Cleo got to her feet, holding the big guy’s ankles in each hand. “Ash. Couch cushions. Now.”
Startled into action, Ash pulled the cushions off the couch and stacked them beneath the guy’s ankles.
She lowered his feet onto them. “Okay. I’ll help him, you make the call.”
Ash hesitated.
“Stay focused.” Her eyes were animal intense, like a cat stalking its prey. The force of her will nearly overpowered him. “You can’t keep running. This is bigger than you can handle.”
“I have to go,” he said.
“What if I tell you that you have to stay? What if I tell you that I won’t let you go, that I will stop you if I have to?” she said. “Would that change your mind? Or would that just make you run away again?”
Ash wanted to trust that she knew what she was talking about. He wanted to believe that if he called the cops, they’d help him. They’d step in and rescue his brother, arrest Andres. But something in his gut told him no. Involving the cops would be a deadly mistake. The anguish was more than he could stand.
“I’m sorry.” Ash dug the car keys out of his pocket. “But he’s my brother.”
Cleo called after him as he ran out the door, but he didn’t stop.
*
As Andres pocketed the phone, Lazaro duct-taped Mauricio to the creaky chair by the legs of his Dockers. Then he pulled off long strips of tape and fixed Mauricio’s wrists to the table, smoothing the tape down over the edges. When he was satisfied that Mauricio couldn’t budge, he stepped back.
“Leave us,” Andres commanded. He put one of the giant soft drink cups in front of Mauricio, unwrapped the straw and stabbed it in. He pushed the cup closer.
As much as he hated to, Mauricio lowered his head and drank from the straw. The cold Pepsi helped ease the pounding in his head.
Andres pulled out a chair and sat down, folding one leg over the other. He settled back and waited.
Mauricio gulped down the soda and cleared his throat. “What are you going to do with us, me and Ash?”
“You and Ash. Is two different thing.” Andres wagged his finger. “You are my family, and you belong to me. Ash, no, I need from him La Araña. The spider. After that, what will happen?” Andres held up his empty hands. “Is not up to me. He is curse.”
Mauricio sucked down more soda. The cold bubbles stung the inside of his mouth, made him feel a little more alert. “Cursed?”
“Yes. Unless he give to me La Araña, he will die.” Andres shrugged. “This is not my doing. This curse could give him a, hmm, a heart attack, you see. Or maybe hit him with a car. The curse could even make a man shoot him for no reason. Even you.”
“Me?”
“You might shoot him. See? Is how the curse works.”
“So this spider,” Mauricio said, trying to puzzle it out. “What’s it look like?”
Andres looked surprised. “You have not seen her?”
Mauricio shook his head.
“She is gold.” Andres’s voice dropped to an awed hush. He held his hands out, fingers tensed as if he was gripping an invisible basketball. “She is beautiful. I find her in a temple, in Colombia.”
“You mean, like a statue?”
“Not just a statue.” Andres’s eyes grew wide. “She is every dream you ever have. With La Araña, you may have anything you desire. Anyone you command, they obey. Men, women, old, young, they become like babies to you. Without you, they cannot exist. You, they worship.” His face turned blissful for a moment. He sighed, and his expression went dark. “I have her once, La Araña. She was mine. And then, I was betray.”
“By my father, right? How did you even know him?”
Andres gave him a long, calculating look. Then he whistled, and Lazaro and Salvador came back into the room.
“This is the time,” Andres said. He got up and went down to the leather doctor’s bag on the far end of the table.
Mauricio’s heart beat faster. “Time for what?”
Salvador came around the table and put his hands over Mauricio’s fists, pinning them to the table, as if the duct tape alone wasn’t enough.
Mauricio started to sweat. “What’s going on? Hey, listen. I won’t run.”
Andres and Lazaro took an assortment of small objects and supplies out of the leather bag, including something that looked like a power tool. Lazaro ran an extension cord to an outlet in the far wall, then picked up the tool. It let out a metallic whine, not altogether different from a dentist’s drill.
Andres came closer and began to gently unroll the sleeve of Mauricio’s shirt. “One of my men, he lose his faith. I have to leave him behind. Without him, I have an ache in my heart. But now, there is you. Is not just luck that I find you.” He finished rolling up the sleeve and then wiped Mauricio’s bare skin with a cold, wet cloth.
“What are you doing?” Mauricio said. He couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. “Please.”
Lazaro came up to join them at last, his long hair tied back. He adjusted the tool in his hand, and Mauricio realized it was a tattoo gun.
A spider tattoo covered the back of Lazaro’s hand, the ornate legs spreading down his fingers. He held the tattoo gun with a sure grip, the spider on his hand wrapped around it like a living thing. He touched Mauricio’s arm.
“No!” Mauricio struggled to get free. “Get away from me, you freaks!”
“Shh,” Andres whispered above the buzzing noise. “This is proper. This is holy. The first mark of La Araña. Today, you become one of us.”
The tip of the tattoo needle bit into Mauricio’s arm. He screamed.
Chapter Fourteen
Asbestos
Ash nosed the red Galaxie up to the open gate in the chain-link fence. Beyond, the factory stood in dusty silence. Massive brick buildings three and four stories tall sat crowded together, linked by rusted conveyor belts and sagging power lines. Red and blue graffiti splashed across the walls. Banks of dirty gray windows stretched high overhead. The windows had been painted over multiple times, in successive layers of green, blue, and tan. They looked diseased.
Moolah sat in the Galaxie’s front seat, sniffing the air. Then he lowered his tail and hunkered down on the floorboard.
Ash couldn’t see any signs of life. No cars, no lights, nothing but the gate in the chain-link fence standing wide open, like a giant-sized live animal trap. He gave the engine a little gas and rolled through.
Rather than head down the main strip between the rows of buildings, he turned and crept along the gravel-strewn blacktop that led through the maze of back lots. Patches of green grass grew up through the cracks. The walls were surprisingly clean back here, as if the graffiti artists had simply given up before they got this far.
He passed a break between buildings. The sun shone down on the bricks on one side, leaving the other in shadow. A red door, its paint faded to pink around the edges, stood propped open. It boasted a faded NO SMOKING sign, and the caged light bulb above it had long ago turned cloudy. On the wall, a faded yellow sign read BLDG. 13. Streaks of rust ran down from the rivets in the corners of the sign.
He paused, then kept driving. As far as traps went, that one wasn’t hard to spot. No doubt, they’d be waiting for him inside that door. The best plan he could reckon would be to hide the Galaxie somewhere in back, then circle around and find another way into that building.
The alley eventually opened up into a storage yard. Hundreds of wooden pallets had been stacked here, some on edge, some flat. All were bleached silver from years of exposure to the intense Colorado sun. A toppled crane of some kind blocked off half the lot, its thick steel cable coiled on the ground like a mountain of rust.
He parked alongside the building, ready for a quick getaway. When he turned off the engine, the silence settled on him like a weight. Even though the factory complex sprawled through the middle of the city, hedged between the railroad and the interstate, the huge buildings ate up the noise of the city and left only the sighing of the win
d. A gust whispered through the yard, picking up dust.
He got out of the car and shut the door. “Moolah, stay.”
The dog whined.
Ash pointed his finger. “Bang.”
But the dog didn’t want to play. He just laid his head down on his paws, giving Ash a worried look.
“Tell me about it,” Ash muttered. He left Moolah there and headed along the brick wall. The alley was littered with scraps of old lumber and unidentifiable pieces of corroded metal. He stepped over the shriveled remains of a cardboard box. It had long ago disgorged the dozens of steel spikes it once contained, now orange with rust.
He crept the long way around the building. He kept his head low, even though the lowest windows started ten feet off the ground. He rounded the corner and spotted the gunmen’s green pickup.
He pulled back, heart pounding, and did another slow peek. The truck sat empty in the sun, its dirt-streaked windshield reflecting the light. Nobody was there. No sign of Andres’s black Trans Am, either.
An idea struck him. He sneaked back and picked up one of the rusted spikes, six inches long and still sharp, then crept to the corner again. Throwing worried glances over each shoulder, he darted around the corner and knelt down behind the green pickup.
One quick jab to the tire and it started hissing its way flat. He moved quickly, piercing all four tires. He stepped back and admired his handiwork. No way was he going to get chased by this truck again. Dusting his hands off, he moved on.
A cracked loading dock sat along one side, hosting a single empty steel drum. Bushes grew up around the edges, healthy and green. Coffee-colored stains washed down the cinder-block walls. Every window was boarded up, even the windows in the metal double doors. One of the doors had been jimmied open a few inches. He listened, hearing nothing, then eased his way in.
Inside, just enough light seeped through the dirty windows to reveal the silhouettes of massive machines, like sleeping giants. Nearby sat the gutted remains of a forklift with chipped yellow paint, and a wide pool that could have been oil or water, he couldn’t tell. The place smelled like a damp basement.
He crept through the cool shadows, trying to minimize the noise of his boots on the concrete floor. He worked his way through the maze of machines and pipes. Catwalks weaved through it all, linked by ladders and steep metal stairs. Here and there in the distance, round lights and gauges glowed softly, as if someone had forgotten to turn them off all those decades ago.
A muffled groan came from up ahead, along with the scrape of a chair against the floor. He froze, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. Nothing.
A sliver of sunlight came through the open door of a nearby room. He peeked inside the single door and saw Mauricio slumped on the table, his arms duct-taped down, one forearm swaddled in gauze.
Ash glanced around the still warehouse, checking to make sure that no one was behind him. He stepped into the room.
Mauricio lifted his head. His face shone with sweat, and his eyes went big when he saw Ash. He stretched back to look out through the doorway, then he whispered, “They’re waiting for you by the front door.”
“I know. I came in the back.” Ash got his fingernails under the edges of the tape and peeled it up. It made a long scritching sound as it came off the table.
“You don’t have a knife?” Mauricio asked.
“Left it at home with my compass and my merit badges.” Ash ripped at the tape, then paused to sniff the air. “Why do I smell fried chicken?”
“Don’t ask.” Mauricio got to his feet the moment his legs were free. He tried to peel the long strips of duct tape off of his arms, but they just got more tangled. He ended up with two dull silver masses bunched up around his forearms.
Ash put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he got his arms stuck together. “Come on.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
They left the room together, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. Ash led the way, retracing his steps as fast as he could without making too much noise. Up ahead, he spotted the door he’d entered through. He pointed it out to Mauricio.
It swung open and a string of black-clothed figures streamed in, wearing helmets, carrying automatic weapons. They vanished almost immediately as they took positions behind cover.
Ash stared, paralyzed, as the distant door swung shut, cutting off the light. Cutting off his only escape route.
Mauricio grabbed his arm and pulled him behind one of the giant machines. They waited there in the dusty darkness, staring wide-eyed at each other. Ash’s ears strained for any sound, but the furtive movements he heard seemed to echo all around him, left, right, and above.
He shook himself out of his fear and forced his feet to move. He ducked and led Mauricio beneath the bulk of an air duct, then squeezed between two thickly wrapped pipes. A puff of powdered insulation swirled down around them. Ash held his breath.
Mauricio leaned close. “Do you know where we’re going?”
Ash put a finger to his lips. “Don’t breathe,” he croaked. “Asbestos.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mauricio whispered back. “That’s our biggest problem right now.”
“Shh.” Moving clear of the asbestos, Ash crouched behind a rack of giant steel wheels. “You act like this is somehow my fault.”
“This whole thing is your fault.” Mauricio said more, but his words were lost in a sudden hammering of gunfire.
Chapter Fifteen
Edge
Bullets sparked off of the equipment rack in front of them. Ash hurled himself to the ground, then crawled on his hands and knees. As fast as he could, he headed for the relative safety of a steel cabinet that looked like a Dumpster set on end.
Breathing hard, he curled up behind the thick steel and pulled his feet in. But when he turned around to tell Mauricio to squeeze in beside him, Ash realized he was alone.
Mauricio was gone. Must have headed in the opposite direction, Ash realized, and cursed under his breath.
“FBI!” a voice shouted from a catwalk above.
“FBI!” a deeper voice shouted. “Put down your weapon!”
Footsteps clanged on the metal grating over his head. He caught a glimpse of Salvador flashing through a pool of muddy light as he ran, then more gunshots rang out.
Ash knew one thing for sure. He couldn’t stay here. He turned and crawled back the way he had come, looking for his brother.
*
Mauricio darted from shadow to shadow, jumping at every shout and burst of gunshots. The factory was an immense maze, with no clear exit. He had no idea which way Ash had gone.
“Sobrino!”
Mauricio froze.
Andres stood beside a control panel nearby, holding his silenced pistol at his side. He motioned Mauricio closer. “Come.”
Mauricio looked around. He had nowhere to run. Any direction he took, Andres would have a clear shot at him. Left with no choice, he approached the control panel.
Andres took him by the shoulder and steered him into the shadow beside him. “This FBI, they are very dangerous, yes? Stay close.”
“They’re after you.” Mauricio’s throat threatened to close up on him, but his burning anger kept him talking. “All I have to do is yell and they’ll find us.”
“Hmm.” Andres’s eyebrows furrowed. “Probably they will shoot you too, not ask questions.”
“You think so?”
“Without hesitation.” Andres pressed his silenced pistol into Mauricio’s hand. The grip was warm and subtly textured, but the weapon itself was surprisingly heavy and awkward. “For you. This will not give away your position. Bend your knees, squeeze when you shoot.”
Mauricio was speechless. He held the gun in his hands like a live animal that would bite if provoked.
Andres seemed to mistake his shock for concern. “Not to worry, Sobrino. The FBI will not kill me. La Araña has chosen for me a much greater destiny. To be with her. Forever.”
The way he said it so firmly, so utterly certain, for a moment Mauricio believed him. For that instant, Andres radiated such strength that Mauricio wondered if maybe he really was immortal. Chosen for a higher purpose.
Andres bent down and pulled a snub-nosed pistol from a hidden ankle holster. “Salvador will lead them away from us. You are ready?”
Mauricio swallowed and nodded.
“Come. Is time to go.” Andres spun on his heel and strode away through the factory.
Mauricio took a few steps after him and then stopped himself. That would be insane.
He turned and ran the opposite direction.
*
Ash sprinted through the darkness, from one machine to the next, pausing to look around for Mauricio. Overhead, a firefight raged across the catwalks as the FBI shot it out with Salvador and Lazaro. The darkness came alive with blurs of movement. Stray bullets sparked off the factory machines.
A few yards ahead, a body tumbled down off a catwalk and thudded to the floor, curling up in pain. He wore mottled gray fatigues, a black helmet, and a vest with FBI on his back in big letters. Overhead, Salvador leaned across the railing, aiming his assault weapon down to finish the guy off.
In a heartbeat, Ash grabbed the FBI agent by his vest straps and heaved, pulling him beneath the metal rollers of a conveyor belt. Salvador fired. Bullets chased them across the concrete, then ricocheted off the conveyor like metal hail.
The FBI agent peered up at Ash through his clear protective eyewear, and their gazes met for just a second. Ash nodded once, then patted him on the back and crawled out from beneath the belt.
He straightened up and ran for a cluster of pipes that rose high along the wall. Beyond that was a series of drum-shaped machines, and a glow that might have been an open door.
When he got to the pipes, he found Mauricio hiding behind them. “What are you doing?” Ash said, making him jump. “We’ve got to keep going. There’s probably a door back there.”
Mauricio caught his breath and shook his head. “I just came from that way. No door. But look.” He pointed up a nearby ladder, to a recessed rectangle high on the wall.
The Spider Thief Page 9
