*
I drove to the train station, got what I needed, and then took a cab to an intersection a few blocks away from the bar. Soon, the sky would be turning a pale blue with the coming of morning.
I spied the cold and silent bar from down the street. With Mr. Carlino expecting an attack from the Vipers the place would be crawling with men.
Not a problem. I knew the location of all of the security cameras, and how to get around them.
I approached from around the corner, away from the windows, and kept a vigilant eye on the security cameras. The camera on the side of the building swung in its predictable pattern, and as soon as it was looking to the front of the building I made my move. My arm brushed the brick wall as I ran, and I gripped my duffle bag tight in my palm. When I reached the corner and turned I didn’t look back. I jumped down the stairs to the metal door leading to the basement. I had the keypad numbers memorized, and I quickly punched them in. The key was in my palm, crudely filed by hand, and I closed my eyes, silently praying, as it slid in the lock. The pins scraped against the metal. I turned the key and the handle moved free.
Oh, thank God. Franky, you were a slick bastard.
I stepped into the basement, closing the door behind me. The hallway was dark, almost impossible to see. I took a deep breath, and moved to where I would be making my stand against Mr. Carlino and his entire operation. This basement would either be my road to victory or it would be my tomb.
The Basement Vault Page 4
