“I’m quite proud of this.”
There are custom-made cases of weapons that fit perfectly into the trunk space, something that would have us both in prison for the rest of our lives. And he’s just driving around with it…
“You ever use a gun?” He reaches for a hand gun.
“Yes.”
Fionn hands the gun to me. I take it and check to see if it’s loaded—it is.
“You’ll need this too. In your boot.”
I take the knife from him next, and shove it into my boot so it’s sticking out by my right ankle and parallel with my leg.
He gets himself ready with his own equipment, then pulls out a Halligan. A fucking Halligan. He kisses it before closing the trunk, and giving me a strange look.
“She stays behind.”
I have no idea what that means, but I’m sure I’m about to find out.
I follow Fionn across the road and down the alleyway. We stop at the same door my mother and Julian came out of.
Fionn plants his boots beside the door and flips the Halligan in his hands like he’s done this a thousand times. The tool looks heavy. I’ve never held one before, but he moves it easily despite the weight of it.
“I’d step back if I were you,” he warns, and sets the forked end against the crack of space between the door and the frame. He jiggles it a little, getting it under the lip, then he shifts his grip and the metal groans as he lets out a grunt. The frame gives an inch, and he shifts his feet, repositioning again and the door opens a little more. He flips to the other side of the tool, leans his weight into it and gives it a hard shove.
The lock snaps.
He yanks the Halligan free as the door swings open, tossing it aside. It lands with a sharp clank, bouncing on the ground.
“Hurry up or you’ll miss the fun.”
Fionn is already inside, turning on his heel and hurrying down the brightly lit hallway. I don’t notice all the noise until I step inside and realize what’s going on.
Only, I don’t know what’s going on…
What the fuck are we doing? What are we walking into?
I follow Fionn wordlessly, but it seems no matter how quickly I move, I can’t catch up to him. He turns, I turn, but he’s still ten steps ahead and disappearing around corners.
This building is like a maze, and though I hear sound like something is going on beyond the walls, everywhere we turn is empty.
Until it isn’t.
Fionn turns left into a room, and there’s a loud crack—like wood snapping in half.
When I finally make it in, I see a wooden chair in pieces on the floor, and Fionn with a gun to a guy’s head. The man looks more annoyed than anything, sitting in a highback chair behind a desk. He’s clean shaven, his dark hair slicked back with too much gel.
“I already told you, asshole,” the guy says.
“And it ain’t good enough. I want more.”
“I don’t have anymore.”
“Who was just here?” he demands.
I stand in the doorway, watching. The guy seems to ignore me, staring ahead.
“Don’t act like you don’t know Julian. You know his face as well as you know your own. I’m the one who knows your little s—”
