Chapter 15: Street Trials
The late afternoon sun beat down on the cracked streets of Cap-Haïtien, turning the asphalt into a simmering griddle of heat and glare. Jean-Daniel and Peterson leaned against a rusted metal fence at the edge of an empty basketball court, both looking over the map Rigo had drawn on a greasy piece of cardboard.
"This is the drop point," Jean-Daniel said, pointing to an alley that intersected with the market district. "He said the guy's name is 'Tico.' We hand him the bag, we leave. No questions, no eye contact."
Peterson folded the map and stuffed it into his back pocket. "Sounds simple enough. Until it's not."
Jean-Daniel chuckled. "You think too much."
"Someone has to," Peterson replied.
Wilkens, sitting on an overturned crate with his notebook in hand, piped up. "You two do realize this whole operation reeks of illegal activity, right?"
Jean-Daniel shrugged. "Of course it does. That's what makes it exciting."
Wilkens groaned and flipped to a page labeled Risk Assessment: Things Likely to Go Wrong.
Earlier that day, they'd met with the gang leader.
Isso was a mountain of a man with arms like tree trunks and eyes that never blinked. He sat in a plastic chair in a dark, windowless room at the back of an abandoned barber shop. Peterson had to resist the urge to shiver as he stepped forward.
Jean-Daniel did all the talking.
"This is Peterson. I vouch for him."
Isso's eyes didn't move. "I don't like new blood."
"He's useful."
Isso stood slowly and walked over to Peterson. He looked him up and down like a butcher inspecting a goat.
"You strong, little man?"
Peterson didn't flinch. "Strong enough."
Isso cracked a smile. "We'll see."
He handed Jean-Daniel a small duffel bag. "Drop this to Tico before sundown. If I smell police on you... I'll feed your bones to the pigs."
Jean-Daniel gave a quick nod and pulled Peterson out before things turned worse.
They moved through the city in pairs, Peterson and Jean-Daniel carrying the bags, Wilkens trailing behind like a nervous duckling with a backpack full of excuses. The sun dipped lower, casting golden hues over storefronts and busy intersections. Everything smelled like dust, diesel, and grilled meat.
Their destination loomed close.
Peterson's fingers twitched.
"They're watching."
It was the voice.
He stiffened, scanning the rooftops and balconies.
"What is it?" Jean-Daniel asked.
"Something's wrong."
Then it happened.
A gang of teens stepped out from behind crates in the alley—members of DED. Peterson recognized one of them immediately: Gregory, the same bully from school.
"Well, well," Gregory smirked. "Didn't think I'd see your face again so soon."
Jean-Daniel dropped his bag. "We're not here for you."
"Too bad," Gregory said, cracking his knuckles. "Because we're here for you."
Without warning, they charged.
Peterson shouted, "Summon: Bone Warrior!"
A skeleton burst forth from the concrete with a bone shield and rusted pipe. Gregory faltered but kept going. Jean-Daniel activated his Bullrush, slamming one of the attackers into a dumpster.
Wilkens screamed and ducked behind a trash bin.
The fight spilled into the street. Peterson punched, blocked, ducked, and directed his summoned warrior to flank. Jean-Daniel fought like a demon, fists flying with wild but effective strikes.
A bottle shattered. Someone pulled a knife.
The Bone Warrior took the hit, collapsing into dust.
"Peterson!" Jean-Daniel yelled. "We need to get out of here!"
Peterson scanned for escape. Then he saw her—Amanda, his sister, standing at the corner, watching with wide eyes.
"Manda?"
She ducked back into the crowd. She'd seen too much.
"Now!" Peterson shouted.
They grabbed the bags and ran.
Back at their hideout, Wilkens collapsed, gasping. "This is insane! We could've died!"
Jean-Daniel wiped blood from his lip. "But we didn't."
Peterson leaned against a wall. His mind raced. That fight—Gregory—DED.
They were closer than he thought.
And Amanda had seen it all.
Later that night, Amanda sat quietly on her bed, pretending to read. Miranda was across the room, sketching something on the edge of her notebook.
"You saw him, didn't you?" Amanda finally whispered.
Miranda nodded. "Yeah. He was fighting."
"With Jean-Daniel. And some weird thing…"
Miranda's eyes were wide. "Like a skeleton?"
Amanda didn't respond.
They said nothing for a long time. But one thing was clear: Peterson was hiding something. And they intended to find out what.
[To be continued in Chapter 16]