Bastard.
We funneled out into the hallway, then slipped past the edge of the door. The rapping of footfalls echoed through the silent, hollow corridor.
Stocky took point, walking with two men ahead of him. The larger brutes flanked us and remained close.
I caught sight of Stocky’s piece holstered on his hip. Anna glanced up at me, then looked to the sidearm. I shook my head, staying the reckless notion.
We passed through a stone archway and up a small flight of stairs. The darkness ceased and gave way to the dull-gray hue of the outside world.
A black Cadillac Escalade sat parked in the drive. The large carport overhead shielded us from the falling ash. The big, expensive SUV idled smoothly and free of any grumbles or faults.
Stocky pointed at the back seat, then moved around the rear of the vehicle to the other side. A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, stopping me. The large brute pushed past me and opened the door. He stepped to the side, then nodded toward the opening.
I climbed inside the SUV and slid across the cold surface of the rich-leather bench seat, stopping next to the goon already seated. Anna climbed in after me and sat down.
The door slammed closed.
I glanced at the burly looking man next to me. His thick, bushy goatee grew wild with wiry strands of red and black hairs. The bags under his eyes sagged with lack of sleep. Still, he looked alert.
His hands rested in his lap, holding the Sig Sauer P320 in his gloved hand. The barrel trained at my side, finger next to the trigger guard.
The two men in the rear seat behind us shifted. The leather stretched. I glanced over my shoulder at them. Both were dressed in all black-tactical garb and wearing dual filter masks. The shadows cast within the SUV and thick plastic of the masks hid their faces. The black tops of their rifles sat visible just above the back of the seat between their legs.
Stocky settled into the front passenger seat and closed his door. The driver shifted into drive and the doors locked, sealing us inside.
The Escalade whipped around the brick driveway, up the slight incline, and out onto the desolate street. Anna kept her elbows pressed to her sides, the palms of her hands resting on the tops of her thighs. She stared out the window at the ash that fell across the city.
Stocky turned in his seat. He looked at me, then over to Anna. “All right. We’re going to park a block or so away from Domingo’s place. You two will exit the vehicle and make contact. Get the package, wrap up the loose ends, then get your asses back to us pronto. If for any reason things go sideways, we’ll provide cover fire. If you try to deviate from this course, run, or anything else, we’ll kill you on site, then the woman and her kid. Are we clear?”
“Yeah. We’re clear,” I replied.
Anna nodded.
“Good.” Stocky faced forward in his seat, then pointed out the windshield.
The driver flew past a slower moving sedan puttering down the street. He whipped around the vehicle, surged ahead, then pulled in front of the smaller light-blue car. We turned down the next street and continued on through the city.
The tips of my fingers rapped against my knees. My mind drifted to my wife, Janet, and our son, Peter, hoping they’d made it to the cabin and were safe. The goon sitting next to me glanced at my hands, then up to me, giving me a wary stare.
We hooked the corner onto Center St., drove a bit further, then pulled down an alleyway. The driver maneuvered past the few parked cars and trash cans that sat in our way. We crept toward the road ahead, then stopped shy of the blind corner. He shifted into park, then killed the engine.
The rear of the Escalade popped open. The two men sitting in the back turned and exited the vehicle. They closed the door, then took positions near the back driver’s side door.
“Remember. No tricks or funny business. We’ll be watching,” Stocky said, facing forward.
The door cracked open next to Anna. Cold wind rushed the cab. Anna flipped her hood up and over her head. She climbed out of the vehicle. I moved across the seat and got out.
Stocky turned with a scowl, pointing at his eyes, then mine.
I slammed the door, severing his malignant gaze. My reflection in the dark-tinted window looked grim from the bruises and cuts that covered my face. I pulled the hood of my coat over my head, then faced Anna.
The two battle ready men pointed at the street, then shoved their tactical rifles into our backs. They herded us like cattle toward the street.
Anna stopped, turned, then bowed her chest at the larger, armed men. I grabbed her arm and kept her moving.
“Save that for later,” I said, glancing down at her. “We need to focus on how we’re going to approach this Domingo character and not get killed in the process.”
“You let me worry about him.” Anna wrenched her arm from my hand. She kept her attention focused at the end of the alley. “His place is a few blocks up and on the right. He owns the entire building and usually has men on the roof. Not sure he will right now with this mess, though.”
The two escorts slowed and backed off as we approached the corner of the brick building, we walked alongside. Their rifles pressed to their chests, hands fixed near the trigger.
Anna skirted past the corner and out onto the sidewalk without breaking her stride. I followed behind, pausing for a moment to scan over the street in both directions for any threats—a habit I couldn’t
