LEO
I move quickly and quietly to the edge of the house. I should have searched next door for weapons, but I can’t risk going back again. The
clock is already ticking.
An hour, Monica said. It took a couple of minutes to get out of the fire and precious more to get my hands cleaned up.
That probably gives me about forty-five tops until the boat gets in. The dock is further than that on foot, and I need to work out which of the warehouses she’s trapped in.
My guess is she’s inside a shipping container, probably no idea what’s going on. I bet Monica has her believing she was being taken somewhere safe the entire time.
I need to do two things. Find out which warehouse and find a vehicle. I look out from the edge of the house. On the far side of the road is a car with two of Monica’s hired goons leaning back against it, watching the flames, talking, and smoking.
That’s another reason the Belucci famiglia won’t last. They get associates who only care about the money. They didn’t post anyone to the back door.
They think they’re watching me burn, getting paid to shoot me if I come out the front. They’ve got guns visible through their jackets. I can make out the bulge. Small caliber.
Several shots to be sure of a kill. They really are morons, but they’re armed morons. What have I got? A pair of sewing scissors.
I smile to myself. They haven’t got a chance.
I move swiftly, sprinting across the space between the house and the road, leaping over the hedge with the scissors in my hand. The flames are bright, making it hard for them to see me emerging from the darkness until it’s too late.
I get the scissors into the neck of the nearest guy. Blood spurts onto his friend, who starts fumbling for his gun.
Yanking the scissors out of the artery, I’m already moving before he even gets to the trigger. The blade hits his hand, slicing deep, and then breaks off. No matter. I’m almost done.
The pain loosens his grip and the gun falls. I kick it away and move in, getting my fingers in his eye sockets. One hard press and he’s not fighting anymore.
He’s not doing anything except trying to scream. I drop him and put the boot in. His scream turns into a wheeze for breath.
He’s clawing at his face, unable to see me coming with the broken scissors. His cries cut off like I flicked a switch. I leave the scissors sticking out of his neck and grab the gun.
A shot to each head to be sure and then I’m rummaging in their jackets for the car keys. Nowhere to be seen.
Where are the keys? No sign at all. I curse, and then I wonder if they were as dumb as they looked.
They are. The key’s still in the ignition. I take both of their guns with me as I slide into the driver’s seat and set off, tearing through the roads down to the dock.
The town is dead. The whole place is asleep while Monica’s house burns and Amelia sits waiting to be loaded onto a ship.
I’m not doing this to get back together with her. She made it clear that it’s over between us. She’s right too. A relationship like this could never work.
Look at the danger I’ve already put her in. If I’d kept away from her, none of this would have happened. It’s all my fault, but I will put it right if it kills me.
I’ll save her from being shipped abroad. I’ll kill Monica too. Then I’ll go back to the city and she can get on with her life. We’ll have to go to war against the Belucci famiglia. Either that or I persuade the Don to use the chip.
He’ll call it snitching, say it’s beneath us. Thing is, you got to use what weapons you got. Just like me and the scissors. Use your arsenal.
I slow and kill the lights as I get close. From my vantage point at the top of the street, I can see the barrier down, the chain-link fencing, the warehouses, numbered neatly on each roof. One to twelve. She could be in any of them.
I can see the boat pulling into the dock. It’s early. They’ve got lights pointing out at it, illuminated like a Christmas tree. Why not? It just looks like a standard vessel. It’s already got shipping containers on it, but there’s room for a couple more. I look closer. Armed guards. I need to move.
I make my way down the street on foot, gun out. At the barrier, there’s one man. That was dumb. Two, and there’s a chance one can raise the alarm while I deal with the other. One is child’s play. I keep to the shadows until I’m close enough to take him on.
I step out and walk straight up to him. While he’s still yelling at me to freeze, I shoot him between the eyes. I look into the booth behind him and there’s a rifle. That increases my chances.
I’ve got a pistol with three shots left, another in my pocket with six still good to go, and now the rifle. Not only that, but there’s a box of ammo on the shelf just waiting for me to pick it up.
I take the box and shove it into my pocket. The cameras are watching. I need to keep to the shadows and hope they haven’t got infrared.
It’s easy to work out which warehouse. It’s the only one with lights on. Right at the end, at the foot of the cliff. The front door is a metal shutter, and it’s closed, but there’s bound to be another way in. Places like this have fire exits, just in case.
I run the distance at a sprint. All the time I’m watching out for guards, but I don’t see anyone. I’m guessing they’re not expecting trouble. After all, I’m dead.
Two guards, edge of warehouse seven. No way past them without the alarm being raised. I curse silently, turning down a side passage just in time.
I see a pile of boxes and use them as a ladder, getting onto the roof and crawling along it, peering down the other side. The men are walking toward the barrier. “Where the fuck’s Eddie gone?” one of them is asking.
“His stomach,” the other one replies. “Always complaining he gets the shits when he’s on guard.”
“I’ll give him the shits,” the first one says. “With my boot in his ass. He can’t just leave his post like that.”
As they move away, I drop to the ground and sprint the rest of the way. When I get to the edge of warehouse twelve, I look down the far side of it. A door. Just what I need. I get down to it and it’s tight shut. Fuck.
I ease my eyes around the next corner. There’s a gaping hole there because they’re getting ready to take the shipping container out. She’ll be inside that. I need to think and whatever I’m going to do; I need to do it fast.
Everyone’s busy. No one’s looking my way. I count five men, but no sign of Monica. She’s here somewhere. I can just tell. I slip through the open door and duck behind the nearest crates. Looking inside, I can make out explosives. Powerful. Very illegal. Very useful.
I grab a block but then almost dump it. No detonator. Useless. I’ll have to think of something else. I take the block just in case I find detonators somewhere, shoving it into my pants pocket.
I leave my guns hidden in the nearest crate and then I head back outside and dive into the water, hoping no one saw me. It’s cold and choppy, but it’s not far to swim to the ship.
There’s an anchor chain dropped and I work my way up it, hand over hand, expecting a bullet in the back of the head at any moment. Lucky for me, they’re all busy getting the shipping container ready down in the warehouse. No one’s watching the boat.
I get on board and there’s a guy with a gun walking away from me. I run up behind him and get him around the throat, snapping his neck before he knows what’s happening.
That gives me an automatic rifle and a free run to the engine room. I get down there and shove the explosive block into the nearest pipe.
Making my way back through the ship, I spot what they’re using as an armory. It’s copper-lined walls that give it away. Copper means no sparks. The crates in here might have more explosives or if I’m lucky something even better.
My luck holds. A set of detonators in one box. I grab one and get it ready, running back to the engine room. With that set up, I make my way back onto the deck. I’ve got three minutes until the heat makes it blow.
I jump straight back into the water and swim for the dock. The cold is getting to me and my hands don’t want to work properly. It takes three attempts to climb out. Each time I slip back, urging my arms to not give up yet.
I finally haul myself onto dry land, not stopping for breath. I lower myself and get back into the warehouse, looking out for anyone looking my way. The guns are right where I left them.
A minute to go. The engine room on the boat will go soon. I can either wait for that or make a move first, prevent any risk of her getting caught in the crossfire that’s about to happen.
I make a snap decision, lifting the rifle into my hands and aiming down it at the nearest guy.
I reckon I can take three before they shoot back. Then I can move over to the next bunch of crates and take out the remaining two. The ones on the ship can’t get a decent line of fire from out there, so I’ll have the upper hand.
I’m lining up the rifle and getting ready to fire when I feel eyes on my back. I’m turning when the butt of a gun whacks me across the head. I stagger and the men are on me, grabbing hold.
While I was looking out, two of them got behind me and I couldn’t hear them over the noise of the ship’s engine. My fault.
They probably found the guns and knew I’d come back for them. I
fucked up. My luck has run out.
I fight to get loose, but then the other three are there pointing their guns straight at me. “Where is she?” a woman’s voice shouts.
I look over into the shadows in time to see Monica emerging. She’s got a cigarette between her lips. She spits it onto the floor and grinds it with her heel. “Where is she, Leo?”
“Where’s who, Monica?”
She nods to one of her men, and he punches me in the nose. I look up. It’s Louie, grinning down at me as he hits me again. Blood drips down my chin. “Where’s Amelia, Leo? Where have you hidden her? I know you did it.”
I manage a smile.
“What the fuck have you got to grin about, you fucking asshole?”
I’m trying not to laugh. I didn’t need to do any of this. She already escaped. She didn’t need me after all. She got out of here all on her own.
What a woman. I’ll die happy knowing she got away from here.
Monica gets closer, picking up the rifle and pointing it straight at my head. “Tell me where she is and I’ll make it quick.”
“I’ve no fucking idea where she is,” I say, pressing my forehead to the end of the gun. “So you better just shoot me before I die of old age.” That’s when all hell breaks loose.