Brink of Extinction | Book 2 | Stay Alive

by Shupert, Derek

  The air smelled stagnate, stale even. My nose crinkled. I knocked the ash from my shoulders and stuffed the mask into the pocket of the coat.

  I looked over the hallway, trying to pierce the blackness before me. The subtle outline of the building bled through the darkness. At the far end of the entryway, I spotted what looked to be a freight elevator—dark and void of any power.

  I walked down the corridor, past closed doors in search of a flight of stairs. The soles of my shoes rapped against the floor. My eyes adjusted some to the low light, giving me a better sense of my surroundings.

  I kept my hand close to the Beretta, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. I listened for any subtle noises, but heard nothing more than silence, and the hint of the howling wind. I passed by an opening within the wall and spotted what looked to be a banister in the murk.

  My hand reached out and stepped closer. The tips of my fingers grazed the rough-wood surface. My foot felt for a step and found one.

  I climbed up and around the stairs to the landing of the second floor. The large window at the end of the hallway breathed some light into the dark corridor. I peered down both sides of the hallway, but didn’t notice any movement.

  Jessie’s apartment was on the top floorؘ—loft number 1022. I moved around to the next flight of stairs and climbed. Each step echoed throughout the building. My hand stayed glued to the banister, aiding me up the staircase.

  A door slammed from the third floor. I paused on the steps and trained an attentive ear, listening for any footfalls heading my way. My hand hovered above the grip of the Beretta. No other sounds came.

  I worked my way up the final two flights of stairs to the top floor of the building. A bit more light shone through the window at the end of the wide hallway. I glanced down the corridor both ways, scanning for any bodies moving about.

  A clicking sound echoed in the dead silence in the direction of the window, followed by a door opening. I turned and studied the hallway, trying to locate the source of the noise.

  A shadowy figure emerged from one of the loft apartments and stood in the corridor. I couldn’t get a clear visual of the person from the low light and the shadows that concealed his face. From the size and thickness of his body, it had to be a man.

  I took a step forward, and the wood floor creaked under me.

  The figure stopped and looked my way.

  “Jessie?” I asked, inching my way down the hallway toward him.

  He darted back into the loft and slammed the door. The lock engaged.

  I pulled the Beretta from my waistband, trained it at the door, and made my way down the corridor. The wood floor sounded a warning with each step. I checked each apartment I passed for any open doors or signs of possible trouble. Each space sat silent.

  I crept close to the wall and craned my neck, closing in on his residence. My hands adjusted on the grip of the Beretta. I toed the outer edge of the frame, then moved to the other side of the door, noticing 1022 on the surface.

  I took position against the wall. The floor creaked once more. Gunfire exploded from inside the loft.

  Bullets punched through the door, peppering the far wall. I yanked my hand away, then took a step back. He popped off four rounds, then stopped firing.

  “I’m here to talk, Jessie. That’s all,” I said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Go to hell,” a muffled voice answered near the door. “You come through that door and I’ll cut you in half. I can promise you that.”

  “Listen. I only want some information. Answer my questions and I’ll leave you be.” I looked at the door.

  “Screw you.” He fired three more rounds through the door.

  I took two deep breaths, then pushed away from the wall. I shot at the doorknob and deadbolt, then kicked the side of the door. Wood splintered and the door flung open, swinging inside the loft.

  Footfalls hammered the floor, moving away from the entrance. I caught a flash of movement darting across the loft. I limped toward the opening with the Beretta trained ahead of me. I peered around the blind corner, then stepped inside.

  Light flickered from all over the dwelling. A mixture of candles and lanterns sat around the cavernous loft. A few pieces of furniture lay scattered about along with many boxes and other random junk that cluttered the floors.

  Ash blew against the floor to ceiling windows lining the far wall. The subtle drip of water pinged from the kitchen near me. The smell of cigarette smoke and body odor tainted the residence.

  I swept the space. Jessie had vanished, hiding somewhere among the junk. I grabbed the edge of the door, shut it, and searched the loft.

  “Come on, Jessie. We don’t have time for this.” I checked every nook and dark corner as I made my way through his place. “William’s dead and the men who killed him are coming for you next. The clock is ticking.”

  “How do I know you’re not with them?” he asked, his voice rising an octave.

  “William’s wife, Cindy, asked me to come here. I saved her from the men who kidnapped her and William. They’re looking for something that you and William stole, and if they don’t get it back, they’re going to kill her and her son,” I shot back. “All I want is whatever it is that you stole and what you know about these people.”

  Jessie’s arm emerged over the top of a mound of boxes, his hand wielding a gun. Fire spat from the muzzle. I returned fire, ducked, and hit the floor.

  Two rounds flew over my head in the direction of the kitchen. I wormed my way through the boxes and around the small round table and chairs near the window.

  Jessie panted. I remained silent, focusing on each heavy breath. A dull thud hit the wood floor. Was he reloading?

  I stalked him, flanking his position behind the wall of boxes. I trained the Beretta at the corner, moving closer.

  Jessie sat crouched on the floor with his back to me. He sat up straight and peered over the top of the boxes. I closed in.

  I pressed the barrel against the back of his skull. “Don’t move.”

  He sighed, then lifted his arms into the air. I reached over his shoulder, and took the pistol from his hand.

  “You got any other weapons on you?” I asked, pocketing his piece.

  Jessie hesitated for a moment. “No.”

  I kept the Beretta pressed to his head. “You sure about that? Like I said, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if need be. So again, do you have any other weapons on you?”

  “Fine.” He lowered his arms.

  I nudged his head with the Beretta. “Slow and easy there.”

  “It’s on my ankle,” Jessie replied in a curt tone. He reached for his right pant leg and lifted it. I watched his every move as he pulled the small-black pistol from the ankle holster, then handed it to me.

  “That’s all?”

  “Yeah. That’s all.” Jessie sighed.

  “Come on. Stand up.” I kept the Beretta a scant inch away from his thick, black hair.

  Jessie stood with his arms in the air. I walked around him, watching for any sudden movements. He cut his eyes to me and pursed his lips.

  I glanced over the loft. “Is anyone else here?”

  “No. Just me,” he answered in a huff.

  “Good. I hate surprises,” I replied.

  “Me too, but here we are,” Jessie said, his voice thick with anger. “What do you want?”

  “I told you what I want and why I’m here,” I answered. “I need to know what you stole and who you stole it from.”

  Jessie moved his hands. “Can I lower my arms?”

  “Are you going to try anything stupid?” I nodded at the Beretta in my hand. “I have an itchy trigger finger.”

  “No. Don’t much feel like getting shot today.”

  “Me either.” I lowered the Beretta to my side, but kept my finger over the trigger.

  Jessie stared at me, then lowered his arms. “How do you know William and Cindy?”

  “Wrong place at the right time,” I replied. �
��Whoever the two of you messed over beat the shit out of William and was looking to do the same thing to his wife before I happened upon their little torture session.”

  “Oh, man.” Jessie ran his hands through his hair, then over his face. He turned and paced the floor, muttering under his breath. “What did he tell them?”

  “Not sure. The only thing I know is that you two stole something they want back and that your neck is on the chopping block,” I replied, watching him pace the floor.

  Jessie rubbed his neck, dipped his chin, and scanned over the floor. “If they know about me, then I’m as good as dead. I’ve got to get out of here while I can.”

  I snapped my fingers at him. “Hey, listen. You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

  Jessie ignored me, rummaging through boxes, then walking past me. I grabbed him by the arm, then wrenched him around.

  He looked at me, face stricken with panic and terror. “You don’t want any part of those people. I knew we shouldn’t have messed with them, but William wanted to do it.” Jessie jerked his arm from my hand. “Now he’s dead, and I’m screwed.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The McCones. They run this city. Drugs, prostitution, weapon trafficking. Pretty much everything under the sun,” Jessie answered in a raised voice. “The worst of the worst.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell, but that didn’t mean much. “What did you take from them?”

  “Information. Valuable information,” Jessie replied, looking toward the entrance of his loft.

  I snapped my fingers again in front of his face. “Focus here. What sort of information are we talking about?”

  “Contacts. Shipments. Financials, and a ton of other data.” Jessie glanced to me, then back to the door. “William got wind of a buyer wanting said information from the McCones. A rival gang that offered up a nice payday he couldn’t resist.”

  I shook my head, then held up my hand. “Hold on. From the way Cindy spoke, you dragged him into this whole mess. That it was your idea.”

  A scowl formed on Jessie’s face. He scoffed. “She would say that. He had her pretty well convinced that he was this righteous husband and father trying to do good, and I was the shit stain lowlife who kept dragging him into the criminal underworld. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “The information you stole. Where is it?” I asked, glancing around the trash heap he called home.

  “Gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean by gone?” I tilted my head to the side. “You’re supposed to have it in your possession.”

  Jessie looked at the door, trembling where he stood. He mumbled under his breath, then walked away.

  I grabbed his arm. Jessie jerked it away, turned around, and threw a right cross at me. His fist connected with the side of my face, knocking me back on the heels of my feet. My head turned to the side, jaw throbbing from the blow.

  He scampered away in a panic.

  I rubbed my jaw and rushed after him. I tackled Jessie to the floor. He hit face first. I flipped him over to his back, then stood.

  His arms flailed in every direction, balled fists looking to land another strike on my chin.

  I stepped on his arm, pinning it to the floor. “You know, I’m trying really hard to not hurt you, pal.”

  Jessie continued thrashing, fighting to get away. I pressed the Beretta against his forehead, looking him dead in his wide, fearful eyes.

  Heavy footfalls sounded from the hallway. Jessie stared at me. I kept the Beretta pressed to his skull as I looked at the door.

  Shit.

  We were about to have company.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CORY

  The wood floor creaked a warning from outside the loft. Jessie drew a sharp breath, but remained silent. I looked to him, keeping the Beretta fixed against his head.

  “Oh, shit. They’re here,” he said, his voice unsteady.

  “Who’d you sell the data to?” I asked, sounding more animal than man. “We’re out of time. Spill it.”

  “Sanchez Domingo. Now get off me.” Jessie yanked at his arm, trying to free it from under my shoe.

  The door swung inward, slamming against the wall. Multiple beams of light swept from the hallway into the loft.

  I ducked and stepped over Jessie’s body. He scrambled from the floor and ran toward the back part of the apartment.

  Gunfire erupted from the entrance.

  Jessie ran hard with his head ducked and arms covering his head. The incoming rounds hammered the brick wall near him and the staircase he ran toward.

  I returned fire from behind a beige love seat that had seen better days. The Beretta barked, firing round after round at the surge of men who barged into the loft.

  Bullets punched the back of the love seat and tore through to the front, past my head. I lowered even more, lying prone on my stomach. Foam and feathers rained down around me like snow.

  Jessie ran alongside the stairs, heading for the landing. He jerked, his hand clamping down on his thigh as he fell to the floor.

  “Hold your damn fire,” an agitated voice shouted over the hammering gunfire.

  I laid on the floor, still and silent. The gunfire had all but ceased, trickling off to silence. Jessie groaned in pain, out of my sight.

  “We need him alive, you idiots,” the agitated man said. “He’s no use to us dead. Think.”

  I sat up from the floor, then peered over the top of the love seat. Two men in dark, black jackets wearing gas masks took positions near the entrance with rifles shouldered. Standing between them, a shorter, stout man with one hand on his hip pointed out over the loft. He looked familiar. It took me a second to realize who he was. Stocky.

  “Whoever’s got the heat, toss it out now and come out,” Stocky said. “We’ve got you pinned down, and there is no place for you to go. If you want a quick death, that’s your best option. If you want it slow and painful, I can grant you that as well.”

  Jessie wailed in pain from across the loft. I couldn’t lay eyes on him from where I crouched. A slew of cuss words fled his mouth between each cry.

  “Yeah. I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” I crawled toward the edge of the love seat. “Besides, I’ve seen how you and your men operate. I think I’ll take my chances. It worked out pretty well at that shithole house.”

  Stocky grew silent. “Hold on. How did you know—” He paused again. “Oh shit. It’s you.”

  “Why don’t you and your men cut your losses and leave? This isn’t going to work out the way you want it to,” I replied.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” Stocky shouted. “I can promise that you’re not going to make it out of here alive. How you want to leave this world, painless or not, is up to you. But make no mistake, you are going to die here today, and I will find the woman.”

  He spoke similarly to Scarface, as if he did his victims a favor by offering them a choice in how they met their end.

  I peeked around the side of the love seat, and through the open space between a stack of leaning boxes near the entryway.

  Stocky skimmed over the ratty piece of furniture, then pointed at his man near the table and chairs. The masked man moved toward the table with his rifle shouldered.

  I popped off a few rounds in his direction, clipping him in the arm. He stumbled against the wall and fell out of sight.

  The other gunman and Stocky fired at the love seat. I backed away on my hands and knees, then returned fire. Both men ducked and took cover. I got to my feet and made my way back to Jessie.

  The Beretta clicked empty. I dropped to the floor, hitting with a dense thud. Both kneecaps smashed into the wooden planks, sending a wave of pain lancing through my body.

  Jessie dragged his body around the banister to the landing. A mural of blood painted the planks of wood behind him.

  Stocky and his men held their positions, ceased firing, and peered in our direction. “Sounds like you’re empty, friend.
Bad luck for you, I’m afraid.”

  I ejected the spent magazine, pulled a fresh mag from the pocket of my coat, and slapped it into the well. I cycled a round and stayed low. “Why don’t you come closer and find out if I am.”

  “I don’t know who you are or why you’re involved in this, but I’ll make a deal with you.” Stocky stayed low, as did both of his other men. I scanned the kitchen and the entryway for any targets, but only caught a sliver of their coats and bodies as they jockeyed for a better position.

  “What’s that? You leave, take your goons with you, drop this, and forget about the woman?” I replied, hunched down next to Jessie behind the stairs. “That’s about the only deal I’m willing to make.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen and you’re in no position to barter here. You’re cornered with no place to go and I guarantee that we can outlast you.” Stocky poked his head over the small island in the kitchen. The lantern on the counter shone on a portion of his angry face. “I’ll consider leaving the woman be if you give up Jessie, but you and your little girlfriend are going to pay for that stunt at the house. That, I cannot let slide.”

  Jessie palmed his wounded thigh. He clenched his jaw, spit pushing through his gnashed teeth. “They’re going to kill me when they find out I don’t have their stuff.”

  I skimmed over the front of the loft for another exit, turned, then looked at the back wall. “Is there another way out of here?”

  “Yeah.” Jessie pointed behind him toward the corner at the back of the loft. “There’s a fire escape under that window that leads down to the alley. That’s the only other way out of here.”

  “Can you move?” I asked, looking at him, then over to Stocky and his men.

  “It hurts like hell. Not sure how much pressure I can put on it or how well I can move,” he replied, scooting across the floor.

  Stocky and his men advanced, staying low and not giving me a clean shot. They crept across the loft, weapons trained in our direction.

  “This is a limited time offer,” Stocky said. “It’s now or nothing.”

  I popped off a few rounds near each of them. They dove for cover. “You got my answer.”