A high-pitched horn in the distance pierced the chilly night. Ryatt darted a look out of the alley. On his right was a railroad crossing. The bells rang, lights flashed, and the arms lowered.
Ryatt turned left. Their quarry usually drove through Tyler Street and merged with Livernois Avenue at the crossroads, twenty yards from where Ryatt and Leo had holed up.
Shit. The truck was always punctual, but today, of all days, it was late. Roman said valuable merchandise would be transported only once every semester; today was one such occasion. What if MacSharp took extra precautions by sending along a convoy? Ryatt and Leo could try to take them out, but if the timing wasn’t right, there was nothing anybody could do.
The train’s horn blared when it slowed and passed the crossing. As it choo-chooed away, the vibration reached Ryatt’s feet and its rhythmic pounding on the road brought to his mind the hooves of horses.
The truck should turn into Livernois Avenue within the next minute if the plan was to work smoothly.
And it didn’t.
Ryatt grabbed the mask; no use in wearing it now.
As he exited the alley, harsh light blinded him momentarily and then bounced off the crossbuck beside him. He looked left, opposite the crossbuck, and found that a pair of headlamps had turned onto the road.
The vehicle was a hybrid of a truck and a van, similar to a cash truck. Except there was no cash inside but costly weapons.
Heart pumping with glee and a sudden gush of blood, he scampered back into the alley and donned the mask once again.
With a glance, he could see that the last compartment of the train had crossed and the metal wheels rolled along into blackness. A deafening silence filled the atmosphere.
Shit, shit, shit.
Ryatt pressed his back against the damp wall. Once the truck passed him, it slowed for the speed bump ahead at the level crossing. Ryatt crouched and jogged towards it. But Leo, being the rabid dog that he was, took off before it passed him. The driver spotted a masked kid running towards the truck, and his mind worked at lightning speed. He swerved left and slammed Leo. The metal body swiped him square in the face, knocking him out cold. Ryatt yelped when the rear wheel missed Leo’s tiny noggin by inches.
The bells and lights were switched off at the crossing, and the steel poles slowly ascended.
Fuck it.
Ryatt stood straight and broke into a sprint. And the truck accelerated before the gates were even halfway up. The driver must have seen Ryatt, another kid wearing a mask, in the side mirror.
The arms lifted just enough and the truck wedged itself into that space; its top scraped against the metal and sparks flew. In a matter of seconds, Ryatt reached the truck; at the same time, it also freed itself and gained speed.
Now or never.
Ryatt dived and grabbed the safety screen on the passenger side door. One of his feet landed on the running board, while the other missed it, dragging on the road below. Ryatt quickly pulled himself up and latched onto the truck. But he almost let go when he looked inside. The security guard had just removed a pistol from his holster. Luckily, when the guard tried to take aim at Ryatt from his confined space, the side panels didn’t permit it. So he shifted the gun to his left.
Too late.
Ryatt already shot three bullets into the window. The first one punctured the glass, got deflected, and lodged itself in the top board. It was in no way wasted because the second and third passed through the crater the first had created, and hence did not ricochet. They pierced the man’s temple and neck, and his chin slouched onto his chest. The meatbag was fastened to the upholstery by the seat belt, giving Ryatt an unhinged view of the pale driver, who on seeing Ryatt screamed, “Oh my god! You killed Ben.”
Duh.
“Pull over,” Ryatt shouted. “I will kill you too if you don’t.”
“You little…” The driver tried to shake Ryatt off by zigzagging on the road, tires screeching. The oncoming traffic staggered, some careened over into the ditch.
“Goddamn it.” Now they would call the pigs. Ryatt put the gun back in its holster and grabbed the safety screen atop the windshield.
The driver was swerving left to right and vice versa, as vigorously as he could. Ryatt put a foot over the hood and, heaving himself across, pulled himself over it. Now that he was in the front, the driver scrunched and hid his head between his knees. In that position, it was impossible to operate the steering wheel. The truck climbed the curb and hit an alley, bursting open an innocent dumpster loafing there, yawning.
Ryatt was catapulted and landed on the garbage the dumpster had puked. Not wasting time inspecting himself, he sprang up to his feet and pointed the gun at the window.
The driver raised his arms. “Please—”
“Out,” Ryatt ordered.
Having exhausted all his options, the driver obeyed. Arms up in the air, he got down and looked around the mess. Apart from the reek strewn about, the dumpster had also squirted old grease in a wide arc.
What a mess!
Though Ryatt wasn’t hurt, he felt agitated. Iris, Leo, and Thomas were all Ryatt had. What if the truck wheel ran over Leo’s small head? The head Ryatt slapped and rubbed so many times? It would have been burst open, the brain spilling—
No. He wouldn’t allow himself to think anymore. An uncontrollable
