Salvation

by Land, Alexa

  “It won’t be like this much longer.”

  We walked along the bay, watching a cargo ship moving slowly in the distance. After a while he led us to a bench and took both my hands as we sat down. He fought to keep his voice level as he said, his head turned away from me, eyes still on the distant ship, “Everything I’ve been working toward is all coming to a head this weekend. I really don’t know if I can pull it off, or if it’s all going to blow up in my face. In case...well, in case things don’t go as planned, I wanted to ask you to do something for me.”

  “What is it?”

  “No matter what you hear, no matter what other people tell you I did...I want to ask you to please remember that I was only trying to do the right thing, no matter how it might look.”

  I felt like I couldn’t breathe as fear pushed down on my chest. “Do you think there’s a chance you’ll be killed? Is that why you’re telling me this?”

  “I’m going to try so hard to stay safe and come back to you,” he said quietly.

  That only ratcheted up my fear and anxiety. “Vincent, I’m begging you, don’t show up to whatever’s going down this weekend. I know you keep saying you don’t have a choice, but you do. Just don’t go!”

  “If I don’t show up, then people I love will pay the price,” he murmured.

  “Who? Dante? You said before that you were doing this for him and for your family. But Dante wouldn’t want you to die for him, Vincent! He loves you.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. I was just nervous about all of this finally coming together after years of planning. There’s so much that could go wrong....”

  “Then just walk away, Vincent. Whatever this deal is, it isn’t worth your life.”

  “I’m telling you I can’t do that.”

  I pulled my hands from his and stood up. “Ever since I’ve known you, I’ve been sitting idly by while you put yourself in danger, trying to tell myself you have it under control and that it’ll be okay. But now you’re telling me you’re about to intentionally walk into a dangerous situation, and how am I supposed to react to that? I can’t just smile and say, ‘okay, have fun! If you’re not killed, then let’s go out next week!’ I mean, what do you expect me to do here, Vincent?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If the situation were reversed, if you knew I was about to go plunging into a dangerous situation that you knew nothing about, what would you do?”

  Instead of answering that, he said, “Trevor, please don’t be upset. Not now. You’ve been so understanding up to this point, can’t you do that for just a little longer?”

  “This feels different. I can tell you’re scared, and that in turn frightens the hell out of me. The whole situation just feels off, like something really bad is about to happen and you’re not willing to listen to reason.”

  “It’s not a question of listening to you. I have to do this!”

  “Don’t you care about what this is doing to me?”

  He was on his feet now, too. “Of course I care!”

  “Just not enough to actually change your plans.”

  “Shit,” he mumbled, turning from me and pulling his glasses off, then pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he put his glasses back on and started heading toward his apartment.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Walking away before I start yelling at you.”

  “You’re still going through with your plans, aren’t you?” I called after him.

  “I have to!” He didn’t break his stride.

  I just stood there for a few moments, watching him retreat. Then I turned from him and started walking in the opposite direction, deciding that a cooling off period was a really good idea. I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jeans and increased my pace. After a few minutes, I passed the Ferry Building and just kept going, trying to work through my frustration.

  I didn’t know what to say to Vincent and even if I did, I had no idea how to make him listen. He believed he was doing the right thing, he thought he was helping his family. But how? It certainly seemed like the Dombrusos were financially well-off, so it didn’t make sense to assume he was trying to earn money for his family. What else could matter this much? Reputation? Some antiquated sense of honor? Of duty? Would that really be worth risking his life?

  I walked for a long time. My anger and frustration seeped away after a while, and I was just left feeling sad and scared. Eventually I turned and started heading back toward Vincent’s apartment, hoping that by the time I reached it, I would have miraculously come up with the perfect thing to say to convince him not to go through with whatever was brewing this weekend.

  I was too late.

  I’d just rounded the corner onto Vincent’s street when I noticed a big black pickup truck that was rolling past me. Rooster was behind the wheel, with Vincent in the passenger seat. It looked like they were in the midst of a heated discussion, and neither noticed me. “Damn it,” I murmured, watching as the truck reached the Embarcadero and turned right, heading south.

  I pulled out my phone and tapped it on my palm for a few moments, trying to quickly put together a compelling argument as to why he needed to quit what he was doing and come back. As I stood there, I happened to glance up at a charcoal grey BMW that was travelling in the same direction as the truck. When I looked inside the car, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  It was being driven by a big, burly white guy with buzzed off hair and a weird tattoo on his cheek. He was one of the men that Vincent had been running from the day we met, so many weeks ago. Two other men were in the car as well, another huge guy in the passenger seat, a smaller one with mirrored sunglasses in back. I watched as the BMW took the same right turn the truck had taken.

  Vincent was being followed again.

  I fumbled with my phone and speed-dialed his number as I ran to the intersection where they had turned. His phone must have been off, since it went straight to voice mail. I yelled in frustration, then said into the phone, “Vincent, you’re being followed. There’s a dark grey BMW maybe half a block behind you, and I recognized the driver as one of the men that was after you the night you took me on that car chase. I’m really scared. Call me as soon as you get this message, and please be careful!”

  I hung up and craned my neck to look down the Embarcadero, but both vehicles were out of sight, lost in traffic. What if the message didn’t reach him in time and those men caught up to him? I had to do something, I had to help him somehow.

  I started running. It was surprisingly crowded, with people pouring off public transit to join the throngs on the sidewalk. Traffic was stop-and-go, too. I couldn’t figure out why at first, but then I realized there must be a Giants home game tonight, and their stadium was just a few blocks from here. I dialed Vincent’s phone again as I weaved through the crowd, and again it went right to voice mail. All I could think to do was catch up to the truck and warn him in person, which might actually be possible if traffic remained this heavy.

  The sidewalk was totally clogged, and after a minute I ran into the street, hugging the line of parked cars. I was able to speed up a bit, my heart racing in my chest, as much from fear as from exertion. I yelped as I leapt out of the way of an opening car door, which caused a bicyclist to swerve around me and cuss me out. I tried Vincent’s phone one more time and hung up when voice mail engaged yet again.

  Who else could I call? Would anyone actually know where Vincent was going? I knew I was going to lose him the moment traffic picked up a bit, so it would really help to know his destination. For lack of a better idea, I dialed Dmitri’s cellphone.

  He answered on the third ring with a cheerful, “Hey there, Trevor.”

  It was really hard to dodge cars and bicyclists, gasp for air, and carry on a conversation at the same time. I stammered, “Vincent is being followed by a couple dangerous men. I’m pursuing him on foot near the Giants’ stadium, he’s driving south on the Embarcadero. I know this is a stretch, b
ut do you have any idea where he might be headed? That showdown between your uncle and Vincent’s men didn’t coincidentally happen to take place in China Basin, did it?”

  “No, and what you’re doing sounds dangerous! Maybe you should stop and call the police.”

  “And say what? Besides, I’m pretty sure Vincent’s in the middle of something illegal. I just need to catch up to him and warn him about the men that are following him.”

  A car honked at me and I let out a little yell as I bobbed and weaved, narrowly missing the car’s fender. Dmitri exclaimed, “Trevor, if you’re in traffic, get out of the road!”

  “Can’t. Sidewalk’s too crowded, everyone’s headed to a baseball game tonight. Since it’s so congested I might be able to catch Vincent, as long as the traffic doesn’t start moving.” I wove around a bus and said, “Oh hey, I just spotted the BMW up ahead, that’s what the men tailing Vincent are driving. I’m going to take a look at the plate, can you write it down for me?”

  “Yeah, but don’t get too close. They might see you!”

  “They won’t recognize me,” I said. “They never got a look at me the night they were chasing us.”

  “When were they chasing you?”

  “One night when Vincent picked me up after work. It turned into a high-speed car chase all over the city.”

  “I was right all along! Once you’re safe, you’re getting such a lecture about getting involved with Vincent Dombruso!”

  “Fine. Get ready to write that plate down.” I got close enough to make out the letters and said, “It’s a vanity plate. G-R-N-Z-L-6.”

  “Shit.”

  “Do you know who that car belongs to?”

  “Bobby Grenzell. He’s the second-biggest heroin trafficker in the city.”

  “Who’s the first?”

  “Vincent Dombruso.”

  I slowed my pace for a moment, feeling like I’d just been punched in the face. “You’re kidding.”

  “Okay, I don’t actually know that for a fact,” Dmitri said. “If I did, I would have told you a long time ago. But that’s the rumor.”

  “I don’t believe it. Vincent knows better than anyone how damaging heroin is, he wouldn’t be involved in selling or distributing it.”

  “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard, from more than one source. Like I said, it is just a rumor, and I don’t usually pass those along. But it seems like you should have as much information as possible, given what you’re doing right now.”

  A thought occurred to me and I dropped back a bit, ducking behind a minivan. The kids in the back seat waved at me and made faces. “I just realized those men might recognize me after all,” I said. “They must have been staking out Vincent’s apartment, since that’s where they started following him. Maybe they’ve seen me coming and going from there.”

  “Listen to me. There’s only one reason I can think of that Bobby Grenzell would be following Vincent. He’s probably tired of that number two spot, and maybe he’s decided to wipe out the competition. If that’s the case, then you could be right in the middle of a major turf war, and it’s going to get bloody.”

  “All the more reason to catch up to Vincent and warn him.”

  “No! Trevor, you need to stop and call the police, let them handle it. Sure, that might end up with Vincent getting arrested, but at least he’ll still be alive. Grenzell’s not the negotiating type, he’ll probably go in shooting.”

  That was so horrifying that my brain latched on to a minor detail instead of the overwhelming bigger picture. “Why would a drug lord have a personalized license plate? Then the police would know right where to find him.”

  “The police always know right where to find him. Grenzell owns a high-profile auto dealership in town. He’s really arrogant and thinks law enforcement is too stupid to tie him to the heroin trade.”

  “Well, he sounds awesome,” I murmured. “Crap, the BMW is turning off the Embarcadero. I hope they don’t speed up.” Traffic on the side street was almost as jammed as the main thoroughfare, though. I tried to blend in on the somewhat less crowded sidewalk, keeping Grenzell’s car in sight.

  “Jamie and I are on our way down there,” Dmitri told me. “If they reach their destination, don’t confront Grenzell or his men.”

  “Why are you on your way?”

  “Because you shouldn’t be doing this alone,” he said. “What street are you on now?”

  “Townsend.”

  “Stay on the phone, Trevor, and let me know when they turn again.”

  “Okay.” It was a few minutes before I announced, “They’re turning left on 4th.” After another pause I said, “We’re crossing a canal now. I really hope they arrive soon, my heart’s about to explode.”

  There was a lot less foot traffic now that we were past the stadium, so I hung back a good half-block. I’d been lucky so far, it didn’t appear that I’d been spotted. When they reached the water’s edge, Grenzell and his men parked and got out of the car. I slowed to a walk, gasping for breath and mopping my forehead with my arm, and watched as they crossed the street and approached a small, abandoned-looking factory. They tried the door, then appeared to pick the lock before slipping inside. I spotted Rooster’s truck parked to the left of the building.

  I recited the address, then told Dmitri, “I’m going inside. I’ll need to be quiet, so I’m shutting off my phone. Obviously if you get here, don’t come barreling inside. It might not be safe.” I could hear him protesting before I turned off the phone and slipped it in the pocket of my jeans.

  I tried the door when I reached the factory. Grenzell had left it unlocked, so I slipped inside as quietly as I could. There were raised voices directly ahead of me, through a door past the reception area. The doorway was flanked with staircases to either side. I randomly took the staircase to my left. There was a door at the top with a window in it. I peeked through the window and didn’t see anyone, so I pushed the door open slowly and crept through, then eased it back into place behind me.

  The second-story gallery encircled the open factory floor below. I could hear the conversation clearly now, a heated argument was going on. I stayed in a low crouch, hidden behind the half-wall that ringed the gallery, and scurried over to a wide pillar. Only then did I straighten up and peer cautiously over the railing, using the pillar as cover.

  Eight men stood in the center of the factory floor, including Vincent, Rooster and a tall, African American guy in a baseball cap. Shockingly, Bo Millen, my cousin’s moronic baby daddy, was with them. What on earth was he doing here?

  Two men in dark suits stood between that group and the newcomers, looking extremely agitated. The man I assumed was Grenzell and the big, gold chain-wearing guy who’d been in the passenger seat of the BMW were arguing with Vincent and Rooster. But where was their driver?

  I spotted the guy with the buzz cut and face tatt a moment later. He was maybe twenty-five feet from me on the opposite side of the second-floor gallery, gun drawn, trying to stay out of sight by hanging back against the wall. That wasn’t good.

  I ducked down and searched for something to use as a weapon. There were a few boxes lining the wall, and I lifted a flap to reveal a bunch of small cans without labels. They looked like tuna or cat food, or something along those lines. Okay, not the most helpful thing ever.

  The situation downstairs was still escalating, their voices increasing in volume. I peered over the half-wall again. Bo Millen had gotten into the yelling match, and it appeared that Vincent was trying to talk him down. Bo was wearing a big leather jacket, and reached inside it. As soon as he did that, everyone on the factory floor drew their guns, and Grenzell shot Bo Millen in the shoulder. Bo yelped and dropped to his knees as he pulled his hand out of his jacket. He was holding a big blade. Oh man. He was literally dumb enough to bring a knife to a gun fight.

  There was a lot of yelling and general chaos going on down below. The guy with the facial tattoo raised his gun and lined up his shot. I couldn’t quite tell
if Vincent or Rooster was in his line of sight, and I was pretty sure they didn’t know he was up in the gallery.

  Reacting quickly, I scooped up an armload of cans and started pitching them wildly at Tatt Face. Just as he was about to fire, a lucky shot caught him right in the jaw. He cried out as his bullet zinged off in a random direction. He looked across the factory and saw me opposite him, his face contorting into a scowl as he raised his gun again and pointed it at me.

  I froze in terror. A shot rang out and I didn’t even have time to react. But in the next moment, Tatt Face was tumbling over the railing. I suddenly realized that he’d been shot by someone on the ground floor. When I peeked over the railing, Vincent and I locked eyes. He looked stunned to see me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grenzell swinging around and pointing his gun at Vincent. I reacted without thinking, pelting Grenzell with the cans I was holding, then reaching for more and throwing those at him, too. He yelled and fired a couple wild shots up at the gallery. I ducked behind the big pillar, pulled the box over to me and gathered up another armload of cans.

  Just then, the door to the factory was kicked open. A dozen men in riot gear flooded into the warehouse, yelling, “S.F.P.D.! Drop your weapons!” I stood up and peered over the half-wall. Vincent and all the men still standing were dropping their weapons, then raising their hands above their heads.

  I was trying to decide what to do when a uniformed police officer appeared on the gallery, pointed a huge gun at me, and yelled, “Police! Drop your weapon!” I dropped the cans and stuck my hands in the air. The officer approached me, looked at the floor, and then at me again with a puzzled expression. “What the hell is that? Cat food?”

  “I think so.”

  He spun me around and frisked me, then snapped a pair of handcuffs on me as he recited my rights. He then led me downstairs and out of the factory with a firm grip on my shoulder. Vincent was being led out in cuffs as well, and as he fell into step beside me he exclaimed, “What are you doing here, Trevor?”