“Are they involved in what happened with Hector?”
“Exactly.” I glance at him. Frankie’s watching the money very carefully. “Shit’s not going right. I plan on moving the Black Book in five weeks, just to be sure.”
“Five weeks?” he asks very casually. “Why so long?”
“Preparing a more secure location, that’s all. Five weeks tonight, we’ll move it by armored car.”
“I can help make preparations.”
“No. I’m handling it.”
“Whatever you want.” He glances up and frowns. “What the hell’s going on over there?”
I approach the parking lot and slow down. A black van’s parked right in the entrance, and the lot attendant looks like he’s arguing with the driver. There are only a couple of cars parked nearby, and I have no idea what’s happening. I come to a stop behind the van when the driver’s side door suddenly slams open, knocking the attendant back to the ground, and a guy jumps out.
He hits the pavement at a sprint.
“The fuck?” Frankie says, mystified.
“After him.” I shove my door open. “Get fucking moving!”
Frankie scrambles out his side and starts running after the guy. I move to follow them but stop, turn, and look back. The attendant’s slowly getting to his feet.
“Hey, what the hell happened?” I call out.
“Man, the fucking asshole wanted a specific spot right near the entrance, and I was like, nah, bro, that’s not how it works. Fucking asshole got all?—”
His words are cut off when the van explodes.
Heat slams into my face. Sharp cuts slice my skin as I’m tossed back. I can’t breathe, can’t think, my vision’s all spots and lightand black. I hit the ground hard and roll a few feet, groaning in agony as I bump up against a nearby dumpster.
Something’s burning my leg. I look down, head throbbing, and realize my pants are on fire. I manage to put them out clumsily before checking myself.
No glass shards lodged in any important veins. No broken bones that I can tell. My ears are ringing and my head’s pulsing, so probably a minor concussion. But I’m not dead.
I push myself to my knees and slowly gain my feet, leaning on the dumpster.
Can’t say the same for the attendant. He was a young black guy, but now he’s just a smear on the pavement and the van is a roaring inferno.
My fucking car’s a mess behind it.
I stare for way too long. If I hadn't gotten out to chase that guy, I’d be dead right now. My windshield’s gone and the interior is completely ablaze.
“Stellan!” Frankie comes sprinting back. The fucker’s winded, his eyes wide and wild with shock. “Fuck, man!”
“Car bomb,” I grunt, grabbing onto his arm. I shove him away, glaring. “Where is he?”
“Fucker was fast. I tried?—”
I shove Frankie, slamming him hard in the chest. He staggers sideways as I barrel past him. “Where did he go?” I snarl, looking around wildly.
“Stellan, you’re not in any shape to chase him, man. The guy’s gone.”
“How’d you let him escape?”
“He had a lead on me and there was a car?—”
I whirl on him. I know this is fucked, but I can’t control myself. I grab him by the shirt and slam him against the dumpster. He stares at me, half in surprise and half in anger, as I lean my forearm into his throat. “You fucking failed me.”
