“Up there? Where does that go?”
Mauricio gestured with a silenced pistol. “Fire escape, maybe?”
“Jesus,” Ash whispered, transfixed by the gun. “Where did you get that?”
“Long story. You want it?” Mauricio held it out to him by the barrel.
“You keep it,” Ash said. “I don’t want to shoot anybody.”
“Me either.” With some effort, Mauricio tucked it into his belt. “You ready?”
Ash nodded. “I’ll go up first. You cover me.”
Mauricio watched him climb. “What does that even mean, ‘cover me’?”
“Just come on.” Ash climbed the ladder hand over hand, as fast as he could. If he was going to make himself a target, he wanted to move fast. The ladder ended in a platform ringed by a metal railing, a couple of yards away from the wall.
Oddly, a stained white door was set deep into the wall next to him, but nothing connected to it. It was just built into the blank expanse of the wall, as if someone had forgotten to put in a floor.
Mauricio climbed up the ladder and squeezed onto the platform beside Ash. “What, there isn’t like a bridge or something?”
Ash stepped up onto the lower rung of the metal railing and leaned out as far as he could. His hands stretched toward the door knob, but he couldn’t quite reach. “Grab my belt!”
“This is a truly bad idea,” Mauricio said, but he grabbed on.
Ash leaned all the way out, trusting Mauricio to keep him balanced. He didn’t dare look down. The copper-colored door knob was unexpectedly warm beneath his fingertips, its top half grimy with accumulated grit. He couldn’t quite get a grip on it. His fingers slipped off.
“Hold on tight!” Ash said, leaning out further. His boots slipped on the railing.
“Ash! Here they come!”
He looked over his shoulder. Fifty feet away, a pair of FBI agents climbed up onto another platform, silhouetted against a grid of windows. They headed toward him.
Grunting, Ash stretched his shaking fingers as far as they could go. He unlocked the door, twisted the knob and gave it a shove. Hot sunlight poured in. He breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Federal agents! Stay where you are!”
The shout was loud enough, and commanding enough, that Ash nearly froze to the spot. He forced himself to step down and grab Mauricio. “Go! Jump!”
Mauricio climbed up onto the railing and balanced there, one hand on the ladder that ran up beside him. For a moment, Ash was afraid he would stay there, frozen in fear. But then Mauricio leaped, arms outstretched. Ash’s heart seemed to stop for the endless moment it took Mauricio to crash through the door and fall into the blazing sunlight beyond.
“Hold it!” a voice shouted.
Ash followed Mauricio’s lead, stepping up onto the railing and jumping for all he was worth. He grazed the open door with his arm as he tumbled past it. Behind him, someone opened fire. Bullets whistled around him and punched through the wooden door. Splinters erupted into the air.
Ash scrambled up on his hands and knees on hot gravel beneath an open sky. Sunlight burned his eyes. Mauricio grabbed his arm and guided him away from the doorway. They scrambled to their feet and ran across the roof, between the aluminum globes of old ventilation fans, motionless blades shining white in the hot sun. The smelly tar roof beneath Ash’s boots crunched with loose gravel.
Mauricio cradled his gauze-wrapped arm. Trails of loose duct tape from his wrists flapped in the breeze. “Andres was right,” he panted.
Ash caught up to him, squinting against the glare. “Right about what?”
“They’ll shoot us, no questions asked.” Mauricio skidded to a stop at the edge of the gravel, where it turned into a downward slope of riveted sheet metal. It ended in empty air three stories above the blacktop.
“No fire escape,” Ash said, panting.
“Well, thank you for pointing out the obvious.”
“Hey.” Ash made a circle with his finger, encompassing their surroundings. “This was your idea.”
Mauricio set off along the edge of the gravel. “Never mind. We’ve got to find a way down.”
“Yeah. Before they find a way up.” The sound of distant gunfire echoed from somewhere inside the building. Ash listened hard, trying to place it.
With a scrape of gravel, Mauricio slipped.
Ash was too far away to catch him as he fell. Mauricio slid down the metal slope, yelling all the way, his hands and feet flailing. He vanished over the edge.
“Mauricio!” Ash started after him, but his boots lost traction the moment they touched the metal. Ash went down hard. He flipped over onto his stomach and grabbed the edge of a vent before he, too, slid down. The hot metal burned his palms as he pulled himself back up onto the gravel.
“Ash!” Mauricio’s panicked voice filtered up from below. “I’m snagged! Help!”
Ash ran along the edge of the roof, looking for a ladder, a cable, anything. The roof made a right-angle turn and then abruptly ended. There was nowhere for him to go, no way to climb down. The brick wall was a sheer drop-off below, pitted by the elements and streaked with bird droppings. He ran out onto an L-shaped part of the roof that stuck out at a right angle over the corner of the building.
Mauricio dangled at the edge of the roof, high above the alley between this building and the next. The strips of duct tape wrapped around his wrist had tangled into a thick knot and caught on a rivet, leaving him swinging in the air.
Ash fought down a rising tide of panic. There was nothing beneath Mauricio’s kicking feet except three stories of emptiness and then the debris-strewn black top.
Near Mauricio, a pair of thick pipes, wide enough to swallow a person, ran down the side of the building. Their tan paint had flaked off long ago, revealing an expanse of red rust. The pipes stretched all the way down past three stories of broken windows, then disappeared behind stacks of weathered wooden pallets.
Ash cupped his hands around his mouth. “Mauricio!” He pointed. “Grab on to the pipe!”
Mauricio strained to reach, his fingers clawing at the air. He was only a few feet away from the nearer pipe, but it wasn’t close enough. “I can’t reach!”
Ash swore. “Just hang on!”
“To what?”
Ash paced back and forth on the edge of the roof, racking his brain. There was nothing here for him to use. No ladders, no loose two-by-fours, not even a scrap of wire.
On the other side of Mauricio, one floor lower, the rectangular column of an air duct jutted out of the wall and ran down the side. Each section of air duct had an X-shaped impression, and bands of rust fringed the seams. The duct looked big enough to hold him, if he could just get to it.
Ash eyed the distance between Mauricio and the duct, trying to gauge it as best he could. He backed away from the edge.
The tape around Mauricio’s wrist started to fray. Ash’s blood ran cold as he watched it stretch thinner, strands snapping one after another, letting Mauricio sink inch by inch.
“Ash!”
Ash didn’t give himself time to think. He sprinted for the edge of the roof, fists pumping, building up speed in the short distance he had. He hit the edge and leaped.
Chapter Sixteen
Feds
The empty air surrounded Ash like an invisible beast, its hot breath blowing up at him as he fell. His arms and legs churned in the emptiness. His stomach clenched with animal panic.
Dangling from the duct tape, Mauricio stared, slack-jawed. Ash plowed into him head-first, arms grabbing Mauricio’s waist. The momentum hurled them in a downward arc, landing on top of the vent shaft with a sharp crash. Its rectangular top was no bigger than a coffin, attached to a vertical shaft that ran straight down the side of the building, like a towering letter T.
On impact, the metal caved in under their weight. The breath exploded out of Ash. He tumbled over Mauricio and dropped over the far side of the duct. He grabbed onto the crumpled metal edge with both hands,
his fingernails fighting to catch the rusted seam in the metal.
The air duct sang a chorus of creaks and pops. Mauricio, hyperventilating, flattened himself against the brick wall. He clawed his fingers into the cracked mortar between the bricks.
“Little help,” Ash croaked out. He made the mistake of looking down at the dirty asphalt and stacks of wooden pallets below, still two stories beneath his feet. Every instinct screamed at him to get back on solid ground.
His legs kicked in the empty air. The duct groaned.
Sweating, Mauricio kept his back against the brick wall, slid down and grabbed onto Ash with one hand. He got a grip and pulled. Ash heard the fabric of his shirt tearing.
“I got you,” Mauricio said through gritted teeth.
“You sure?”
Without warning, the air duct jerked, scraping against the bricks. Mauricio let go of Ash and clawed at the wall, trying to hold on, but it was no good. With a screech, the duct broke loose.
Like a felled tree, the T-shape of ductwork toppled over, dumping Ash down hard on top of a stack of weather-beaten wood pallets. The metal duct trapped his ankle against the wood. Ash twisted his leg free just as Mauricio tumbled down past him. Ash reached for him and missed.
The stack of pallets tipped over, then broke loose. The pallets slid over each other like a landslide. A few tumbled end over end, slamming into Ash, bruising his shoulders, his ribs. He stubbornly held on, rough wood digging into his palms.
When the noise and motion finally died down, Ash held on tight, eyes closed, expecting everything to give way again. His feet kicked, finding nothing to push against.
“Ow,” Mauricio said nearby.
“You okay?” Ash called, his voice shaky.
“Yeah. Um, I think you can let go now.”
Carefully, Ash peered down over his shoulder. The asphalt was only inches beneath his heels. Mauricio stood next to him, covered in dirt, his hair scrambled up to truly impressive volume.
“Oh.” Ash let go, dropping to the pavement. More pallets slid off the pile and toppled around him, cracking against the hardtop.
“FBI!” someone yelled from above. Two figures in vests and helmets sprinted along the edge of the roof. In the distance, Moolah barked.
Turning around to orient himself, Ash stumbled. Mauricio caught his arm.
Ash pointed in the direction of the Galaxie. “Come on!”
Together, they sprinted around the corner of the building. The Galaxie sat parked in the sun. Moolah hung his head out the window, watching for them, tongue lolling. Ash had never been so glad to see that mutt.
He opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. Mauricio climbed in next to him. For once, the Galaxie started on the first try. Ash put it in reverse and whipped the car around.
Mauricio scowled at him across the huge black bench seat. “You made me sell my car for this?”
Ash held up a finger. “One thing at a time.”
A blur of black and gold roared past. Ash caught a glimpse of Andres at the wheel of his Trans Am. Tires shrieked as Andres braked. The Trans Am’s tail lights glowed in the shadow of the building.
Mauricio ducked down. “Go, go!”
Ash nailed the gas and spun the huge steering wheel, heading the opposite direction from Andres. The tight walls of the alley closed in, a blur of stained brick and broken windows. It opened into a vast empty yard, expanses of gray concrete showing beneath drifts of dirty sand and random junk.
Ahead, the yard ended at a tall chain-link fence that bordered the railroad. Two orange-and-brown locomotives thrummed past, nose to tail, towing a train of coal cars that stretched back to the horizon. On the right, the factory buildings rose up like an endless wall of bricks and glass. To the left, in the distance, the yard stretched all the way to an electric gate that closed off any chance of exit. Beyond the gate sretched an empty access road that led to a construction site of half-finished condos, bustling with activity.
“We’re trapped,” Mauricio said. “The only way out is the front gate. And the Feds have got to have that covered.”
Ash squinted at the electric gate. It was the only other way out of this factory complex and back into the city. He turned toward it and hit the gas.
As he raced toward the gate, flashing red and blue lights appeared among the half-finished buildings of the construction site beyond. A trio of gray SUVs bounded through the dirt lot across the street, slewing around yellow bulldozers and backhoes. Men in hardhats and orange vests scattered.
A flash of cold adrenaline shot through Ash as he realized the FBI trucks could reach the other side of the gate before he did. They’d cut him off.
Mauricio pointed, eyes wide. “Why don’t we just surrender to them?”
“Are you crazy?” Ash said. “They think we’re with Andres!”
“Maybe if we just stop and explain--”
“You’re his nephew. Apparently. How are you going to explain that?”
The Trans Am shot out from the alley behind them like a black arrow. Seconds later, it pulled up alongside Ash. Salvador leaned out the passenger window with his assault weapon.
“Down!” Ash yelled, ducking in the seat. In the same movement, he pushed Mauricio down next to him.
Salvador opened fire, but not at the Galaxie. Ahead, sparks cascaded out of the control box next to the gate, followed by a burst of smoke. The gate rumbled open, clearing the way to the empty side street that divided the factory from the construction site. The Trans Am’s engine jumped up in pitch, and the black car shot ahead.
Andres reached the gate just before the FBI did. He burst through and slid in a wide arc, tires smoking as they left black claw marks on the pavement. He streaked away down the side street.
The lead SUV turned to follow, too tightly. It lurched and wobbled on two wheels, then tipped over. It skidded across the road into the curb and turned onto its roof.
The next SUV made the turn and lumbered after the Trans Am, disappearing around the corner of the building. The last one drove right into the open gateway and stopped, filling up the gate opening, blocking the way.
Ash pumped the brakes, struggling to bring the Galaxie to a controlled stop on the sandy lot. They slid, angling in, finally coming to a halt just a few feet from the SUV’s front bumper. A cloud of dust from his tires drifted across the gate, making the SUV fade away like a ghost.
“Ash!” Cleo yelled.
He spotted her running along the outside of the chain link fence. She stopped at the gate, her gun in one hand, her other hand clinging to the fence. “Ash,” she called to him, “don’t run!”
At that moment, Ash had never felt so dumb. So used.
So blind to the obvious.
“Shit,” Mauricio breathed. “She’s FBI.”
Chapter Seventeen
Fugitives
Cleo watched, stunned, as Ash whipped out a silenced pistol and shot out both of the SUV’s front tires. The agents inside the vehicle tried to get out to return fire, but the driver had stopped with the doors between the gate posts, making them impossible to open. By the time they buzzed down the windows and leaned out, Ash had already turned the Galaxie around and high-tailed it in the opposite direction.
She had to get to him before he made this any worse.
Pistol in hand, Cleo raced back around the end of the long building, stumbling on a rusted pipe. Thigh-high weeds grew up through the long cracks in the pavement, forming random hedges that plucked at her legs.
She pounded down the length of the red brick wall, past towering pipelines and electrical conduits. Skidding around the other corner, she caught a glimpse of the Galaxie as Mauricio awkwardly leaned out and shot the padlock off of a side gate, where the abandoned factory’s lot adjoined a bus depot.
The last Cleo saw of the Galaxie was a streak of bright red slipping away between rows of white and blue buses.
She sagged against the pitted brick wall, feeling all of the energy drain out of her, replaced wit
h the seeping heat from the bricks. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, breathing through her nose, letting the sun beat down on her face.
When she’d seen Andres drive off, she wanted more than anything to reach out and somehow grab him with her bare hands. She wanted to hurt him for the hole he’d torn in her life. Make him pay for her father’s death. But he’d slipped away like a wisp of smoke.
Now, Ash and Mauricio were gone, too.
Her phone rang. That would be Snyder, wanting to make her feel like possibly the world’s most incompetent agent. Soon to be former agent.
But the phone showed Graves’s name. That surprised her. She answered it. “Yeah.”
“Hey.” Wind blew on his end of the phone, along with the squawk of a police radio somewhere in the distance. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Wonderful.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the tension headache creeping up her skull. “What’s up?”
“That victim you brought in from the apartment shooting?” Graves said. “Not so much as a moving violation. He’s squeaky clean.”
“Huh. That’s interesting. What about his friends?”
“Well, that’s another story. Both of them had long lists of priors.” Graves paused a moment, clearly thinking something over. “But I don’t get that sense of wrong place, wrong time. I think the victims all knew each other pretty well. So your victim, I believe, is good at never getting caught. Or someone else is covering for him.”
“Could be. It’d be nice if we had someone to talk to.”
“We do. He’s awake now,” Graves said. “His real name is Demetrius Tripp. He goes by DMT.”
“DMT,” Cleo repeated, thinking hard. “I don’t recognize it. You going to go talk to him?”
“That’s the thing. I’d love to, but I’m caught up in the mountains right now. Not too far from your Mom’s house.”
A bad feeling settled in the pit of Cleo’s stomach. “Caught up in what?”
The Spider Thief Page 10