Section 42
Yup, This is Bad
Lucky
I move like a sexy shadow toward Red’s back door, staying out of view from the security camera. Then I start the countdown, waiting for my time to strike.
This isn’t about guns blazing, though I’m packing more than usual. This is about finesse. Knowledge is power, and I know where I have to keep Frank from looking for as long as possible.
Say what you want about Valenti—I’d most definitely speak ill of the dead in this case—but he was thorough.
He taught me to hide in plain sight, and to not let a locked door stop me.
He taught me to pay attention to details, mainly where the blind spots are and the make and model of alarms. For science. Or criminal offences.
Now I have six minutes to get into the building before the camera feed picks back up.
“Hello, old friend,” I whisper to the alarm. It’s a good one, well designed to keep most sane intruders out. But I’m obviously not included in that focus group.
But first I try Gia’s code, even though I’m fairly certain Frank’s locked her access.
Huh. The red light turns green, and a soft click echoes in the alley.
Seriously?
He changed everything… except this?
Oh, Frank, you ignorant fool. This is even easier than taking candy from a kid.
The interior of Red is dark except for the low emergency lights meant to guide guests to freedom. I’m following them in reverse, which feels really fucking fitting.
The trick to sneaking into a place that wants to kill you is confidence.
Pretending I belong here so loudly that everyone else’s brain fills in the blanks for you.
I walk through the service entrance like I’m late for a shift.
Head down. Shoulders loose. Hands in my pockets.
Nobody questions the guy who looks bored.
The hallway smells like bleach and cheap old man cologne. Under Gia’s reign it smelled like dog and her intoxicating perfume, something feminine yet with a bite to it. I remember it clearly, since my pillow still smells like her.
Fuck. I sigh, and force myself to focus.
The scuffed floor tiles are the same, they probably haven’t been replaced since the Clinton administration.
I glance up, and for a half-second my stomach tightens. There’s a guard positioned at the end of the hall, and he just glanced up. I keep walking, keeping my stride casual while waiting for the moment where recognition turns into a gun barrel.
Instead he just squints.
“Helmet guy?” he says.
I lift a hand in a lazy wave.
“Graveyard shift.”
He grunts like that explains everything and goes back to scrolling on his phone.
Okay.
That… worked.
I keep moving.
My pulse slows a little.
The next two guards are outside the back corridor that leads toward the storage rooms. One of them is leaning against the wall, the other is halfway through a sandwich that smells like bad mayonnaise.
They both look up when I approach.
There’s a beat.
Then the guy with the sandwich points at me.
“Hey,” he says, chewing. “Lucky, right?”
“Sometimes,” I say.
He nods like that settles the matter.
“Cool.”
Cool. Fantastic.
I walk past them.
For the first time since this stupid plan started forming in my brain, something that feels suspiciously like optimism creeps in.
Maybe this is actually going to work.
Maybe—
I slow.
The hallway ahead is empty.
Too empty.
Not the normal kind of empty where people are just… somewhere else. This kind that feels staged.
My instincts start screaming at me a split second before the voice comes out of the darkness.
“Matthew.”
Well.
Shit.
Frank steps out from the shadow near the storage door like he’s been there the whole time.
Which he probably has.
He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him: calm and deeply unimpressed with my life choices.
“You know,” he says conversationally, “I was wondering how long it would take you.”
I try the smile anyway.
“Sorry. Had to stop for ibuprofen. Figured you’d already bought it all.”
“I knew she’d choose you,” he says, ignoring my comment.
“Shouldn’t you be yelling at kids to get off your lawn?”
We stare at each other for a second like two people who both know how this is about to end but feel obligated to pretend otherwise.
“She didn’t send me,” I offer.
“No. She didn’t have to. We know you’d come trespassing anyway.”
“Technically,” I say, “I used to work here.”
He sighs.
“Yeah. That’s why I left the door open.”
Something shifts behind me.
Too late.
The sound of a boot scuffing the tile barely registers before something heavy slams into the back of my head.
Stars explode across my vision.
My knees buckle.
Yup. This just went from bad to worse.
The floor rushes up to meet me, and the last thing I see before the lights go out is Frank crouching beside me, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.
“I really hoped you’d be smarter than this,” he says.
Darkness takes me before I can come up with a good comeback.