by Raven Steele
I felt all around the windows on the skylight, searching for any weaknesses. For such an old building, there should have been a loose pane, something I could exploit. But the glass was sealed tight. I was just going to have to break it.
After choosing a glass panel away from the table and above the carpeted floor, I jabbed it with my fist. Glass clattered to the ground. I doubted if anyone heard the sound from downstairs.
I cleared the rest of the window by picking out the larger shards and placing them onto the roof. I jumped into the room. A thick layer of dust blanketed the table except for at the end where it had been smudged all over, as if someone had rolled around on it. The room smelled of mold and, faintly, locker-room sweat. Odd.
I crept toward the door listening closely, but froze at the sound of footsteps approaching.
"I know I heard something," a man's voice said.
"You better not be wasting my time," a deep voice replied. "You know I have to make that delivery soon."
Their footsteps stopped at the entrance to the conference room. I ducked behind the closed door just as it opened.
"It was in here," the first man's voice said as they walked into the room.
"Take a look at that," deep voice said.
They had spotted the broken window. I closed the door and jumped at the nearest man first. With a simple elbow to his head in just the right place, he fell unconscious.
The second man, who was dressed in a three-piece suit with a pink flamingo tie, whirled around withdrawing a gun at the same time. I snatched it from his hand before he could fire and caught his jaw with my fist. He stumbled back, but I snatched his tie, stopping him from crashing into the conference room table.
"You won't get away with this," the man growled. "Nobody steals from Victor and lives."
"I don't want anything of his," I said, and swung a closed hand into the side of the man's head. He dropped unconscious near the other guy.
It had taken Roman years to teach me the amount of force I should use to knock someone out. It was a quick calculation I had to do in my head every time based on a person's size. I had it down to a science now and barely had to think about it.
I slipped out of the room and closed the door behind me. Stairs were off to my left at the end of a hallway. I jogged down them, keeping my ears open. So far, all was quiet except for voices on the ground floor.
When I reached the last set of stairs, I peered around the corner. Two men and a woman sat around a small table playing poker in what looked like some kind of reception area. Most of the small area had been damaged, with broken tile and peeling blue wallpaper, but pressed in the corner was a brand-new refrigerator.
I risked exposure and crept two steps down to get a better view. On the other side of the room were double doors. Most of the voices were coming from in there. That's where I needed to be, but how?
Wiping sweat from my brow, I considered all of my options. The only thing I had going for me was the fact that Tom was still in the building. Maybe I could use that to my advantage.
Sneaking back up the stairs, I crossed to the furthest part of the warehouse and searched for a window I could escape from. I found it in a small kitchen. I opened it and popped out the screen before jumping to the ground.
I jogged around to the front of the building, hoping I wasn't making a stupid decision, and knocked on the door. A flurry of movement came from within, but what gave me pause was the sound of guns cocking.
The door opened. A shotgun appeared in my face.
"Whoa!" I lifted my hands innocently. The time for knocking heads would come later.
"Who the hell are you?" the man holding the gun asked. Tattoos covered his arms and bone-skinny face. The only one with color was a red dragon that spread across his neck and up the side of his face.
"I'm here to see Tom," I said. "He told me to come by tonight. Said he had a job for me, but I can come back if this is a bad time."
"You're not going anywhere." The tattooed man opened the door and motioned me forward with the tip of his gun. He stepped to the side to allow me to enter.
I walked inside the dirty room, ignoring the smell of spilled beer and sweat—the same smell that had been in the conference room. The woman still sat at the table shuffling the playing cards as if I wasn't there, but the other man with long dark hair stood with his hands behind his back. No doubt he was holding a gun, just waiting for me to screw up so he could blow my head off.
"This dumbass said Tom told him to come here," Tattoo Face said. "What do you think, TJ? Should I break his fingers?"
"I say kill him," the woman said. She still hadn't looked at me.
"Is he armed?" TJ asked.
I lifted my arms out from my side. "I don't have any weapons. Check me."
The woman looked up and did a double take, her gray eyes opening wide. She jumped to her feet, knocking over a can of beer in her haste. "I'll inspect him. Every square inch."
TJ chuckled. "I bet you will. Nothing gets untouched by Lolla."
"Don't move a muscle," Tattoo man warned.
Lolla swept her long dark hair to one side as she walked toward me, a smile tugging at her red lips. She stopped in front of me and walked her fingers up my chest then circled her palms around my pecks. "Damn boy. You are all brawn."
I flexed my muscles, not for her benefit, but only to stop me from shuddering in disgust. She smiled at me seductively, splaying a wide set of yellowed teeth. I averted my gaze and clenched my jaw.
"Get on with it, Lolla," TJ ordered.
"Don't rush this," she snapped and lowered her hands to my waist. They slipped beneath my shirt and her sweaty palms slid to my back. She squatted to the floor suddenly to feel my legs, her face way too close for comfort. Slowly and deliberately her hands roamed up my legs. I flinched when she grabbed my crotch.
She chuckled as she straightened. "Oh he's packing, but it's not loaded, unfortunately."
"So do we shoot him?" Tattoo asked.
"Wait here," TJ said. "I'll check with Tom."
TJ walked to the swinging double doors and opened them wide. Before they closed, I risked a quick glance inside. Long tables set up in rows. Clear bags stacked on their tops filled with a silver substance. Rhino dust.
Victor had introduced it a couple of years ago to replace the usual drugs on the streets. It was by far the most destructive drug in the city. Highly addictive. Turned people into violent, raving lunatics. For a while, it seemed the police were winning the war against it, but at some point they must have raised a white flag, because rhino dust was everywhere now. I had begged Roman to let me stop the spread of it, but he refused, saying it wasn't time.
I didn't care what Roman said anymore. The time was now.
"Can I lower my arms?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even.
"No," Lolla and Tattoo said at the same time.
Almost a minute later, the doors opened again and Tom appeared. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"You told me to come. Remember our talk earlier at the bar?"
TJ turned to Tom. "You dumb dick. What other secrets did you tell?"
Tom's face burned red. "I didn't tell him nothing. Take him to my office. I'll deal with him after we get the shipment in."
"Ah, come on, man," I complained, doing my best to play a role of a poor shmuck. "You said you had a job for me! I'll do anything!"
The words of desperation tasted bad on my tongue. If only they knew the truth. I could have them all asleep on the floor in less than ten seconds if I really wanted to.
"I've got something he can do for me," Lolla purred.
"Shut up, Lolla," Tom snapped.
Tattoo shoved the gun into my shoulder. "Turn around."
I mumbled a few protests but did what they wanted. I even let them bind my wrists with zip ties. It wouldn’t matter.
Tattoo and TJ shoved me through the double doors. A blast of cold air hit me in the face, as did a strong chemical smell. A few of the people wh
o were loading clear baggies with rhino dust glanced over at me, but only for a fraction of a second. By their fearful expressions, they knew what was in store for me and didn't want to share the same fate should they stop working.
TJ walked through an open door and into a 1970's office with green shag carpet and a large metal desk. Stacks of papers were scattered on its top. TJ took hold of my shoulders and attempted to shove me into an empty chair, but I didn't budge. He frowned and tried again. Reluctantly, I pretended like he made me off balance and dropped into the seat grunting for dramatic effect.
"Don't even think of escaping," he warned. He bent down and zip tied my legs to each chair leg.
Tom stepped in front of me. "You picked the wrong day to have a miscommunication." He turned to the others. "Lolla, you stay by the front door and make sure no other idiots show up, and the rest of you morons help us pack up. This little invasion set us back."
Tom exited the room with the others leaving me alone. I was exactly where I needed to be. Once the job Tom kept referring to was finished, the number of people inside the warehouse should thin out. That's when I would make my move.
I rolled my shoulders back and prepared to be "trapped" for a while when a scraping sound drew my attention to the ceiling. A second later, one of the panels in the drop ceiling lifted high and a boy quietly dropped from the ceiling. He was much smaller than me, maybe five-foot-seven, but his facial features had matured, which meant he could be older than I thought. Maybe even my age. His skin was dark, with hair much darker and curly on top. Around his waist he wore a fanny pack, which clashed with his jeans and t-shirt.
"What are you doing here?" I whispered.
The kid grinned. "I'm here to save you."
6
"You're going to get yourself killed," I said, my voice low.
"Doubt it." The kid smiled again, exposing a deep dimple in his right cheek.
He circled around the desk and to a painting hanging on the wall. Gently, as if it were a bomb, he removed it from the wall. Directly behind it was a black safe. The kid unzipped his fanny pack and removed a small electrical device that looked like a cell phone with wires coming out of its bottom. Very carefully, he used an X-Acto knife to lift the front cover from the keypad on the safe, and in no time at all, had connected the wires to the keypad.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Quiet," the boy responded. "I'm working."
A few seconds later, the keypad beeped and the front door of the safe popped open. Inside were stacks of hundred dollar bills.
"Jackpot.” He began to stuff the money into a plastic bag he had removed from his fanny pack.
"I can't believe you're stealing from Victor," I said. "You're a dead man."
When the safe was empty, the boy turned to me. "First they’ve got to catch me. I don't have the nickname ‘The Eel’ for nothing. Besides, from where I'm standing, you're the one who's going to end up dead if I don't help you."
"Leave right now, while you still can."
"You don't want me to untie you?"
"No."
"Huh. Maybe I misread the situation," he said to himself, then looked up at me. "Are you into kinky shit?"
I groaned. "Just get out of here! Now!"
"No way, man. I can't leave a homey here to die. By the way, I'm Oz."
"I'm not your homey."
He circled behind me as he produced a knife from his fanny pack. I jerked my chair to the side so he couldn't cut me free.
"Are you for real right now?" he asked.
I locked eyes with him. "Go."
He shook his head. "Your funeral, suicide man."
Oz closed the safe then replaced the painting on the wall. He scooped up the bag full of money and tossed it up into the ceiling. He must've found a stable place to cross, hidden within the drop ceiling. I scolded myself for not thinking of the same thing. Oz stepped on top of the desk and jumped up to the opening. He easily pulled himself into the hole, then stuck his head back down.
"Legit?" he asked. "You really want me to leave you behind?"
"Go. And don't do something this stupid again."
He huffed, then slid the panel back into place.
I could barely hear him sliding across the metal beams above me. If my hearing wasn't so sensitive, I wouldn't have heard a thing. I could see how he got the nickname The Eel.
Two hours passed. It was hard sitting here knowing I could break free at any moment, but instead had to remain seated until the right moment presented itself. I needed to know as much as I could about their operation. Maybe it would lead me to others I didn't already know about.
For the last year I had been tracking Victor's movements, learning all I could about his network. It would become important for when I ultimately took him down. Roman didn't mind me doing this. In fact, he once had me call the police on a couple of locations just to see what they would do. He was always hopeful they would do the right thing. At one location they arrested several people, but at another, the police peeked inside the small home where they were laundering money and left. They were never consistent.
While I waited, bound to my chair, a few groups of people had come in and out of the warehouse with few words spoken between them. They were here for rhino dust and nothing more. The last group arrived not more than twenty minutes ago and had by far the most people. I had heard a garage door open and a large truck pull up. This must be the delivery Tom had spoken about.
The door to the office opened and Lolla walked in, her fingertips trailing across the wall seductively. "I'm taking off for the night, but I just wanted to get one last look in case I never see you again."
She stepped close to me and leaned down, her lips brushing the flesh on my neck. In my ear, she whispered, "We could have a lot of fun together, you and I. You're young. I could show you things—"
"Get lost," I growled.
She froze, her face still close to mine. All of a sudden, she bit the lobe of my ear hard.
"Prick," she said and straightened. On her way out the door, she added, "I hope you die."
I closed my eyes and flexed my muscles. It was harder than ever not to break the restraints to wipe her saliva from my ear. I could feel it slowly drying on my skin.
Soon after, Tom came into the office leaving the door open. There were at least three other men in the great room behind him and it had been filled with barrels. The silver baggies on the tables were gone.
"Now to deal with you," Tom said. He bent down and hooked a knife through the zip ties holding my ankles to the chair legs. My hands remained tied together. "Follow me."
"I didn't mean to cause any trouble, " I said. "I really thought you said to come tonight."
"I may drink a lot, but I always know what I'm saying, and I didn't say to come here."
I followed him into the large room. The garage door was closed and most of the people had left, except for the three men I had already spotted. TJ was one of them.
"Stand on the plastic," Tom ordered.
I glanced down. A square plastic sheet had been laid out. I did as he asked.
"You don't look scared," TJ said. "Why is that?"
"Because I didn't do anything wrong," I answered. "Plus, you can't just kill people."
Tom closed the distance between us and pointed a gun at my head. "Of course we can."
He turned the weapon toward the ceiling and pulled the trigger as if to prove his point. Someone screamed, and it wasn't me. Tom frowned and looked around the room. His gaze, along with mine, slowly went to the ceiling.
"I think we have a rat," Tom said. He grabbed a broom leaning against a nearby wall and walked to the center of the room near one of the tables. With two hands he shoved upward into a ceiling panel.
A body came crashing down, making my gut sink. Oz moaned and looked up, saw all the guns, then dropped his head sighing loudly. "F me."
I groaned in frustration. If Tom didn't kill Oz, I might do it myself. Having him here just co
mplicated things.
"Who the hell is this guy?" Tom asked, his brows drawn together. He turned to me. "Is he with you?"
"Never seen him before."
"Stand up," Tom ordered Oz.
Oz slowly came to his feet brushing himself off. "I'd apologize about breaking the ceiling, but I'm not the one who rammed it. Someone's going to have to pay for that."
"Shut up," Tom snapped. "Who are you?"
"Just a kid at the wrong place and the wrong time."
"You've got that right." Tom pointed the weapon at Oz. "Come stand on the plastic."
Oz shook his head. "I'm allergic to plastic. It gives me this nasty rash—"
"Fine," Tom's finger moved to the trigger.
I lunged for him while I broke the ties around my wrists. With my right hand, I jerked and twisted the gun upward, while my left hand punched at Tom's elbow. The sound of his arm breaking echoed in the great room.
Oz dropped to the floor and scurried beneath a table in the corner.
Before TJ could get a shot off on me, I kicked at a table between us. It crashed into him and knocked him into the wall behind him.
One of the other two men fired, but I ducked and sprinted at him, darting to the side every time he fired. At the same time, I pointed the gun still in my hand at the last man who had also begun firing. I pulled the trigger, hitting him in the kneecap.
I leapt into the air and smashed my closed fist into the other gunman's face knocking him out cold. I turned around. Tom was sliding back toward his office while holding his arm protectively. I walked over to him and kneed him in the head. He fell over unconscious.
Now for the other two. I crossed the room. TJ was slouched against the wall, a red spot on the concrete behind him where he had hit his head. He breathed steadily. The fourth man was moaning about his kneecap, but when he saw me coming, he reached for his gun. I shook my head, and he withdrew his hand and backed away.
I kicked the gun across the room and said to him, "If you hold real still, I won't have to hurt you more. Can you do that?"
He nodded, his shaggy red hair flopping in his face.
"What's your name?" I asked him.