The yellow taxi hummed as it cut through the thick, oily fog clinging to the outskirts of Detroit.
Inside, the ar was a suffocating mix of stale cigarettes and the driver's nervous sweat. It fought against the sharp medicinal sting of the fresh gauze Jack had applied before leaving. Outside the window, the city blurred into a smear of gray and rust under the relentless rain.
Jack sat in the shadows of the back seat with his heavy trench coat pulled tight. His body felt like a machine that had been run too hard for too long. He could feel the cold draft from the window hitting the raw, red tissue of his face.
Across from him sat the blind man. He was perfectly still. His head was tilted back and a thick black cloth was tied firmly over his eyes.
The taxi driver kept his eyes glued to the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. Every few seconds his eyes would flick toward the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of the two passengers. One had a face hidden behind bandages while the other wore a total blindfold. The driver looked like he was transporting two ghosts who had already died and just hadn't realized it yet.
Jack watched the blind man with a cold, mocking clinicality. He didn't believe in the mystical act. Leaning forward, Jack reached out a hand. He moved it in a slow, jagged motion just inches from the blindfold. He flicked his fingers toward the man's nose to test the void, his eyes narrowing in an insulting dare.
The man didn't flinch.
"You done?" the blind man asked. His voice was smooth like a slow-moving river. "Or do you want to poke me in the eye to make sure the lights are really out?"
Jack pulled his hand back as a grim smirk tugged at his scarred mouth. "Just checking the lights," Jack rasped with a voice heavy with contempt. "I wanted to see if the boss sent me a partner or just a piece of junk I'm going to have to drag. You're just a blind man in a suit. How are you supposed to find a killer if you can't even find the door handle?"
The stranger didn't seem offended. He shifted slightly while his expensive suit rustled against the vinyl. "I'm Samuel. I'm twenty-eight years old and I've spent the last few years in the dark. Before that I was a fixer for people you'll never meet. I don't need eyes to know when a man is lying, and I don't need them to know that you're currently staring at the back of the driver's head because you're too uncomfortable to look at a man who can't look back."
In the front seat the driver let out a stifled whimper. He was a young man with a thin body and his hands were trembling so violently that the taxi was weaving.
"Eyes on the road, kid," Jack growled. The driver jerked his head forward, his knuckles turning white.
Samuel prompted Jack with a tilt of his head. "And you are?"
Jack let out a short, dry huff of air. "I don't think I need to bother with that. You already told me back at the curb that the world doesn't wait for my charity. You knew what I was before I even opened my mouth. If you've already been briefed on my soul, you've definitely been briefed on my name. In fact, I think you already know everything about me."
Samuel's lips curled into a thin smile. "Fair point. Most men in your position would be too busy feeling sorry for their own skin to notice my words. But you... you're listening."
"You've been briefed on my habits, my record, and every mistake I've made for the last thirty-eight years," Jack continued as his jaw tightened. "My boss hired you because you've spent the last week memorizing my life like a script. You knew what kind of man I am before I even said hello. So let's stop the act. Tell me where we're going, because this isn't the way to Oakhaven."
Samuel leaned his head back. "The boss is thorough, Jack. He likes to know the measure of the men he pays. I know what you lost, and I know why you're so angry that you have to take it out on a blind man." He gestured toward the window as the taxi turned toward a cluster of high-intensity lights piercing the fog. "We're going to the airport. The private hangars."
"The airport?" Jack asked while his brow furrowed. "Oakhaven is a four-hour drive south."
"The boss is in a hurry," Samuel said. "He doesn't want us wasting four hours in a taxi with a driver who looks like he's about to have a heart attack. There's a plane waiting. We'll be in the air in twenty minutes."
The driver whined softly but he didn't slow down. The industrial ruins of Detroit were being replaced by the vast expanse of the airfield. The neon signs of the runways cut through the mist like jagged teeth.
"The boss said the cops are calling it a mountain lion," Jack said, pulling the case photos from his pocket. "Why fly us out there to debunk a lie that obvious?"
"Because in Oakhaven, people want to believe in the mountain lion," Samuel whispered. "A murder means a murderer is living among them. A mountain lion is an act of nature. It's safe. Lies are the glue that keeps places like that together, Jack. They'll protect the lie before they protect the truth because the truth would burn the town down."
"Then we'll rip the glue off," Jack said. He touched the Polaroid of the brass key in his pocket.
The taxi hit a deep pothole and the driver let out a sharp yelp. He was breathing in terrified gasps. He felt like he was trapped with two predators.
"Pull over up there," Samuel commanded. He pointed toward a hangar where a small plane was already idling.
The taxi screeched to a halt. The driver didn't even wait for a tip. He sat frozen, staring straight ahead, waiting for the ghosts to leave.
Samuel straightened his suit. "Try not to look too scary for the pilot, Jack. I'd hate for him to fly us into a mountain because he was staring at your bandages."
Jack ignored him and stepped out into the biting wind. The rain hit his raw skin like needles. He reached back into the car to grab Samuel by the arm with a grip that was none too gentle.
"Watch your step, blind man," Jack mocked as he pulled him out.
Samuel unfolded his cane with a metallic click. "Try to keep up, Jack. I'd hate for you to get lost in the dark."