“I know you can, but you gotta go into this with eyes open.”
“I am. You deserve answers. Let’s go get ‘em.”
They exited the vehicle, made their way toward the dark building, the white paint now a dingy gray from years of neglect.
Each held a Glock in their gloved hands. The back door was unlocked.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
They couldn’t assume they’d be alone. While the building was nestled in a quiet neighborhood, it didn’t mean users, vagrants, or sex workers weren’t there.
One nod, and he turned the handle. He went in first, she followed. He flicked on a flashlight. The chapel hadn’t been usedin decades, the pews long gone. The room stood empty, save for the booze bottles strewn about.
They moved down the hallway. Guns drawn, they entered the first small room.
“Clear,” she said after checking the closet.
On to the next room.
“Clear,” he said.
Next, they cleared both restrooms. The toilets and sinks had been ripped out, the rusty pipes looked like black snakes coiled and ready to strike.
“Clear,” he said.
If Brit was nervous, she didn’t show it. Cool and quiet, she stayed on point. With the interior cleared, they returned to the main room.
“Last chance to back out,” he said.
“Not happening,” she replied. “You need me.”
He needed her in every way possible, but now, he needed to ensure her safety. “I got you.”
“I got you too,” she replied.
A car pulled up, the engine went quiet.
Rebel set the flashlight on the ground, face up. Brit tucked her Glock in the back of her waist.
As he stood in the darkened doorway of the first room, his trigger finger twitched.
For you, Dad.
While his law-abiding father wouldnothave condoned his choice, he had been rebellious from a young age. Once he made up his mind to do something, there was no other option.
The door creaked open.
“Hey, you came,” Brit said.
“Of course,” Tat Guy said. “Where’s your husband?”
“On his way,” she said.
“What can we do while we wait?” Fat Guy asked.
“I can think of something,” Tat Guy said.
