Something about Lily was comforting and familiar.
Shifting in my seat, something caught my eye up ahead, where the warehouse doors were. There was a gap in the door join, casting a slip of moonlight across the concrete floor several meters away from where we were parked in the middle of the space. But it wasn't the moonlight that caused my heart to jump to my throat.
There was movement outside and we weren’t expecting any more buyers.
I looked over my shoulder to the rookie outside the van. He had backed up to stand in line with my door, watching the others discuss the weapons while he slowly reached for his gun.
The top of a badge glinted in his back pocket while my eyes narrowed on a small black plug in his ear.
Shit.
Fuck it.
I gripped the door handle and shoved it open, knocking him off his feet while the others whipped around.
And then everything went sideways.
The buyers withdrew their guns and badges, and the warehouse doors were flung open with a boom before a stream of red and blue lights flooded the space.
As Antonio’s guys raced to get into the back of the van, slamming the door shut, I counted three patrol cars and two unmarked sedans before I slammed my boots into the gas and brake pedals. Pulling the steering into a hard left, the tires screamed in protest, spraying the undercover cops with debris and loose concrete before I let the wheel right itself again.
The van shuddered with the sudden assault on its system.
“Come on, baby,” I muttered, flooring the gas again and launching us in the opposite direction of the doors.
Lights and sirens tailed us as I looked for another exit. My eyes darted between the speedometer, the warehouse, and then the rearview mirrors as the patrol cars fanned out, creating a gap as they attempted to box us in from the sides.
I slammed my foot on the brake, earning a couple of disgruntled yells from the back while the patrol cars flew straight past us. My body moved automatically. One hand tearing the gear stick into reverse, the other gripping the wheel and swerving the van back the other way. With a clear line of sight for the doors, I shifted back into drive and didn’t let the van idle once. Racing directly for the doors that the cops were closing.
They formed a line; A human barricade blocking the door with their guns drawn. When they opened fire, I ducked as the bullets shattered the windshield. Peering over the dash to make sure I was heading straight, I pressed my foot harder into the accelerator, watching as one by one the cops dived out of the way.
I kept my head down as we plowed through the doors. Splintered wood, glass, and pieces of the van's hood flew into the cabin, miraculously only nicking my arms a few times as we shot out of the warehouse, leaving behind a collapsed door that blocked the path of the cops inside.
I straightened in my seat with the wind whipping through my hair and swerved right, keeping a close eye on the mirrors for any sign of the cops giving chase until we cleared the junkyard completely.
At first, I traveled via the backroads as a precaution, watching the streets adjacent for any signs of police backup, but none came (at least not in our direction), and I drove on to our next meeting place; an underground parking garage where the plan was to meet with Antonio and some of his other lackeys.
I was supposed to be delivering cash. Instead, I had a van full of half-bruised ex-cons, no weapons, and a semi pressing against my jeans.
In the eight years working under Antonio, I had only ever seen him fuck up once. When he put too much trust into someone who ended up double-crossing him and firing several bullets into his leg. He learned that blood relations meant nothing that day.
He was double-crossed again tonight, only this time it was because one of his soldiers was working with the police, feeding them information. I had never met the guy and never would considering Antonio planned to have him killed before the night was over.
My heel bounced as I leaned against the side of the van, drawing back on a cigarette under the bluish-white fluorescent lights of the empty underground garage. My eyes tracked the carload of Antonio’s more loyal soldiers leaving to do as he ordered.
I released a shaky breath of smoke.
The boss himself was thanking the four ex-cons for their service and paying them for their work. They left the garage and went their separate ways. Meanwhile, his bodyguards stood waiting beside his black Mercedes.
Vince gave me a subtle nod when he noticed me looking. I returned it, and then let my eyes fall to my hands and forearms. The skin was littered with several shallow cuts. When the wood and glass first sliced into my arm, I didn't feel it. My mind had been racing a million miles a second, focused on losing the police. But now, as my breathing settled, and heart rate slowed (only a little) each cut itched and stung similarly to papercuts.
Antonio rubbed at his face tiredly, leaning against his cane as he stood alone in the middle of the garage. He shook his head at the mess this evening had become. His shoulders then dropped with a sigh before he turned around and headed over to his car, motioning for me to follow but barely looking my way.
I slowly pushed away from the side of the van, dropping my cigarette and snuffing it out under my boot. “I’ve still gotta dispose of the van, boss.”
“Vince can do it. I need to speak with you.”
I tensed but followed anyway, passing Vince as we exchanged places. He casually bumped me with his elbow, as if it was meant to reassure me whatever happened next would be alright. But it didn't. I felt like one more tiny inconvenience might just push me over the edge.
