Chapter 8 - [THE SPARKS IN THE WAREHOUSE]
The glass shattered with a loud, ringing crash.
I didn't stop to think. I jammed the heavy iron padlock deep into the exposed wiring of the breaker box.
A shower of blue and white sparks erupted violently.
Every floodlight in the warehouse instantly blew out with a synchronized POP.
Total darkness.
“Shoot him!” Dominic screamed from the catwalk.
The warehouse erupted into deafening gunfire. The muzzle flashes from the automatic rifles lit up the catwalk like strobe lights, spraying bullets into the concrete floor where Vincent had been standing just a second before.
But Vincent wasn’t there anymore.
The moment the lights died, he moved with terrifying speed. He sprinted toward the center of the room, tackling Evan and Mia to the floor just as a hail of bullets shredded the wooden chair Mia had been tied to.
“Crawl behind the containers!” Vincent ordered them in the dark.
I huddled against the wall, covering my ears as the gunfire echoed like thunder. Wood splintered and concrete chipped all around us.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Dominic yelled. “I can’t see anything! Bring up the backup generators!”
The gunfire stopped. The ringing in my ears was intense. The heavy smell of gunpowder filled the humid air.
I heard the frantic scuffling of Evan pulling Mia behind a rusted steel shipping container near my position.
“Jessie,” Vincent’s voice whispered from the darkness, just feet away from me.
“I’m here,” I breathed.
“Good girl,” he said. The praise sent a strange, fierce jolt of warmth through my chest, despite the terror. “Keep the kids behind that steel box. Do not move.”
A low hum started from the far side of the warehouse. The backup generator was kicking on. In ten seconds, the emergency lights would illuminate the floor, and we would be sitting ducks.
Vincent didn’t wait.
He stood up, raised his 9mm, and fired three rapid shots toward the catwalk.
One of the Romano gunmen cried out and dropped his rifle, falling heavily against the steel railing.
The remaining two gunmen immediately returned fire, pinning Vincent down behind a stack of wooden pallets. The wood splintered and cracked under the barrage.
The emergency lights flickered on, casting a dim, sickly yellow glow over the warehouse.
Dominic was furious. He drew his own pistol.
“Flank him!” Dominic yelled to his men. “Go down the stairs! Trap him!”
The two gunmen hurried down the metal staircase at the end of the catwalk, moving to catch Vincent in a crossfire.
Vincent was trapped. He was outgunned, and he was running out of bullets.
I looked at Evan. The boy was hyperventilating, his arms wrapped tight around little Mia, who had her face buried in his chest.
I looked down at my hand. I was still holding Vincent’s silver Zippo lighter.
I remembered the smell of the warehouse when we walked in. Rotted fish. Sea salt.
And something else.
I sniffed the air near the wooden crates hiding us. It was a sharp, chemical scent. Turpentine. The crates were stacked next to dozens of industrial wooden barrels, stamped with faded chemical hazard symbols.
I looked across the aisle at Vincent. He was pinned down, checking his magazine. He had maybe two shots left.
I couldn't let him die.
I crawled on my stomach, ignoring the searing pain in my left wrist, until I reached the base of the nearest wooden barrel. It was old and rotting at the bottom.
I grabbed a broken shard of wood from the floor and jammed it into the rotted base of the barrel, prying it open.
A thick, highly flammable resin began pouring out onto the concrete, pooling across the aisle, right at the bottom of the metal staircase the gunmen were descending.
I looked at Vincent. He saw what I was doing. His eyes widened in warning.
“Jessie, no!” he shouted.
One of the gunmen reached the bottom of the stairs, turning his rifle toward me.
I flicked the Zippo.
The yellow flame sparked to life.
I threw it directly into the puddle of resin.
A massive wall of fire immediately shot twenty feet into the air, completely engulfing the bottom of the staircase.
The intense heat forced the gunmen to scramble backward up the stairs, screaming as the flames blocked their path. The fire alarm shrieked, and the overhead sprinklers violently kicked on, raining rusty water down on all of us.
The fire bought Vincent exactly the distraction he needed.
He stepped out from behind the pallets, aiming his weapon up at the catwalk.
Dominic Romano was staring at the wall of fire, his gun lowered in shock.
“Dominic,” Vincent said.
Dominic looked down.
Vincent fired his last bullet.
The shot hit Dominic squarely in the shoulder. The syndicate boss spun around and collapsed onto the metal grating of the catwalk, dropping his weapon.
“It’s over!” Vincent roared, his voice cutting through the fire alarm and the rushing water. “Drop your weapons or I let the building burn with you in it!”
The two surviving gunmen, trapped on the stairs by the fire and seeing their boss bleeding on the floor, slowly raised their hands and kicked their rifles away.
Vincent walked over to the catwalk stairs, keeping his empty gun raised as a bluff.
He looked over his shoulder at me.
I was soaked in sprinkler water, my catering uniform plastered to my skin, breathing heavily.
Vincent didn’t smile, but the look in his eyes was something I had never seen before. Absolute, unwavering respect.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. The police. Frank must have called them the moment we left the estate.
Evan stood up slowly, holding Mia’s hand. The little girl looked up at Vincent, her wide blue eyes filled with awe.
“Are you the good guy?” Mia asked in a tiny, shaking voice.
Vincent looked at the little girl, then looked at me.
“No, sweetheart,” Vincent said softly, lowering his gun. “I’m just the guy standing next to her.”
Suddenly, the side door of the warehouse burst open.
A team of heavily armed Chicago SWAT officers flooded the room, their flashlights piercing through the smoke and water.
But walking right behind them, completely unharmed, wearing a designer trench coat, was Caroline.
She pointed a perfectly manicured finger directly at Vincent.
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“That’s him!” Caroline cried out to the police captain. “Vincent Marino! He kidnapped my children! Arrest him!”
TITLE: THE TICKET IN THE POCKET
