I crept up behind the sap with my weapon cocked just as Poncho lifted his hand to stifle another of those cavernous yawns. One quick chop to the back of the neck along the Vagus nerve and the man fell in a soundless heap. I snatched up the fallen guard’s vintage AK—it brought a nostalgic lurch to my heart—
I frisked the unconscious body, found a key ring, jammed it into the steel door, dragged him in, heels first then closed the door behind me.
The blood pounded in my temples and I forced myself to relax. I looked out upon an unmanned, dimly-lit area. A few fluorescent lights cast a dull glow on a concrete floor that stretched far back to my left, into a haze of darkness and mystery. I paused to orient myself. A loading dock spread down to my left with the usual trappings: a ramp of gridded metal, guide bars and dormant red service light above. Across the way, a gray concrete wall loomed dotted with steel doors to other rooms. I caught the vague forms of forklifts, stacked crates, machine parts and tools spread out along the peripheries. A few weigh scales stood next to a loader.
“Guard down,” I hissed into the com. “Marty, anything?”
“Some rusted out three-wheelers around the back,” Marty replied. “Nothing to brag about. Going to try to juice an air cart I scouted out. Slower than hell, but serviceable. Over.”
“Affirmative. Over.”
Marty seemed to be dicking around. I hoped he was watching for cameras.
I dragged the unconscious guard over to the far wall and tested the steel door. Unlocked. I stuffed him into the small storeroom. He’d be out for a couple of hours at least. Enough time for me to case the joint and snatch any spoils worth snatching. Hopefully a transport van of lucrative stock or contraband in some wing or bay around the sides I could drive out through the loading bay with none the wiser. Risky, and kind of a longshot, but hey, I was groping for anything at this point, and Marty assured me there was stuff here worth stealing.
No one inside; no guards to speak of. I didn’t see any cameras—yet my eye was trained for them. Still, better to err on the side of caution. I thought to flush any other guards out quickly; an old trick I’d learned over the years. Basic but effective. Didn’t want any nasty surprises.
Ducking in the shadows, I gripped the pebble I had snatched earlier. I tossed it lightly over my shoulder while I hid behind a wooden crate. The clinking echo rebounded throughout the loading area. I counted the heartbeats. Nothing. Only the hum of the fluorescent lights that played dim and cold over the bare concrete floor. Okay, that was a positive sign.
I crept out of my hiding place, taking noiseless steps, the guard’s AK trained ahead.
The place was a little too eerie for my tastes. Kind of a grisly vibe, as if it weren’t used much and had bad things happen here, like interrogation under torture. My mind replayed the dark, brown stains on the floor where I’d dumped Poncho. Sure as hell it wasn’t pigs’ blood. This didn’t look like an abattoir or meat packing place to me.
The first creepers of disappointment tugged at my heart. I didn’t see anything here worth stealing, and my doubts grew, realizing the futility of this heist. Perhaps I was expecting too much. I saw the desolate reality of this complex. A bunch of mini forklifts, empty crates on skids materializing in the gloom. The hypnotic buzz of cheap, old, electrical wiring while the stale smell lingered in my nostrils: tar, ancient dust, old engine oil.
I continued my rummaging. More crates filled with standard stuff. Boxes of grenades packed in sawdust, foot mines, circular mine sweepers, mild contraband. Military. But nothing to make any yols from this five and dime trash. The place was veritably empty.
Wtf then? That toad-licking Q give Marty false information? Maybe Marty messed up with the details? No, he was not that incompetent.
A wasted trip unless I could spring something fast. Floors bare and clean enough to eat fried eggs off.
I tapped my earpiece. “Marty, you there?”
Nothing.
“Marty, this place is looking like a dud.”
Where the hell was he? I was getting more pissed by the minute. Risking my neck out in this empty coop. I whispered harshly into the com again. Nothing. I gave another colorful curse. Maybe Marty’d gotten cold feet or bailed. Was he made?
The storehouse branched out in an L-shape, and I stayed close to the rightmost wall. Across the way, I spied an electric flatbed tucked by the wall, one of the old, four-wheel lorries, riding low on its axles with covered canvas stretching over a back bed top. I slunk over. Nothing around in the back. This could come in handy if I found anything interesting, or if Marty didn’t come through with a ride. The driver door was open. I poked my head in and checked the console. Nothing that wasn’t easy enough to hardwire. On a whim, I tried starting it up. Ha! The engine whirred to life.
I shut it down, creeping on back to the rightmost wall like a specter.
A door loomed on my right. Blue plate steel with patches of
