Chapter 48
Sean tried the door a few more times, but it didn’t budge. He pounded the door with his fist, each dull thud echoing in the old speakeasy, but it was no use. Shouting had no effect, either.
Sean glanced up at the ceiling and figured there was probably a good forty feet of earth and concrete between him and the people on the hotel’s first floor. He could scream at the top of his lungs, but no one would hear him.
Sean checked his phone again but still had no service. He wandered the speakeasy, searching for any spots where he might get a bar, but it was all a dead zone.
Then Sean wondered if there was another entrance into the speakeasy from outside the hotel, aside from the stairwell he’d come down. If there was another way out, it was hidden, just like the entrance into the stairwell from the basement.
Sean wasn’t sure how long it would take him to find the secret exit, if there was even one, so he decided to try to find another way to open the door.
The door was heavy metal, and there was no way he would break it down. But he checked the hinges and saw normal screws drilled into the wall. If he could find something to unscrew them, he might be able to remove the door.
But while Sean was examining the doorway, he didn’t notice the figure creeping up behind him.
The man moved silently as he snuck up behind Sean and wrapped him in a chokehold.
The figure brought Sean to the ground, quickly mounting him as he choked him out.
Sean’s airway closed, and he kicked and punched but was unable to gain any leverage.
The assailant bore down harder on Sean’s neck, squeezing tighter until Sean’s lungs ached for air. His vision was fading, and he was moments from blacking out.
Sean’s last hope was the gun on his hip, which the attacker had not tried to reach for. The person might not have seen it or might have overestimated their ability to bring Sean down, but either way, it was still there.
Sean had to remove his hands from between his attacker’s hands and neck, allowing the attacker to squeeze even tighter.
The pressure in Sean’s head immediately increased, and it felt like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.
But he used what last bit of coordination he had left to reach his hand down for the gun at his hip.
It took two tries; Sean’s fingers were numb, but he finally grabbed the weapon. The attacker saw him, and the moment Sean removed the gun from the holster, the pressure around Sean’s neck vanished as the attacker reached for the gun.
Sean gasped for air, but he didn’t have time to rest. He used both hands to rip the weapon back from his assailant, and he turned, firing one shot before his attacker tackled him again.
The pair crashed into a table, the old wood shattering as they hit the floor.
Sean dropped the gun in the scuffle but landed a stiff right hook against the man’s face and knocked him to the side. The assailant recovered quickly, then landed a jab to Sean’s stomach and a quick strike to his ribs. He charged Sean again, but this time, Sean was ready.
Sean slid to the left and used the man’s momentum against him as he hurled him headfirst into the bar, resulting in a sickening crack of bone and wood.
The man collapsed onto his stomach, motionless.
Before Sean checked his vitals, he restrained the attacker with the zip ties in his pocket.
The attacker resisted but was too dazed to be effective.
Sean flipped him over and then quickly found his weapon and aimed his pistol at his attacker.
Blood covered the top of the man’s head and then dripped down his forehead and over his nose. He tried to stand, but even without the restraints, he would have collapsed again.
Sean was still so flooded with adrenaline that it took him a minute to recognize his attacker. He had seen him before but only in a photograph from several years ago. It was the man whose receipt had somehow ended up in a room no one ever used.
It was the mobster, Marco Donovan.