I toss it aside, hearing itdingagainst the concrete before straightening up to trace the wall of the building, Tyler and Renny still bickering away on my tail.
My ears are alert for anything other than our noise, but I only hear the sea breeze and a few cats dashing through the backstreets. Impatience snaps at my insides. We need to get in here, and we need to get in here now.
‘Lucky we’re not trying to keep a low profile,’ I say dryly, hoping Tyler and Renny get the hint to shut up.
‘I’m itching for a fight,’ Renny snorts.
‘Punching my face in wasn’t enough?’ I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek, which is still cut up.
A smile spreads across Renny’s face. ‘That wasn’t a fight, mano. I just love to stir you up.’
I turn back to the building and roll my shoulders, a deep crack reverberating down my spine, easing my tension. I see a basement window near our feet that could work. I crouchdown and check the handle. Unlocked. It’s tighter than I expect, but I squeeze through and land silently.
Which doesn’t matter, because Tyler lands with a thud and Renny all but jumps on top of him, sending them flailing into a nearby bench that clatters with the sound of metal.
‘Get the fuck off me,’ Tyler shouts.
‘I needed something to break my fall,’ Renny snaps back.
‘Would you both stop dicking around?’ Irritation grinds in my temples.I should have come alone.
We head up the small set of stairs to the ground level. ‘Go see what you can find.’
They move off in different directions, the smell of musty air mixing with the thick odour of motor oil. I step into the darkness, my vision taking a second to adjust. There are cluttered workbenches and welding machines, with various tools strewn across the floor. Through the window out back, piles of crushed cars lie on top of each other in a graveyard of metal.
The sound of a sheet flapping floods the space.
‘Got an Indy Pace and a—’ Tyler pauses before another flap. ‘Viper in here. Perfect condition.’
What would classics be doing in a chop shop?‘Check the VIN.’
The sound of a car door opening comes before the softpopof the hood. ‘Filed down.’
Just like the Porsche.
‘Three crystal black Rexys in here.’ Renny calls from the opposite room.
What’s going on here? It’s been three weeks since I came back to Booker Bay – almost four years, to the day, sincethatnight – and I’m still no closer to making good on my promise. I just have a thousand scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that don’t complete the same picture.
I move through the space – more benchtops and tools. Then I hear a drip coming from somewhere. I breathe deeply to keep my temper in check.
Drip.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I press the torch on, flashing it around. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, just something. Anything that will lead me closer to findinghim. Alexander said his name, for Christ’s sake, his boss has to be the right guy. The ground is gritty, debris crunching beneath my feet. But the dripping gets louder, coming from a busted faucet in the wash bay.
Drip.
The sound twists my guts, making my stomach churn and heave. Bile burns the back of my throat and suddenly, I feel like I’m surrounded by smoke, fire and the metallic stench of blood. So much blood.
Drip.
A red haze unfurls from the backs of my eyes, blinding me until all I see is fire. I drop to my knees, grasping at the faucet. I squeeze until the metal bends beneath my fingers. Pain slices through my hand but the dripping slows. I squeeze harder, finally shutting the faucet off.
Panting, I close my eyes, forcing my breaths to slow.
When I can finally stand, I crack my neck, letting the silence lead me back to reality.
Thank fuck.
