Brink of Extinction | Book 1 | Sudden Impact

by Shupert, Derek

  Juan threw up his hands. “Can’t be too careful. Lots of snakes in the grass. Just being cautious is all. I’m sure you understand, Cory.”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  Juan retreated into the depths of the darkness, moving away from the opening of the door and light.

  The gatekeeper took a small step back, giving us space to pass by him. He stared at me with an uninviting scowl as I strolled past him. Anna received a bit warmer welcome.

  Anna flanked me as we filed inside the dark building. What light shone through the opening was soon severed by the door slamming shut.

  The deadbolt engaged.

  Gatekeeper’s wide, bulky frame turned about face, and he planted himself in front of the door.

  Lights overhead flickered. The bulbs hummed as electricity fed each fixture. A dull, yellow hue shone from the dirt-covered rounded ends–erasing the dimness.

  Juan pointed to the flickering bulb just above his head. “It’s been doing that off and on for a bit now. I guess they’re working on trying to get things back up and running. That, or it’s just a fluke.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that lasting. I haven’t seen any places with power since the tsunami and earthquake. Enjoy it while it lasts,” I said with a halfhearted tone.

  Juan led us down a long stretch of hallway to a set of double doors that opened up to a cavernous shop area.

  Natural light shone through the windows that ran along the walls near the ceilings of the building. Portable lights were stationed at various points around the shop. The smell of diesel permeated the air. The thrumming of backup generators caught my ear.

  “No rest for the wicked, huh?” I asked in a joking manner.

  The floor was stocked with a variety of exotic cars. Every square inch of the space was taken by a sleek, expensive vehicle, and a surgeon to do his worst.

  Juan turned and presented the chop shop as if he worked on a game show. “When opportunity knocks, you answer the door. You know how Mr. Compos is. He’s always on the lookout for the next score or deal. Recent events have proven to be lucrative. You remember those days when you helped us gain footing in this city, don’t you, Cory? You were a big asset to the organization.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, then looked to Anna who stood next to me.

  She glanced up with an unsettling expression on her sweaty and dirty face. Her wide eyes glared at me. Anna gulped but didn’t say a word.

  I looked away and cleared my throat.

  “That was a long time ago. I’m not much into that sort of work anymore.” I skimmed over the shop, trying to spot where Andrès was. “Where’s the big man? I need to speak with him about some business.”

  Juan waved his hand as I continued scouring the shop. “Don’t bother. He isn’t here. I’ve taken over a large chunk of his day-to-day operations.”

  “Oh really?” I asked in surprise. “Last I remember, he was always so hands on with the business.”

  Juan adjusted his expensive looking blazer. A smug smile slit across his face as he ran his hand through his hair. “He decided to promote me to his right-hand man. I handled business as a foot soldier, and he took notice. Now, I’m running the show out here on the streets.”

  I tilted my head. “So, you’re able to handle business on behalf of him, then?”

  “In most cases, yes, I would,” Juan answered. “But, seeing as it’s The Cory Lawson, Mr. Compos will want to handle any business you have with him personally.”

  The smile on Juan’s face didn’t fade as he stared at me. It made me wonder what the smug look was for and more so, what it meant.

  “All right. Is he still at the same place, or has he moved up with all this good fortune that has rained down upon him?” I asked.

  Juan confirmed with a tilt of his head. “He is. There’s been some expansion and such, but it’s still the same spot you remember.”

  “Great.” I glanced about the shop at the armed men patrolling with their assault rifles clutched and ready, then held my hand out toward Juan. “Well, you look like you’re pretty busy here, so if I can get my piece back, we will be on our way.”

  Juan glanced down to my palm, then looked back up to me. “Actually, we’ll drive you over there. You did say you were in a hurry and didn’t have much time, right?”

  Footfalls approached me from behind. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My fingers twitched and wanted to ball into a fist, but I refrained.

  I locked eyes with Juan, who just smirked at me. “It’s not that pressing, really. We can handle getting over there on our own. I would hate to be an imposition on you.”

  The footsteps crept closer, and the unsettling feeling of a person so close ran all over me.

  “I appreciate that, Cory, but I must insist,” Juan said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CORY

  The henchmen flanking Anna and me grabbed us by the shoulders. I flinched. Anna screeched, then jerked her shoulder away from the armed men.

  Juan snapped his fingers, then turned on the heels of his black shinny dress shoes.

  The goons pushed us forward. Their taut grips released our arms. The barrels of their AK’s pressed into the small of our backs as we followed Juan through the chop shop.

  “You’re not liked anywhere you go, are you?” Anna whispered. “If these sorts of people are what you consider friends, I’d hate to see how you’re treated when someone hates you.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I was just as bewildered as Anna. The last contact I’d had with Andrès ended on good terms, or so I thought.

  The mechanics and other armed men looked our way as we passed by. Anna kept her head pointed at the ground, and didn’t give them a second look.

  I focused on Juan who led us through the maze of expensive cars to a black Suburban that was parked near the entrance.

  His goons stayed on our heels, and kept us in line. They offered a nudge in our backs with their assault rifles to discourage any sort of heroic act.

  Juan opened the back-passenger side door, then turned to face us. He pointed at Anna. “Please. Get in the far-rear seat.”

  He pulled the seat forward, allowing Anna to thread her frame through the gap. One of the smaller, less rounded gunmen trailed her into the back of the Suburban, and sat next to her.

  The interior light lit up a fraction of her worried face as she stared at me. I was concerned as well, but held out hope that this was nothing more than a dog and pony show. A display of power.

  The door on the far side of the SUV opened as Juan pushed the seat back into place. A heavier set, bald, Hispanic man climbed into the backseat.

  I removed the rucksack from my shoulders and got inside. I slid across the leather seat until I was next to the burly man. He placed the AK between his legs with the buttstock against the floorboard.

  Juan whistled, then twiddled his fingers in the air. Another stocky Hispanic man hopped up into the vehicle and filled the space next to me.

  An angular man approached Juan. He had a silver-plated Glock stuffed into the front of his jeans. An expensive Rolex shifted about on his wrist as he placed his hands on his hips

  Juan leaned in close and spoke into his ear. The man’s thick, black mustache shifted from side to side. He removed his hands from his hips, then folded them across his chest as he listened.

  Juan pointed to the vast sea of cars, then nodded in our direction.

  The man shot me a glance, then looked in the far backseat at Anna. He tilted his head, then stepped away.

  Juan slammed the door shut. He climbed into the front passenger seat, and spoke Spanish to the driver. I didn’t understand a word.

  The driver started the Suburban. A low dinging noise filled the cab. The dash lit up. Spanish music played from the speakers.

  The driver waved his hand from side to side at the men standing near the large overhead door. He rolled his window down and yelled out something in Spanish.

  The overhead
door was hoisted up by a chain far enough for us to slip through.

  Juan lounged in the passenger seat without a care in the world. He turned to the side, and peered back at me with a smug grin.

  I wanted to smack it off his face. It was grating on my last good nerve.

  Sunlight drove the dimness away, illuminating the small patch of shop in front of the bulky vehicle with its rays. The minions toting their assault rifles waved us on.

  The SUV shifted into gear and pulled out of the shop and onto the deserted street. We blew past the stop sign, then hooked around the curb, heading east down Lincoln Blvd.

  “So, tell me, Cory, what have you been up to all these years?” Juan spoke with his back turned to me.

  “A little of this. A bit of that. Nothing too exciting I’m afraid,” I answered.

  Juan snickered under his breath. “Yeah right. Dull and you don’t mix. Just look at your face. I’d say whatever business you’ve been conducting hasn’t gone your way. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft? I’ve never known you to be a wimp or not to be the go-to man for certain jobs.”

  I peered out of the dark-tinted windows at the businesses and homes we passed. “Well, things change. I’m not the same guy I use to be.”

  Juan laughed. He slapped his leg, then said, “Tell me you’re kidding. No way I’m going to believe that you’ve changed that much.”

  I shrugged. “Believe what you want. It’s true just the same. You’ll find out sooner or later this life has an expiration date, and when you reach it, you’ll be happy to be out of it.”

  Juan shook his head. “Perhaps for you, homey, but I’ll be in this life till I take my last breath. Mr. Compos has been good to me and mine. He rewards loyalty, and I don’t plan on messing up that meal ticket. If you were smart, you would’ve stayed with us back in the day. I guarantee your face wouldn’t look like hamburger helper if you had.”

  I rolled my eyes, finding the comment to be contrary and blown out of portion. Neither Juan or Andrès gave two shits about me. They only cared about my skill set. “Your concern for my well-being is touching.”

  A car rolled past us going in the opposite direction. Juan leaned forward in his plush seat and pointed at the black BMW with his fingers in the shape of a gun.

  “I want that ride,” Juan said to the driver. He turned in his seat, and looked past me to the rear window. “See, Cory. You could have the finer things in life instead of walking around like a perro sin hogar.”

  The driver chuckled along with the three other men keeping us company.

  “You know I don’t speak Spanish. Never have. Never will,” I said, feeling my temperature rising.

  Juan smiled. “It means homeless dog. You remind me of a pit bull that has grown weak. One that might need to be taken out back and put out of his misery.”

  It was an idle threat, but a threat just the same. The words spewed from my lips before I could even think. “Even an older dog can bite. I’d remember that—homey.”

  The chuckling goons fell silent.

  Juan narrowed his gaze at me, then sized me up. His face was void of any smugness as he tilted his head. “Now that’s the Cory I remember. The young, fierce pit bull that didn’t take any shit. You best remember that when talking to Mr. Compos.”

  I hadn’t forgotten.

  Juan faced forward, and settled back into his seat. He didn’t make any further small talk the rest of the way to Andrès’s place.

  I peered over my shoulder at Anna, who sat with her arms between her legs. She looked at me, then glanced out the window.

  We arrived a short while later at Andrès’s house. The flimsy-wire fence he’d once had around the property was replaced by thick-steel bars that stood at least eight feet tall.

  Inside the property, his goons patrolled the grounds and around the sprawling mansion. It had been some time since I’d seen the place last, and it had come a long way.

  The Suburban whipped up the long, winding drive and stopped at the gate. The driver didn’t bother rolling his window down to use the keypad next to the car. A camera mounted on a pole behind the keypad was pointed in our direction.

  A guard stood at the far corner with his AK-47 held against his chest, the aviator sunglasses he wore trained in our direction. He looked inside the SUV, then grabbed the gate, and wheeled it far enough to the side for us to slip through.

  The driver took off and entered the compound.

  Dogs barked in the distance.

  The henchmen patrolling nearby gave the SUV a quick look as we parked near the massive stone garage.

  The driver killed the engine, and pulled the key from the ignition. He slung open his door, and jumped to the ground.

  The rest of the crew followed suit and unloaded from the Suburban. I slid across the seat and got out. I turned, and pulled the seat forward, allowing Anna to exit the rear of the vehicle.

  Juan made his way around the back of the SUV. His armed goons flanked us with their AKs pressed to their chests, fingers resting on the triggers.

  “Come on. The head honcho awaits.” Juan tilted his head at the large stone house.

  Anna stayed by my side as we followed Juan to the rear of the house. His men kept a few paces back, and trailed us up the cobblestone steps to the spacious patio.

  A plethora of lounge furniture sat in nice neat rows. A tiki bar with bright-gleaming lights caught my eye.

  I slung one of the straps of the rucksack over my shoulder, and kept a firm grip on it.

  The massive double doors that led to the interior of the home from the patio opened outward. More gunmen stood at the ready with assault rifles slung across their chests and pistols secured in the waistband of their slacks.

  The smell of rosemary permeated the air, along with a rich tobacco scent that I was more than familiar with. Cubans, if I remembered right.

  The house had undergone a massive renovation. Not even the layout looked familiar from the last time I was here.

  A baritone voice boomed throughout the house, singing at the top of their lungs. Laughter soon followed, then clapping.

  Our shoes squeaked off the shiny-white marble floor as Juan walked past a colossal stone pillar.

  My head turned from side to side, trying to take in everything as fast as I could. I wanted to scope out the exits in case things went south.

  The boisterous laughter increased the closer we got. The cackles of women grew louder as we caught sight of the spacious kitchen that had copious amounts of room to entertain a whole army of folks with ease.

  A long-haired man stood near a vast-white island with his back turned to us. Two half-dressed women fawned over the man as he kissed their necks, and whispered into each of their ears.

  The women stopped their giggles and looked at us.

  The long-haired man paused, then turned to face us. He shooed the women away, and swallowed the remaining dark-tinted liquor that sloshed about in the bottom of his shot glass.

  Juan stood before him with his hands clasped together. He glanced back at me with that same damn smug look.

  “Look who dropped by our chop shop,” Juan said jovially.

  I grabbed the straps of the rucksack a hair tighter as Andrès narrowed his eyes at me.

  He set the empty shot glass down on the countertop. “Cory Lawson. You son of a bitch. It’s been a long time. You have impeccable timing.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SCARFACE

  Getting to Chinatown was easier said than done.

  The military and police presence grew once we got out of the projects. Both worked in tandem to secure the battered city that had suffered onslaughts from the tsunami and earthquake.

  Armored transports parked on the sides of the roads, melding with the slew of police cruisers.

  National Guard troops patrolled the streets, keeping the peace, and helping those in need.

  Traffic wasn’t too heavy. It allowed Jackal and me to navigate the side streets and alleys with relative ease
. There were a few spots of congestion, but we skirted the mess without much impact to our timetable.

  I studied Lawson’s black book some more. It was a wealth of information at our fingertips that proved to be an invaluable resource. I wondered if he even realized it was missing, or what he had lost back in the hotel.

  “We’re here.” Jackal nudged my arm with his elbow.

  I closed the black book, and secured it in my trousers.

  The bright-colored buildings of Chinatown came into view down the street. It looked deserted on the outset with no people walking among the shops and other structures.

  I pointed at an alley that was coming up. “Park in there. We’ll head in on foot.”

  “Copy that.” Jackal worked the brake, slowing us down as he zipped inside the narrow corridor. He drove through the trash-filled passage and stopped the SUV.

  “Do we know where in Chinatown the Wu Ching gang is?” Jackal pulled the Glock from the waistband of his slacks, then ejected the magazine.

  “No. We’ll have to find that out.” I cycled a round into each Glock I had.

  He slapped the magazine back into place, then sighed. “My mag is scraping the bottom of the barrel. I’ve got two rounds left.”

  I glanced at Jackal, then tilted my head at the backseat. “Don’t we still have the bag of goodies back there?”

  Jackal leaned toward me, then reached to the floorboard behind my seat. He felt around. “Damn it. It’s gone. Gold Chain’s crew must’ve swiped it at some point during our shootout.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to make do with what little we have, then.” I nodded to his hip. “Did you not bring your Punisher Throwing Knives?”

  “Lost them back at the hotel when fighting with Lawson. Couldn’t retrieve them before the earthquake hit,” Jackal answered. “Hasn’t been too much of an issue since we’ve had all this hardware at our disposal.”

  “It’ll be fine. This isn’t the worst situation we’ve walked into without being armed to the gills.”

  “That’s true.”

  I opened my door, and jumped to the ground. Jackal climbed out of the driver’s side, and slammed his door. We met at the rear of the SUV.