I keep the gun at ready, just to be safe, and rush to the door of the office. Whatever I thought I could handle, I can't quite prepare myself for the sight of Freddy, a chain wrapped around his upper body, covered in blood. His head is tilted back. One eye is barely open.
“Fuck,” I spit thoughtlessly, holstering my pistol and stepping over the lifeless form on the floor. “What the fuck happened here, Freddy?”
I don't expect him to answer. I don't even know why I said it, other than to get a grip on myself. That tremor is returning to my hands at all the red and dirty brown of blood drying on his skin. “Jesus,” I mutter, circling him.
The chain is locked with a Masterlock. Child's play, a joke to anyone who really wants to break it. I can't break it, though, not without hurting him. I kneel and again retrieve my picks. By now, the goons outside are pounding on one of the garage doors. I have to hope they won't get it open. A wrenching sound tells me different.
Just as the lock clicks, the wrenching sound happens again and I hear footsteps. I drop the chain and lock, and lift my gun in time to bury two .40 caliber slugs in the throat of one goon and then three more in his friend. They both drop, twitching, not far from the body of their boss.
Time to go. That many gunshots, even in this neighborhood, are sure to draw attention. I start to uncoil the chain from Freddy's upper body. As soon as the restraint is gone, he collapses forward. I catch him, barely, by the shoulder.
“Come on, man, stay with me. We've gotta go,” I tell him, using my pocketknife to cut the tape around his legs.
He doesn't answer, just bleeds onto the floor. I hoist his arm over my shoulder and pull him to a stand. The movement makes him cry out softly, but he doesn't resist. He doesn't quite help me hold his weight either, and I don't even want to imagine all the shit that just happened to him.
His Desert Eagle sits abandoned on a nearby table within arm's reach, so I snag it as we hobble past. I know it's his favorite.
It feels like forever, too long for sure, to get him to the Caddy and into the passenger seat. I pull the seatbelt around him and close the door. I stare at the button for the bay doors for a long stretch before I punch it. It's incredibly stupid to go speeding out of here with license plate exposed, when witnesses may have taken interest in the ruckus, namely gunfire within city limits.
Not to mention the Mustang parked several blocks away on a residential street. It's not in danger, not really suspicious if it doesn't stay too long. What other choice do I have?
I ease into the driver's seat and turn the key. I've driven this car once. We didn't really get along. The gears grind when I shove the stick into first and gun the gas. I shift her up a bit more smoothly as I peel out of the lot and off into the night.
Chapter 34 Our Sisters of Mercy
Isaiah
I'm about five blocks away when the warehouse blows. Windows down, I'm rolling along in a red S-10 I managed to talk one of Abeula's higher-ups into letting me use. I heard the gunfire, just before the area was rocked by the massive explosion. It was a whisper compared to what followed. Even though I expected it, the blaze against the sky and the deafening noise make me stomp on the brake.
I'll be damned. They pulled it off. I think of the guys across town, and the details that don't make any sense. Freddy's almost dead and Gram is reduced to a puddle of slime, but why did the delivery still go down? I don't know if I care enough anymore to ask.
I glance down at the address, then squint at the fronts of the buildings, searching for numbers. The neighborhood that had been quiet just moments ago, almost eerily so, is now lit up like a war zone. How many people, I wonder, did Maria just incinerate? Maybe she really has gone batshit crazy, and maybe she didn't consider that this place will be crawling with Feds and cops for days.
I step on the gas. It's not a good time for a Sunday drive. Sirens are already wailing, approaching quickly. Any vehicle traveling toward that mess is sure to be suspicious.
Finally the abandoned warehouse comes into view, as well as the roaring inferno beyond. I cut the wheel. There's supposed to be an alley. Yeah, I see it.
I roll to a stop in front of it, blocking it. I stare into the darkness, hardly able to make out any details. Moments later, she steps into the dirty light cast by the street-lamps. She's holding Freddy's gun and her eyes are wide. She's scared.
For a hot and long moment, she just stares at me. Why, she's wondering surely. Anger laces through my gut. The look in her eyes is guilt. It's the same look she gave me the morning after she fucked Josh, the one that says she's been caught.
“Get in,” I order, the words gruff and forced.
She doesn't say a word, just climbs in the passenger seat. The emergency vehicles will arrive on scene any moment, and their wailing follows us for what seems like forever as I drive us away from the conflagration – all that's left of Gram Margalis.
She's quiet and still beside me, that big gun case resting across her lap. I wonder if she's gone into shock. I'm not gonna be the one to break the silence. I don't really
