactly where you were going? Or did you hang up and drive off like an idiot?"

Nickey said nothing.

"That's what I thought." The man gestured with the gun. "Turn around. Hands behind your head."

"What are you going to do?"

"What Michael paid me to do. Make you disappear."

Nickey turned slowly. His mind scrambled for options. The window was across the room. Too far. The door was blocked.

"Walk," the man said.

They moved down the hallway. Past empty rooms. Down the stairs. Out a back exit.

A van waited in the parking lot. Engine running. Another man in the driver's seat.

"Get in."

Nickey climbed into the back. The van had no windows. Just metal walls and a strong smell of chemicals.

The man with the gun got in beside him. "Drive."

The van pulled out.

Nickey's phone was still in his pocket. If he could just send a text. Tell someone where he was.

But the man noticed him shifting. "Phone. Now."

"I don't have it."

"Don't lie." The man patted him down. Found the phone. Threw it out the window. "Nice try."

They drove for twenty minutes. Maybe more. Nickey lost track. The van turned onto a bumpy road. Gravel crunching under the tires.

Finally it stopped.

"Out."

They were in the woods. Middle of nowhere. Just trees and darkness.

The driver got out. Both men now. Both armed.

"Walk that way," the gunman said. Pointing into the trees.

This was it. They were going to kill him and bury him where nobody would find him.

Nickey's legs felt like lead. But he walked. What choice did he have?

Fifty feet into the woods, they stopped.

"On your knees."

Nickey knelt. The ground was cold and damp.

This was how it ended. Not in a fight. Not in a blaze of glory. Just shot in the back in some random forest.

He thought of Trina. The baby. His parents. The justice he'd never get.

"Any last words?" the gunman asked.

"Yeah. Michael's going to prison no matter what you do to me."

"Maybe. But you won't be there to see it."

The gun cocked.

Nickey closed his eyes.

A shot rang out.

But no pain.

He opened his eyes.

The gunman was on the ground. Blood spreading across his chest.

The driver spun around. Another shot. He dropped too.

Footsteps approached. Someone emerged from the trees.

Detective Raines.

"You okay?" Raines asked.

Nickey couldn't speak. Just nodded.

Two more officers appeared. They checked the bodies. Both men were dead.

"How did you find me?" Nickey finally managed.

"I didn't trust you to wait for backup. So I followed you from the gas station. Stayed far enough back that you wouldn't notice."

"You saved my life."

"That's the job." Raines helped him stand. "Come on. We need to get you somewhere safe."

At the police station, they gave Nickey coffee and a blanket. He was shaking. Couldn't stop.

"Who were those men?" he asked.

"Hired guns. We're running their prints now. Probably connected to Michael's operation."

"He really tried to have me killed."

"Yes. Which makes our case stronger. Attempted murder. Conspiracy. He's not getting bail after this."

"What time is it?"

"Five thirty. Hearing's at nine."

"I need to be there."

"You need rest."

"I need to see his face when they deny him bail."

Raines studied him. "Alright. But you're staying in protective custody until then."

They put Nickey in a holding room. Not a cell. Just a room with a couch and a TV. An officer stood outside.

He tried to sleep but couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the gun pointed at his head.

At seven, they brought him breakfast. Eggs and toast. He couldn't eat.

At eight, Raines came back. "Time to go."

The courthouse was downtown. Big stone building. Lots of steps. News cameras everywhere.

"Stay close," Raines said.

They pushed through reporters shouting questions. Inside, the courthouse was quieter. Marble floors. High ceilings.

The courtroom was on the third floor. Already packed with people. Lawyers. Reporters. Spectators.

Michael sat at the defense table. Orange jumpsuit. Handcuffs. When Nickey walked in, their eyes met.

Michael smiled.

It made Nickey's blood run cold.

"All rise," the bailiff said. "The Honorable Judge Peters presiding."

The judge entered. Older woman. Gray hair. Stern face.

Everyone sat.

"We're here for the bail hearing of Michael Clarke," the judge said. "Is the prosecution ready?"

A woman in a suit stood. "Yes, Your Honor. The state opposes bail."

"Defense?"

Rebecca Stone stood. "We request bail be set at five million dollars. Mr. Clarke is a respected businessman with deep ties to the community. He's not a flight risk."

The prosecutor responded. "Your Honor, Mr. Clarke is charged with multiple counts of murder, arson, attempted murder, and conspiracy. He has the means and motivation to flee. Furthermore, last night he orchestrated an attempt on a witness's life."

Murmurs rippled through the courtroom.

The judge banged her gavel. "Order. Ms. Stone, what do you say to that?"

Rebecca stood. "We deny any involvement in last night's incident. There's no proof connecting Mr. Clarke to those actions."

"We have phone records," the prosecutor said. "Calls from the jail to known associates. Messages arranging the hit."

"Circumstantial."

"Two men are dead, Your Honor. And the intended victim is in this courtroom."

The judge looked at Nickey. "Mr. Matthews, please stand."

Nickey stood. His legs felt weak.

"Is it true someone tried to kill you last night?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"And do you believe Mr. Clarke ordered it?"

"I know he did."

Michael's lawyer objected. "That's speculation."

"It's the truth," Nickey said. "He wanted me dead before I could testify."

The judge looked at Michael. "Mr. Clarke, do you have anything to say?"

Michael stood. "Your Honor, I'm innocent of all charges. This is a conspiracy orchestrated by my cousin and my wife to steal my company. I'm the victim here."

"Sit down," the judge said. "I've heard enough. Bail is denied. Mr. Clarke will remain in custody until trial."

Rebecca Stone protested. "Your Honor, we request you reconsider."

"Request denied. Next case."

The gavel banged.

Guards grabbed Michael. He struggled. "This isn't over! You hear me? This isn't over!"

They dragged him out. His voice echoed down the hallway.

Nickey sat back down. He was shaking again.

Raines put a hand on his shoulder. "You did good."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"Michael's going away for life. You got justice."

"Not yet. Not until the trial's over."

Outside the courthouse, reporters surrounded them. Cameras flashed. Questions shouted.

"Mr. Matthews, how do you feel about the judge's decision?"

"Are you afraid Michael will try again?"

"What about your relationship with his wife?"

Raines pushed through. "No comment. Let us through."

They made it to the car. Drove back to the station.

"What happens now?" Nickey asked.

"You go into witness protection until the trial. Could be months."

"What about Trina?"

"She'll be protected too."

"Can we stay together?"

Raines hesitated. "That's complicated. You're both witnesses. Usually we keep witnesses separated."

"She's pregnant with my child."

"I know. We'll figure something out."

At the hospital, Trina was awake. Watching TV news. The bail hearing was all over the channels.

"You're okay," she said when Nickey walked in.

"Barely."

He told her everything. The storage unit. The fake brother. The men in the woods.

She listened without interrupting. When he finished, she was crying.

"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"It's not."

"If I hadn't pulled you into this..."

"I was already in it. The moment Michael killed my family."

She reached for his hand. He took it.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"Witness protection. Both of us. Until the trial."

"Together?"

"I hope so."

A knock on the door. A US Marshal entered. Tall man. Gray suit. No smile.

"Mr. Matthews? Ms. Clarke? I'm Marshal Davis. I'll be handling your protection."

"When do we leave?" Nickey asked.

"Tonight. Pack light. No phones. No contact with anyone from your old life."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes. Could be six months. Could be a year."

Trina looked scared. "A year?"

"Michael has a lot of money and a lot of friends. We're not taking chances."

That night, they left the hospital through a back exit. Unmarked car. Tinted windows.

They drove for hours. Out of the city. Into farmland. Small towns Nickey had never heard of.

Finally they stopped at a motel. Middle of nowhere. One story. Flickering neon sign.

"This is it?" Trina asked.

"For tonight," Marshal Davis said. "Tomorrow we move again. Keep moving until we find a safe house."

The room was small. Two beds. Thin carpet. Smell of old cigarettes.

Nickey locked the door. Checked the windows.

"This is crazy," Trina said.

"I know."

"We're going to live like this for months?"

"If it keeps us alive."

She sat on the bed. Put her head in her hands. "I can't do this."

"Yes you can."

"No. I can't. I'm pregnant. I'm scared. I miss my life."

"What life? The one where Michael controlled everything?"

"At least it was familiar."

Nickey sat beside her. "We'll get through this. Together."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She leaned against him. He put his arm around her.

Outside, a car drove past. Headlights sweeping across the window.

They both tensed.

The car kept going.

"Every car is going to scare us now," Trina said.

"Yeah."

"How do we live like this?"

Nickey didn't have an answer.

His phone buzzed. He'd forgotten they took it. But Marshal Davis gave him a burner phone. Just for emergencies.

A text appeared. Unknown number.

You think you're safe. You're not. Michael has people everywhere. Watch your back.

Nickey showed Trina.

Her face went pale. "Who sent that?"

"I don't know."

He showed Marshal Davis. The marshal's jaw tightened.

"We're moving. Now. Pack your things."

"It's midnight," Trina said.

"I don't care. Someone knows you're here. We can't stay."

They threw their bags in the car. Drove off into the night.

Nickey watched the motel disappear in the rearview mirror.

This was going to be their life now. Running. Hiding. Always looking over their shoulder.

And somewhere out there, Michael was sitting in a cell. Smiling.

Because even from prison, he was still in control.