Chapter 29 #2
There are five entrances—front door, garage door, basement door, side door, and fire escape—to the second level. I have no idea which ones will be the most clear, or might have security cameras at this point.
But she simply states, “It’s better if I go.”
“Not a chance,” I fire back. “I’m not putting you in danger.”
She breaks into a laugh, and I’m not sure why.
“This isn’t funny,” Kade growls at her behind me.
She stops laughing, looking at him like he’s pathetic. “I think you’re funny.”
The group falls silent, and she turns to me again. “Your presence puts her in danger.” She gestures to Quinn. “She lives here now, right? I’m welcome in there.”
Well, my hope is that after tonight, Green Street won’t be a problem for anyone living in Weston.
But…if I get seen before I want to, the plan won’t be able to unfold. And then, who knows what will happen tomorrow?
I jerk my chin at the firehouse. “Is there a black metal cabinet still in the upstairs dorm?”
She hesitates a moment. “Yeah.”
“There might still be an ammo case on the top shelf.”
Without another word, she jets off and crosses the street.
“Wait...” I whisper-yell, and then glance around for anyone noticing. “Shit.”
I watch her climb the steel stairs on the left side of the building, to the door on the second floor.
“Meet me where they are inside!” I shout in another whisper to her.
Dammit.
“I don’t think we can trust her,” Hunter mumbles.
“I could’ve told you that.” Kade spit into the weeds sprouting up on the sidewalk at his side. “What’s in the ammo case?” he asks me.
I hand my wallet and phone to Quinn, in case they try to confiscate anything. “Not ammo.”
I don’t want to get their hopes up in case the box isn’t still there. First, I need to see if this works.
Leaning down, I kiss Quinn, feeling the others look away. “Don’t come in,” I say.
“Lucas...”
“Please just listen to me for once.” I cup her face. “It’s better not to involve you, and everyone who loves you will agree on this one.”
Even Dylan.
“Stay out here,” I tell her gently.
It’s not that I’m just trying to protect her. I need to be the one to make it right.
Leaving them all shielded under the cover of trees, I cross the street, my heart pounding in my ears. It’s been years since I’ve walked into this place.
Grabbing the same handle I installed a decade ago, now rusty from weather, I pull open the door.
Music fills the large vehicle bay where the firetrucks used to be stored, and I quickly take stock of my area. Couches sit against the walls to my left and right, tables in front of them, and chairs scattered about. The Skee-Ball alley and the basketball net are gone. Only one pool table remains.
A corner bar sits in the far right of the building, men planted on stools. A young woman—a very young woman—tends the bar.
A desk sits in the center of the room. There’s plenty of space between it and me, so their crew can line up for job assignments and payments.
The floor is still the same cement, and that old, dank and musty smell is only slightly overpowered by the years of cigarettes, spilled beer, and Chinese takeout.
Young people play video games, the men at the bar turn to eye me, and a round of laughter echoes from down the hallway, in the old locker room.
A woman growls. More laughter. I curl my fists.
So many new faces, but so little has changed.
I’m sure they’re a lot more profitable now, but Weston isn’t any better off for it.
There’s no getting out of a system created to give you just enough to survive, but not enough to leave, and all you have to exchange for it is your reputation, your children, and sometimes, your freedom.
The hair on my arms lifts, and my clothes stick like a second skin. The adrenaline runs, making me hear the footsteps above, and even the exhale of cigarette smoke in the room ahead.
I walk, not pausing when I see a couple of the guys at the bar jump off their stools to follow me. Heading down the dark hallway, I watch it open up into a room still fitted with rusty, red lockers.
“Well, shit.” Hugo blows out smoke, leaning back in his chair. “Coming to evict us?”
The men behind me filter in, ready to move on me if he gives the signal.
Three tables positioned in nearly a complete square fill the room. I flit my gaze to Farrow two seats down from Hugo, a black-haired girl standing behind him with her arms draped over his shoulders. Stacks of money cover the tables.
Glancing around, I don’t recognize anyone else. Many of them are young, too young to have been around the last time I was here. But drugs are piled in front of one, and scars adorn the face of another. Guns litter the table.
“Thanks for coming to me,” Hugo muses. “It makes this so much easier.”
The hallway is behind me, but I know I wouldn’t make it far.
I swallow. “Is Reeves here?”
He blows out another puff, narrowing his eyes. “Why would he be here?”
“I assumed you were in contact,” I tell him. “He almost sacrificed you the other night.”
His men glance at him, and I see his uncomfortable shift and chuckle as he drops all four legs of his chair back to the ground. “You must’ve been dreaming, man.”
I tilt my head. If Drew isn’t enlisting his aid, then they’re not on the same side. Which makes Hugo even weaker.
I square my shoulders. “I know you think there’s only one way out for you—death or prison,” I tell him, seeing Tommy drift through a door to the left. She holds the ammo case by the handle and my chest swells with hope. “But you can leave. You can leave now with whoever wants to go with you.”
I have the deed. The firehouse is mine. I’m not stopping him from vacating.
Tommy goes unnoticed, setting down the ammo box on a side table.
But Hugo just mocks me, “And why would I do that?”
Walking over, I flip open the box Tommy brought down, seeing that she’s conveniently disappeared.
The Composition notebook is folded in half and squeezed inside the long box. The words on the outside are faded, but I can make out the word ‘Log.’
Pulling out the book, I turn and hold it up. “Reeves kept this on the people who worked for him,” I explain. “On everyone.”
Farrow watches, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. He knows this threatens him too.
“It’s filled with dates, times, receipts, pictures”—I fan the pages, noticing it’s a lot more full than the last time I was here,—“leverage he could use on anyone he did business with. Including his employees.” I pause, meeting their eyes.
“He kept it in the gun cabinet upstairs because he knew you don’t look beyond the end of your nose. ”
Reeves probably has another log somewhere, maybe more. Eight years is a lot of time to collect more dirt. But they don’t know what’s in this one and what’s not.
“There’s some really shitty stuff on you in here,” I tell Hugo. He was definitely working here by the time I left. “Do you think it will matter that you were so young?”
They stare at me, some of the much older members knowing they’re definitely mentioned in this book. Their crimes, but what else? Are there photos? Receipts? Texts? Cell logs? They don’t know.
Hugo isn’t smiling anymore. “What’s to stop us from charging you right now?”
“You mean, do I have a digital copy somewhere?” I taunt.
He could attack me, take the notebook…
Or…
Taking the lighter off the table in front of one of his guys, I flick it and hold it up, letting the flame catch on the corner of the book.
In a moment, it goes up in flames, and I drop it into a waste bin, the glow rising up the sides.
“That was stupid,” Hugo remarks.
But I shrug. “I think some of the men around you wouldn’t agree because they know you would’ve taken it and used it to control them.”
I wait for anyone to refute me, argue, pronounce their loyalty to Hugo… But the room stays silent.
“I’m not kicking you out,” I tell him. “I’m giving Green Street to Farrow.” I stop addressing their boss as I order the men instead. “If he leaves right now.”
And I point to Hugo.
He shoots up from his seat. “Fuck you.”
The real questions come now. Do they like the idea of Farrow more than Hugo? If they know who Farrow’s father is, that could work very much in our favor.
“Take him out back,” Hugo barks. “Put him in the car.”
No one moves.
“I said put him in the car!”
I wait for one of his men to seize me. One of them will. Someone will be too scared to disobey.
But before anyone rises, a woman on my far right, and another seated next to one of the guys…moves to Farrow.
Hugo looks back and forth before one by one, all of his guys continue to stay in their seats, ignoring his orders.
Farrow lowers his eyes, but I see the smile because whoever controls the women controls Weston. Hugo was right about that.
I don’t want him to die. I just hope he has the wisdom to know when to cut his losses.
A knock hits the open door behind me, and a kid walks in. “Package at the door.”
He holds up a large manila envelope.
“Who left it?” Hugo demands.
“Didn’t recognize him.” The kid stands next to me.
“Open it.”
The kid, maybe fifteen, rips open the envelope. He pulls out a piece of paper and reads silently, his face falling before he stammers out the words:
“To…to Weston,
Do what Lucas Morrow says, and the contents of the locker is yours.
He has the combination.
-Manas Doran.”
And he tips the envelope upside down and catches a copper plate. I pry it out of his grip and examine it, seeing that numbers have been sanded off.
Manas Doran. The story Quinn told me. How does he know what’s happening right now?
And what combination am I supposed to know? And what locker?
Then, it hits me. The numbers on Quinn’s back. Two-eight-eight-four. Oh, fuck.
I scan the room behind the tables, seeing all the numbers are in the one thousands. It’s not one of these lockers. Maybe a storage unit?
I start to back away, leaving the room.
“Get back here,” Hugo shouts and then orders his men, “Grab him! We’ll fucking get it out of you.”
They don’t budge, and I realize they’re waiting for Farrow’s orders.
“It’s not about the money, Hugo,” I tell him. “No one here will go against them.”
No one here will go against the Doran brothers. I don’t know if it’s fear or respect, but their history is a central part of Weston’s identity.
I look to Farrow as I turn around to leave. “Clean house.” I nod once. “You have an hour.”