My body temperature had just gone up several degrees in no time, aside from the back of my neck, where I felt an icy patch. I could hear my own breath, and I knew I couldn't let this opportunity go to waste. I twisted my neck and spotted the pair. They were climbing the outside stairs leading up to Playa. This was my best chance—possibly my only chance—to find out everything I could about this fucked-up situation, hopefully minus an appearance from the thugs and assassins.
“Tell Ji I'm following Josh and Franco into Playa,” I said to Andi.
“Josh, your boss? What's going on?”
“Who knows? That's what I want to find out. I'll text or call Ji if I need him.”
I turned on a dime, heading back west across the street.
Ten feet later, someone sat on their horn, causing my heart to nearly jump out of my chest.
“Fuck!” I threw out my hand as a Land Cruiser jerked to a stop three feet from me. I was more pissed at myself for not paying attention. I turned my head and saw the front door to Playa shutting. I took in a breath and hoped Josh and Franco hadn't turned around to check out the commotion.
I resumed my trek and crossed the busy street, hopped on the curb, and four strides later, scattered up about ten stone steps. I paused at the front door, thinking how I should approach this...confrontation. It would be just me and Franco, and my boss. What the hell was Josh doing? Were they friends, business associates? Josh was consumed by his work, but he didn't seem like a terrible guy, at least not by typical corporate standards. At worst, he was an intellectual snob, or so I thought.
I pulled open the stately wooden door and instantly recalled that I didn't have my badge to get me through the interior doors. "Dammit," I said to myself. Glass standing at least ten feet high separated me from free access to the rest of the building—and Franco. I looked all around and didn't see a soul, only a light from a hallway or an office beyond a sea of cubes about sixty feet away.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I considered making a run and trying to bounce up the glass to grab the top, then pull myself over. I huffed, realizing I'd watched too many Jackie Chan movies. A blinking yellow light got my attention, and I took a few steps to the left. Oh yes! This is the fingerprint system some of the nerds—rather, technical developers—had been working on, just for fun. It was still in beta, but I wondered if my fingerprint would unlock the security door.
Used somewhat like an electronic hotel room key system—but far more advanced—I slid my finger in the opening to the device, then pulled it out. The light blinked red.
I wondered if I was in their database, considering my current recent nonattendance. I tried again, and got the same result.
“Slow down,” I told myself.
I placed my finger in the opening one more time and held it there for five seconds. A green light blinked, and I heard a click. I grabbed the handle of the door and pulled.
I was in.
With my feet planted on the rainbow-colored, polka-dot carpet squares, I slowly scanned the front room's main cubicle area and didn't see the top of any head. The few adjacent offices were all dark. Josh and Franco wouldn't be hiding in one of those dimly lit offices, ready to jump me as I walked by, would they? I was almost positive they hadn't spotted me, and I tried to brush off my trepidation.
Ceiling tiles took in a creaky breath as the heater pumped to life, settling into its familiar hum.
Keeping my head on a swivel, I stepped heel to toe, moving toward the light, my pulse hovering in the yellow area, my adrenaline locked and loaded. Veering right at a fork, the light became more vivid. It was an office. Josh's office. My legs grew stiff, and I couldn't help but walk on my toes. My senses were on full alert.
No voices. Had they heard me? I stopped breathing.
What was that? I looked behind me, but the hallway was empty. Must have been ceiling creaks. The old place had been refurbished three or four times since it was built in the 1930s. Ahh, the stories it could tell.
Stiffness formed in my neck, but I forced myself to lean forward and slowly take in the view of Josh's playroom office. Taking two steps forward, I saw it was all bare, aside from his boy toys. I noticed a stack of Rubik's Cubes on his desk, unpackaged, all sides showing a uniform color. Part of me wanted to screw up his perfect cubes. Didn't have time, plus I'd seen Josh unscramble those suckers in less than a minutes. Maybe he was a genius.
I still couldn't mentally put my arms around Josh and Franco. What the hell did they have in common? Josh wasn't the type to bully a beautiful woman. I wasn't even sure he liked women. Whatever.
I continued my search, walking down two more halls, then I came upon the game room. Empty, other than a ping pong table, four red bean bag chairs, a bar with two beer taps, a poker table, and three stand-up, old-school video games—including Centipede. My initials took three of the top ten scores on that sucker.
Tiny security lights attached to the ceiling every twenty feet or so lighting my path, I glided past our think tank—an open area full of white boards and more games. Just around the next corner, I found my cube. Flyers were stacked on my chair, and a note stuck to my desk that read: “Where the hell are you, Doyle? We need some bean burritos, dude!”
Leaving my cube, I took a different route back toward the front. No sounds, other than the ever-present furnace hum. I caught a scent of disinfectant then noticed our unisex bathroom off to my right. I hung a left and eyed a set of stairs that led to a second floor, rarely used.
I stopped at the base and looked up. Dark. A few small boxes littered the path, and dust covered the one wooden railing. It was hot up there, regardless of the season. I decided to try the second floor only if the rest of the building was empty.
I heard a thud off in the distance. I turned my head. Did I hear low voices, or was my mind playing tricks? I took a few steps then paused again.
I pondered how I'd handle the interaction with Franco. If he was behind any of this shit, he deserved an ass kicking, and then I'd force him to tell me everything he knew, starting with Camila's whereabouts.
I shook my head. For all I knew, Harley Man was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and could split me into eight pieces without breaking a sweat.
Five more steps and I noticed our lone water fountain tucked between two walls. My tongue scratched the back of my throat, and I debated leaning down for a quick sip. Then I recalled an incident when I was in third grade. After running around like a crazy child at recess, I beat everyone to the water fountain and slurped like a dog for a full minute. The school bully apparently didn't approve, and without warning, he drove his elbow into the back of my head, and I face-planted into the metal appendage. I lost a tooth and needed a couple of stitches. But I had the last laugh. As blood squirted out of my lip like a small fountain, the chubby man-child tossed his cookies all over himself. Turns out he had a wimpy gag reflex.
I passed on the water and padded toward the one area I hadn't checked out, other than our second floor—the break room. I weaved through some random cubes then cut a left.
My eyes got wide—I thought I just noticed shadow movement pouring into the hallway from the break room. I blinked twice, listening. Should I call Ji? Can't wait for him. I had to confront this asshole here and now.
Three more steps. I hugged the wall, my eyes shifting from an eye-level view of the break room entrance, down to the floor, on the lookout for more shadow movement. No sounds, not even the furnace. Seconds later, I heard a whirring purr, and I knew our twentieth-century fridge had come to life.
I took in a deep breath and stepped boldly into the doorway.
Nothing. The room was vacant of anything living, other than the mold I'd likely find if I opened the fridge and found lunches from three weeks ago. Could one of those be mine?
I picked up a strong scent of pickles and something sweet. Lemonade. Josh loved his lemonade. Tubs of salty snacks rimmed two counters, a bowl of apples sat on the oval table, and cases of beer and soda were stacked against the corner. I actually felt
a tinge of hunger. I brushed that aside and wondered if I'd imagined the entire scene. Josh, Franco, walking into this office. No one was here. Well, there was the second floor. I bit the inside of my cheek and looked back at the corner, on the other side of the wall of beverages. I stepped closer, my eyes narrowing.
A door, no more than five feet high, built eighty years ago. Nothing more than a storage closet, from what I'd heard. It was painted the exact color of the walls, a pale yellow, including the tiny knob.
It's just a storage closet. And it's probably empty.
Then why did I feel drawn to open it? Curiosity killed the cat, so I took hold of the knob, fully expecting it be locked.
It was.
Turning around, I scratched my head. "I must be fucking crazy," I said out loud, daring anyone within close proximity to show themselves.
Maybe I was experiencing some type of delayed aftereffect from my concussions. Hallucinating, combining my pre-drama world (Josh) with my current nemesis (Franco). I walked to the fridge, looking for a cold G2, grape. I yanked the handle and the damn thing broke off the door, at least most of it. A single bent screw held the lower part of the handle, while the top part dangled, its associated hardware scattered at my feet.
“Great.” Using the tips of my fingers, I peeled the rubber seal from the refrigerator door, and it swung open. One sniff and I knew I couldn't be hallucinating or dreaming. I put my hand over my face, quickly looking for the stash of G2s. I found the odor culprit inside the egg container. Eggs. Not shelled eggs in a carton. Deviled eggs that had sprouted a garden of greenish, fuzzy mold. My face contorted, I grabbed a purple plastic bottle and flipped the door shut with my foot, the sound of clanging metal filling up the room.
“Everyone knows I'm here now.”
I cracked the seal and chugged until I'd downed half the bottle, then wiped my mouth with my sleeve. Public decorum was not a concern at this point.
My eyes shifted back to the little storage door. I pursed my lips then stepped in that direction, setting my drink on the nearby counter. I took a firmer grip of the knob and put some torque behind it. Pop.
The damn thing had only been stuck, maybe even rusted. But it wasn't locked.
With my heart fluttering just a tad, I opened the door. Nothing but black. I stuck my hand in and felt around. Only air. I couldn't see a damn thing, so I pulled my phone and tapped the screen, providing a few feet of decent light.
Stairs. Going down.
I knew where I was headed. Hopefully anywhere but hell. I crouched down and took the first step.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Oh fuck!” My voice echoed off the ribbed metal surrounding me, but I could have cared less. A foot-long serrated blade jabbed a shockwave of pain into my shoulder—or at least that was what it felt like. My extended arm rested under my head, but at an angle that wasn't natural—unless you performed for Cirque du Soleil.
I peeled myself off the narrow landing in what appeared to be a tunnel and put weight on my elbow.
“Fuck!” I said again. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I glanced behind me, up the dimly lit tube, and cursed the wooden, warped stairs. After the first step, my shoe had touched nothing but air. The rest of my body bounced, scraped, and tumbled down the staircase.
Who the hell makes a staircase with no second step?
I released a battered breath and sat up, cringing at any movement that hinted at using my right shoulder, arm, or wrist. My entire body felt bruised, cuts up and down my shins and knees. I touched my face. Blood from at least three places—my forehead and chin screaming pain. I took a second and tried to pick out a buried splinter from my chin. I came up empty.
Enough about me.
Grunting like an old man, I got to my feet, balanced on a two-foot-wide walkway, used my left arm to wipe blood and sweat from my eyes. I examined my new world. The tunnel went left and right. I was facing left off the stairs, which were actually more like a booby trap. The adrenaline shot I'd experienced when gravity yanked me downward had robbed me of complete muscle control. My legs wobbled like...an old man.
Nearby, out of sight, drops of water from above or off an attached pipe plopped into a shallow moat bordering the platform. I hoped a little sewage wasn't mixed in. My nostrils filled with smells of salt and metallic—like I could taste them. I prepared myself for a rodent to pop out of the darkness.
But I was on the hunt for a snake.
Either my eyes were playing tricks or I could see a glimpse of light. The tunnel appeared to curve, so I headed in that direction and began to rebuild the logical, deductive side of my brain—the one that had just experienced another shot of trauma. I'd been spared another concussion, thanks to the padding from my awkwardly placed arm, courtesy of a newly expanded shoulder socket. I grimaced and massaged my upper arm.
Seeking some balance assurance and a light to see into the black hole, I pulled out my cell phone and thumbed the screen. Cracked. It looked like I'd taken a hammer to it. My fingers felt splinters of glass push out, on the verge of crumbling. Functionally, it was slightly better than a paperweight. The light flickered at maybe thirty percent of its normal capacity. I brought up Ji's contact to send a text, realizing I should probably tell the gang what was going on.
I pressed letters and nothing displayed. I pressed harder and numbers and odd characters popped up. Then I clicked send and it just sat there...like a paperweight. Could have partially been due to poor coverage in the tunnel, but given the fact the phone had just taken a beating—much like its owner—the damn thing was probably broken.
The murky glow of the phone served its essential purpose—lighting my path, maybe a three-foot radius around me. I scanned my surroundings, on the lookout for rodents and serpents, including those with legs.
Suddenly, water splashed to my right. My heart snapped to attention, followed closely by my body. A frog leaped on the walkway, then hopped back into the water on the other side.
“Shit!” The sudden, jerky reaction had sent a zap of blood-curdling pain through my shoulder. I kneaded the deltoid muscle in my upper arm and resumed walking, breathing like I was in Lamaze class.
Five steps later, a flicker of light, a thin shadow around the bend. I stopped in my tracks, my ears assessing every sound. Muffled voices, maybe more than two? Confronting Franco in front of Josh hadn't concerned me in the least. Adding another person to the mix sent an instant message to my brain—what the hell am I thinking? I had no weapon, only one usable arm. I did have my phone—the glow-in-the-dark paperweight.
I licked my lips, just as I saw shadows dance on the rim of the tunnel, then a methodic clipping sound behind me. Shoes. I backed up while still staring straight ahead, pondering what to do. I had no intentions of missing this opportunity, but taking on three people, even if one was Josh, was a beating waiting to happen—possibly worse.
Glancing behind me to ensure my shoes wouldn't slide off the metal path, I backpedaled faster, still not yet seeing a figure to match the clip of the shoes. I paused briefly. The pattern told me it was one person—unless another person wore soft-sole shoes. I took another twenty steps or so back into the thick of the darkness. With my heart peppering my chest cavity, I tiptoed off the path. My shoes sank into about six inches of soupy water. I tried to ignore the possible creatures—living and not—and other toxins floating against my skin. I leaned against the shell of the tunnel, trying my best to blend in with the metal.
Being a chameleon was my best shot—maybe my only shot—to surprise this person.
I saw a silhouette and dipped my head down. Afraid to show the whites of my eyes, the shoes moved closer, clipping at the same rhythm, the echo becoming more distinct.
Something just nipped at my ankle. I clenched my teeth, knowing if I even twitched, the water would ripple, attracting attention. Another nibble. My mind had visions of piranha swarming, preparing to devour my lower extremity. I knew the thought was delusional. It took everything I had to not move, to not
kick and jump back on the platform.
From the corner of my eye, I saw shoes—but I couldn't determine what type from the lack of light. Does he see me? Is he carrying a gun? I had one chance, a single window of opportunity to...what was I going to do actually? Images of Camila darted through my mind—the night she leaned over and touched the neck of her dead brother, Gustavo, tears flowing, and feeling no pulse. I could recall anguish washing over her body, and then her phone blurted out a noise, and fear overtook the pain and she ran off. So scared she couldn't even stay to grieve in a normal way—if there is a normal when the shell of the person you've loved most lies in front of you, dead. Never to hear that person speak, laugh, sing. Never to touch that person's cheek. Never to feel that person's empathy or support, genuine interest in what you care about.
I realized the night she lost Gustavo, I could finally see that I wasn't alone in this world. I wasn't the first, nor the last, to go through an experience that shredded my heart and destroyed my will to live life to its fullest. I'd let down my pop and me.
Camila was me nineteen months ago, and I only wanted to turn back time and keep it from happening.
Six feet and closing.
Recalling the journey of how I got to this spot, at this exact place in time, all of it enabled me to finally stitch my heart back together. I channeled my energy, coiling up for the attack.
I filled my chest with a slow breath.
One purpose.
I launched myself out of the moat, kicking off the side of the tunnel like an Olympic swimmer. With the growl of a lion, I pounced on my victim. He leaped, raising his arms, allowing my shoulder—the good one—to ram into his ribs. It flushed his lungs of air. I pumped my legs, taking him off his feet, and slammed his body into the opposite wall. I think his head clanged against the side.
Fine with me. Just helped me gain more of an advantage. He bounced off the metal, and I took his arm and flipped his body over my outstretched leg. He dropped hard, half his body in the moat, the other half stretched over the platform. I fell on top of him, my knee landing with a thud on his kidney, then grabbed a free arm and twisted it behind his back.
GREED Box Set (Books 1-4) Page 93
