Her boots hit the glass wall, saving her knees the pain of cracking the building. Once she was steady, she allowed herself to dangle.
Here, her muscular frame and hard-earned endurance came in handy. She was able to dangle from her arms without much trouble for a decent length of time.
Once Abbie was as low as she could get, knowing she was at her most vulnerable, pretty much doomed if one of her enemies appeared, gun in hand, she stretched one leg to the side and wrapped it around the pole.
At this point, she remembered her mother. Never a good sign. Abbie had fallen pregnant as a teenager, following one of the most harrowing nights of her life. Abbie's mother had been disgusted by her eldest daughter. Had told her she might as well give up school because, before long, she'd be wrapped around the pole, dancing for money to feed her baby.
Well, mum had got the time scales and purpose wrong, but here Abbie was, wrapped around the pole.
Taking one hand from the windowsill, she grabbed the drainage pipe. Releasing the other, Abbie put her entire weight on the already strained escape route.
Immediately, a bracket snapped free.
The pipe began to pull further from the wall, tilting Abbie at an alarming angle. A few more seconds, and it would snap away, and down would come Abbie, pipe and all.
This kind of unceremonious tumble would likely not kill her. If anyone saw, it would be embarrassing, and that was in many ways worse. So Abbie dropped, grabbed the pipe again, dropped again, grabbed the pipe again.
Another bracket snapped. By this point, Abbie had her feet on the glass and was much closer to the ground. Releasing the pipe, she kicked away from the wall and spun towards the gravel.
She landed, rolled, came up standing between a Porsche and a Ferarri, both two-seaters.
Rolling into grass would have been fine. Even concrete would have been okay from that distance. Gravel was uneven, often sharp. Abbie's shoulder, back and hip all ached from the landing. That was annoying, but no show stopper.
Abbie checked her jacket and belt. Found both the guns still with her and intact.
Now, it was time for the next enemy.
She looked left, then right. Her fall hadn't been soundless, but she doubted the enemy had heard. For one thing, they were near a motorway. Even this late, the traffic was consistent. For another, if the duo had split and each turned one corner onto the left and right side of the building, as Abbie suspected, they had doubtless kept going until they were inches from the dealership's front. That put them a decent distance from where she now stood.
Yes, she thought she was safe, but she had to move fast. The duo expected her to attempt to escape from the building. They'd be watching and listening for her. They knew they couldn't wait forever, so before long, they would move in. Once they passed the front entrance, they'd see the ground floor was empty. Moving to the stairwell door, they'd find their dead comrade and ascertain what had happened.
Abbie expected to be rumbled. Before she was, she wanted to even the odds. Make this a one on one battle.
From the Ferrari and the Porsche, Abbie moved back to the ring of cars second furthest from the dealership, now placing herself between a two-seater Mazda and four-seater Hyundai.
The Mazda was to her right. She moved to its rear and crouched by its bumper. Securing one gun in her belt, checking the other was fully loaded and ready to go, Abbie proceeded from the Mazda to a Peugeot, then to another Ferarri, working her way towards the right back corner of the dealership.
After five cars, she had a clear sight down the dealership's right wall. It was hard to make much out in the building's shadow, but Abbie saw a shape she was pretty sure would soon reveal itself to be a person.
On she went, past high-end cars with fake number plates, all waiting to be sold. Excited to start their new life with a mug. Assuming Christina was correct and they were stolen or cut and shuts.
Abbie was now moving further along the building's side. The shape came into clearer and clearer view.
It was moving, but not the way a bush or plants might sway in the night breeze. These were the movements of a human waiting for something or someone and fast losing patience.
Abbie stopped when she was two cars from the one that would put her directly in line with the shape. From this angle, she could see not only the man and the corner he stood by but right across the front of the lot. She could see the open gate through which the newcomers had arrived and the section of chainlink fence Abbie and Christine had scaled.
She wondered again if Christine had escaped. Pushed the thought away. Now was not the time.
The Smoker's crew might have been well trained. But they were thugs, mercenaries. Probably not used to waiting around. For those who hadn't practised patience, waiting for something to happen with no company and nothing to occupy the mind led fast to a loss of focus.
Abbie made her way alongside a deep blue SUV and then to the boot of a hatchback in the innermost circle of cars. Keeping low, she made her way to the front bumper of the hatch and paused.
She was fifteen feet from her target. The guy's gun was in his hand, but his hand was at his side. Loose. His shoulder was against the wall, his head tilting left, tiling right.
He was bored.
He'd stopped paying attention.
Good.
Abbie rose from the front bumper, stood tall fifteen feet from the enemy.
The guy sighed. A long, frustrated breath.
Abbie left the hatch. With quiet, delicate steps, she made her way towards the guy…
Who used his gun to scratch his leg. Then shook his head.
