Chapter 5 - THE WRENCH AND THE WAREHOUSE
The heavy steel wrench struck with a sickening crunch.
The gunman screamed, his leg giving way instantly. He collapsed onto the wet asphalt, his automatic rifle clattering out of reach.
The second gunman spun around, raising his weapon toward the frail, eighty-year-old woman in the wool coat.
“Elena, no!” I screamed, throwing open the armored door of the SUV and scrambling out into the freezing fog.
Anthony fired twice from the driver’s seat. Both shots went wide, but the sudden noise startled the standing gunman just long enough.
I didn't think. I moved.
I lunged forward, tackling the standing gunman around his waist. The impact knocked the wind out of me, but my momentum carried us both backward into the rusted side of a shipping container. His rifle fired wildly into the air before slipping from his grasp.
He backhanded me across the face, a brutal strike that sent me sprawling to the wet ground. My head spun, tasting copper in my mouth.
He reached for a sidearm holstered at his hip, his eyes fixed on me.
Suddenly, a deafening roar echoed through the fog.
Anthony’s SUV surged forward, the tires screaming on the wet pavement. The heavy armored grille of the vehicle slammed directly into the gunman, pinning him against the shipping container with a horrific screech of bending metal.
The man slumped, unconscious.
Anthony threw the car into park and leaped out, pistol raised, scanning the fog.
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain radiating from my jaw, and ran to Elena.
She was kneeling on the wet asphalt, gasping for breath, the heavy steel wrench resting beside her.
“Elena!” I cried, dropping beside her and wrapping my arms around her frail shoulders. “Are you hurt? Where is my mother?”
Elena looked up at me. Her face was pale, lined with terror, but her eyes—the same eyes that had watched me grow up—burned with a fierce, protective fire.
“Anna,” Elena whispered, her hands trembling as she touched my face. “My beautiful Anna. You came.”
“Where is Sarah?” I demanded, checking her for injuries.
“Inside,” Elena gasped, pointing toward the massive rusted doors of the main warehouse. “Frank has her. He didn't lock the side door properly when he brought us in. I slipped out when the shooting started. Vincent is in there.”
Anthony was beside us in a second. “Mom. Are you okay?”
Elena looked at the son she hadn't spoken to in twenty years. Tears welled in her eyes. “Anthony. You look just like your father.”
“We need to get you out of here,” Anthony said, his voice cracking. He gently helped her to her feet.
“No,” Elena said fiercely, pulling away from him. “Sarah is still inside. She is sick, Anthony. She needs her medication. If Frank kills her… she saved my life. She saved Anna’s life. I will not leave her.”
I stood up, wiping the blood from my lip. “She’s right. I’m not leaving without my mother.”
Anthony looked at the massive warehouse doors. “Frank has at least half a dozen men inside. We can’t just walk in.”
“We don't walk in the front,” I said, my mind racing. I pointed toward the side of the warehouse, near the water. “I used to deliver food to the dockworkers down here when I was a teenager. There’s a subterranean drainage tunnel that runs beneath the pier. It leads directly into the loading bay.”
Anthony stared at me. “You want us to crawl through a sewer?”
“I want my mother back,” I said coldly.
I left Anthony and Elena by the SUV and sprinted toward the water’s edge. The fog was thickest here, smelling of diesel and salt. I found the heavy iron grate covering the drainage pipe. It was rusted half-open.
“Stay with Elena,” I whispered to Anthony as he caught up to me. “Keep the gun. If anyone comes out, shoot them.”
“Anna, wait—” Anthony started, but I was already slipping through the grate into the freezing, ankle-deep water of the tunnel.
The darkness was absolute. The smell was suffocating. But I moved fast, guided only by the faint, echoing voices coming from the warehouse above.
I crawled for what felt like miles, my hands slipping on the slimy concrete.
Finally, I saw a faint square of light above me. A floor grate leading into the loading bay.
I crept closer, holding my breath.
Through the slats of the iron grate, I could see the interior of the warehouse. It was massive, filled with wooden crates.
In the center of the room, tied to a metal folding chair, was my mother. Sarah.
She looked terrible. Her face was bruised, her breathing shallow and labored due to her spinal condition.
Standing ten feet away from her was Frank.
And kneeling on the concrete floor, his hands zip-tied behind his back, was Vincent Caruso.
Frank had ambushed him before Vincent could even open the briefcase.
“You’re pathetic, Vincent,” Frank sneered, pacing around the kneeling mob boss. “You walked in here with a briefcase full of paper, thinking you still commanded respect. You’re just a desperate old man.”
Vincent didn't look at Frank. He looked at Sarah.
“I am sorry, Maria,” Vincent said softly, using her real name. “For the pain my family has caused you.”
Sarah lifted her head. Despite the bruising, her eyes were defiant. “I didn't do it for your family, Vincent. I did it for Claire.”
Frank laughed harshly. “Claire. Anna. Whatever her name is, she’s dead. My men outside took care of her and Anthony minutes ago.”
Vincent’s head snapped up, utter devastation washing over his face.
“That’s right,” Frank smiled, pulling the heavy pistol from his holster. “The bloodline ends tonight. Now, sign the deeds.”
Frank kicked the leather briefcase across the floor. It popped open, spilling the transfer documents.
I couldn't wait any longer.
I looked around the drainage tunnel. Embedded in the concrete wall beside me was an old, heavy iron shut-off valve wheel for the warehouse’s main water line. It was massive, weighing at least twenty pounds.
I gripped the iron wheel with both hands and pulled with every ounce of strength I had.
With a sickening screech of rusted metal, the wheel snapped off its mount.
I stood directly beneath the floor grate.
“Hey, Frank!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing through the tunnel.
Frank spun around, looking down.
I shoved the heavy iron grate upward with my shoulder, hurling the twenty-pound iron valve wheel blindly up into the warehouse.
The heavy iron wheel flew out of the grate and smashed directly into the overhead industrial lighting rig suspended above Frank.
The glass bulbs shattered in a shower of sparks, plunging that section of the warehouse into total darkness.
“Anna?!” Sarah screamed.
Gunfire erupted blindly in the dark.
May you like
I hoisted myself up through the grate, rolling onto the cold concrete floor just as a bullet sparked against the iron bars where my head had been a second before.
I was inside. But I was unarmed, and Frank’s men were closing in.
