breathing hard, but his eyes were focused. He nodded down.
I’d lead, he’d cover me.
He mouthed age before beauty. I gave him the finger, and slowly crept into the stairwell.
If I remembered correctly, the entrance was three flights below us. But looking down, I saw that the stairwell continued below that one to a basement. Four levels in total.
The noise in the stairwell was deafening, the gunfire echoing all around us. I made my way down the stairs, sensing Curt’s muzzle right above me.
The landing below us was empty. Curt stood one step above me, then flicked the muzzle once. Two more flights.
My heart pounding, the gun shaking ever so slightly in my hands, I moved down to the next level, the third floor. Nobody there. One more to go.
Between the blood roaring in my veins and the deafening noise surrounding us, even if there was someone below us hiding, we wouldn’t know. Only one way to find out.
No time for creeping around. I leaped down the next flight, to the second floor, recognizing the same door they’d brought us through, the same cameras recording everything. Curt stepped onto the landing as well, the rifle still aimed forward. He nodded at the door. I reached for it, turned the knob. Felt it go. One step from freedom.
But then I looked below me, saw the landing of the next floor below us, and knew there was one more thing to do. To know.
Below us, on the basement landing, was a small pile of black rocks. It was Darkness, the drug, the cherry bomb Ramos was using to tear down the city. And I knew what that basement was used for, and that I couldn’t leave without knowing for sure.
I nodded to Curt. He rolled his eyes, said, “Come on.”
And he was on board to see what lay below us. To see what kind of evil Eve Ramos had been waiting to unleash upon this city.
51
The door below us opened with the same combination as Curt’s holding cell. And as soon as that smell hit our nostrils, we knew what we’d found. It was only when we entered the room that we saw the extent of it.
The basement of the warehouse was nearly the length of a football field, and nearly every inch of it was piled high with pills, rocks and powders of different sizes and concentrations. There were bags of powder stacked fifteen feet high, piles of black rocks that you could literally dive into.
I lowered my gun, the blood draining from my face.
“Holy shit,” Curt said beside me. “Are they supplying the whole country?”
“That’s the idea,” I said. “First New York, then anywhere that needs a fix. And I don’t see any mixing agents or supplies here, so my guess is it’s brought in across our borders somehow.
“This is incredible,” I said. “But we can’t let it survive this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Makhoulian,” I said. “Who knows if he’s the only cop in on it? We let this stuff go into evidence, what are the odds it leaks out? Seventy-five? Ninety?”
“So what do we do?” Curt said.
“I don’t know, but this place has to burn.”
As I said that, a hail of gunfire drilled the wall behind us, sending us running for cover. It had come from inside somewhere.
“I know you’re in here, asshole,” the voice yelled. It was Rex Malloy. “Let’s make this easy.”
Another round let loose, this time grinding up a pile of black rocks beside me, the dark soot raining into the air, burning my eyes. I sure as hell hoped Curt was counting this guy’s rounds, too.
Curt was crouched behind a steel beam. He tried to lean out to look, but gunfire drove him back behind it.
Asshole.
Only one asshole. That was my chance. Malloy thought there was only one of us.
I ran around the side of one pile, then crouched down, holding the gun in front of me. I tried to listen for footsteps, but heard nothing. Then more gunfire sounded, aimed at Curt’s hiding spot. It was a matter of seconds before he got close enough to get a good shot.
I rounded the pile, gun outstretched, and saw two boot heels pass me. Rex Malloy. He was closing in on Sheffield.
As he passed, I stepped out behind him and raised my gun to his chest level. As Malloy raised his gun to fire, I could see the side of Curt’s face. And if I could see it,
Malloy could hit it. One shot. That’s all I had.
So I pulled the trigger.
The force of the gunshot drove my hands upward, but
I didn’t stumble. Rex Malloy grunted as he fell forward, his rifle clattering to the floor as he fell. And then he lay there, still.
“Oh my God,” I said, stepping over the body. “Oh my
God. Curt? You there?”
Sheffield came out from behind the beam. “Nice shooting, Tex.”
I looked at him, then felt like I was going to vomit.
Then something stirred, and I felt something crack the side of my head.
I fell down, shook it off, and turned to see Rex Malloy standing up. There was no blood, nothing. Then I saw the hole in his vest. He rapped it once with his knuckle.
“Was a nice shot,” he said. Then as he raised the rifle toward me, a gunshot rang out and Malloy fell to one knee, blood spurting from his leg. Curt ran up to us, aimed at Malloy’s head, but the man struck out lightning quick and knocked the gun from Curt’s hand. Then he punched Curt in the throat.
Sheffield, wheezing, tried to catch his breath, but
Malloy was on top of him. He wrapped his hands around
Curt’s throat and began to squeeze. My head throbbing,
I picked up Malloy’s dropped rifle, ran over, and drilled the butt into Malloy’s head. He went down, but was simply shaken.
As he tried to get up, Curt stomped on Malloy’s hand, a sickening crunch as his fingers broke. Malloy cried out.
Curt placed his knee on Malloy’s left shoulder, pinning him. I ran over and grabbed his other arm, trying to neutralize the man’s strength. Then Curt reached over and grabbed a handful of the black gravel and shoved it into
Malloy’s throat.
The former Special Forces operative hacked and coughed, but Curt drove him backward with a vicious head butt, and I could hear Malloy swallow the rocks.
Then Curt raised his fist and brought it right onto Malloy’s windpipe. Once, twice, until there was another sickening crack as his windpipe broke.
Malloy tried to claw at his throat, but we held him fast. Finally the man stopped struggling, his eyes glazing over. Curt felt the man’s pulse, looked at me, nodded. We were both breathing hard, and the side of my head felt wet.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said.
“Good plan. Come on.”
We ran back to the stairwell and up one flight, bursting through the door into the late-morning sun. The sudden glare caused us to cover our eyes, but when we opened them we saw a phalanx of cops outside the warehouse, guns trained on us.
