Solid Gold: A Red Riley Adventure #3 (Red Riley Adventures)

by Stephanie Andrews

  “I am a bit like you, Red. I’d prefer not to kill anyone. But no one is stopping these terrible men. Even if I killed them, I’m not sure they would get the message, and they would just be replaced by new men.”

  “Well, I think they got the message,” I said. “Why didn’t you invite me?”

  “I’ve already asked too much of you.”

  “But I’m here now.”

  “Si, but you found this one.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” I said, proud once again.

  “You’ll make an excellent superhero someday, Red Riley.”

  “And you, are you going to go loco and become the Mad Castrating Ninja?”

  She started to laugh, and then bit her lip. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and she wiped it away absentmindedly. “If we don’t find Valentina soon, I don’t know what I’m going to become.”

  Twenty-one

  “We’ve got a problem,” I said as we looked through the chain link fence at the Arkana Pipe Company. The main structure sat in the middle of a huge, flat compound, equidistant from the fence in every direction. On one side of the two-story warehouse several semi-trucks were parked, but other than that there was no cover. Stacks of pipe sat row upon row, covering the yard, but none of the stacks were more than three feet high. They ranged from small diameter copper and pvc pipe, stacked ten high, to single layers of ceramic and aluminum pipe that were at least three feet in diameter.

  “There’s no cover,” she said.

  “There’s no cover,” I confirmed.

  “But, I see no dogs, so that’s good.”

  “Well, aren’t you the optimist? What about the lights?”

  We were leaning against the side of the taxi, looking past the “Danger: Electrified Fence” sign to where telephone poles ringed the yard, bright sodium lights removing all shadow. The pipe company edged right up to the road, so we were able to park the car nice and close, in line with some other parked cars. At least we would have a handy getaway if we needed it.

  “I don’t think we can do it,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m going to call Marty and tell him it’s no go. We’ll think up a new plan.”

  Just then the faint buzzing that had emanated from the fence fell silent, and Selena jumped forward, bolt cutter in her hand, and attacked the fence. “Too late,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Selena, wait!”

  “I am no more waiting. We have one minute to get through this fence. Are you in or out?”

  I sighed.

  “Get the bags,” she said over her shoulder, not waiting for me to answer. I reached into the back seat and pulled out the duffel bags. I shut the door with my hip and turned to find that Selena had made short work of the fence; she was already through. I handed her both bags, squeezed through the opening, and followed her as she squatted low and crossed the yard to the first pallet of large pipes. Behind us there was a buzz as the fence came back on. No turning back now.

  We rummaged through the gear. “Do you think we’ll need rope?” I asked.

  “No, leave the rope,” she said as she methodically checked the rifle to make sure it was good to go. “I think we will not need the bolt cutters anymore either.”

  In the end, we each had a pistol. I put mine in my boot, and Selena tucked hers into the back of the wide leather belt that wrapped around her waist. I tucked the telescoping baton in my own, less sexy, belt, and slid the brass knuckles onto my left fist on the theory that it would compensate for my missing fingers when it came to throwing a solid punch. Selena took two additional cartridges for her pistol, sliding one into each boot, then she picked up the rifle and climbed into the end of one of the large aluminum pipes we were hiding behind.

  “Really?”

  “You have a better idea?” Her voice echoed down the long tube.

  I didn’t, so I crawled into the one next to hers and started making my way on my hands and knees toward the far end. Apart from a disc of light twenty feet ahead, it was pitch black and not a lot of fun. However, the pipes were facing the right way, and when we reached the far end we were twenty-five feet closer to our goal.

  Unfortunately, the next row of pipes was perpendicular to the ones we were in. That wasn’t going to work. I brought my head close to the opening and asked quietly, “What now?”

  “Up and over,” Selena whispered back.

  “If anyone is watching we’ll be busted,” I hissed.

  “Well, then let’s hope they aren’t. Uno, dos, tres.”

  I clambered out of the pipe and sprinted toward the next stack, using my right hand to help catapult up on top of the large brown ceramic pipes. They were heavy and solid and didn’t budge as we crossed two, four, six, eight of them and then jumped off the other side. Three steps across the open aisle and we dove headfirst into the next set of pipes.

  I lay there panting. My heaving breath echoed in the tight space. I held it in for a minute to see if I could hear shouts, or sirens. Nothing. I exhaled, then rolled back onto my hands and knees and started toward the far end. I was glad for the exertion, it warmed me up. I had assumed Texas would be steaming hot, even at night, but it was only about forty-five degrees. I don’t always properly think these things through.

  We were now about half way toward our destination, the semi-trucks. I could see them over the next two pallets of pipe. The next pallet was small pipes, we’d have to go over or around.

  I stuck my head out the far end, and so did Selena. We looked at each other and grinned. “What now?” I started to ask, but was interrupted by the baying of a dog, close enough to be in the compound. Our grins dropped instantly.

  “No dogs?” I hissed.

  “Sorry,” said Selena, and reached behind her to pull the rifle off her shoulder and forward.

  “You’re going to shoot the dogs?” I gasped, horrified.

  “No, the lights.”

  “They’ll definitely know we’re here.”

  “Then we better move fast.”

  And with that she scooted from the pipe and stood in one fluid motion, the rifle already rising and aiming. One, two, three, four shots, followed by a popping sound and the tinkling of broken glass. Darkness fell all around us. I crawled out of the pipe and jumped to my feet, turning to look toward the building.

  One, two, three more shots and the building and the semis disappeared into the darkness.

  “Quickly,” hissed Selena, and leapt onto the next pallet of pipes, sprinting toward the trucks. Shouts could be heard form the building as I followed her over the pallet, across the aisle, and onto the next. I heard a door bang open to my right as we cleared the last pipes and approached the first truck. I leapt onto the running board, grabbed the side mirror and swung up onto the hood. Two quick steps and I was up the windshield and onto the roof of the cab, then up onto the top of the trailer. Next to me, Selena’s white body glowed in the moonlight. She scooched down, laying the rifle noiselessly on the top of the truck, then turned and leapt into the air, landing on the overhang that shadowed the loading dock.

  Before I could think too much about it, I followed, landing hard and rolling a few times, but unharmed. We stayed low, flashlights were bobbing wildly below us. We could hear shouts and dogs barking over by the fence where we had cut our way in.

  Selena touched my arm and pointed toward a fire escape that led to a door on the second floor of the building. It was an easy jump from the roof of the loading dock to the fire escape. She unzipped the little white zip on the shoulder of her bodysuit and withdrew her lockpicks, and suddenly we were once again breaking into a warehouse to look for lost women.

  The stairway we entered was dark, and we hadn’t brought flashlights. Before Selena eased the exterior door shut, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and lit up the screen. I winced to see a selfie of Nick and I having a picnic together in Evanston on my home screen. What was he going to say about me asking Elgort for help, and then screwing it up?

  Before I could go too far down that corr
idor of thought, Selena touched my shoulder and gestured toward a door on the other side of the landing. She eased it open, and a soft light spilled through. I shut off my phone and put in back in my pocket, following Selena quietly into the doorway.

  We entered a long hallway with three doors on each side, at the far end and open stairwell headed down. The lighting was poor, but I could see that each door had a padlock on the outside, and a small window set at head height. More prisons.

  Selena started toward them, but I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. I drew close and whispered, “We have to secure the building first. We have no idea how many men are here.”

  She shrugged my hand off. “We have to find Valentina,” she hissed. “Now.” She pulled her lockpick set out and handed me a small tool suitable for opening a padlock. “You take those three,” she whispered, indicating one side of the hallway.

  I didn’t like this plan, but there was no stopping her, so I set to work. Images of Windsor were flashing through my mind and I was worried by what I would find in the cells. Uncle Elgort had taught me how to open a lock like this, and I had learned it well. For once, something I was better than Selena at; I had the first lock open in about ninety seconds. Inside was dark and smelled of sweat. There was a light switch just outside the door, and I flicked it on, lighting up the room. There was no one there, but the room was filled with cots, and in one corner was a prison toilet, bolted to the wall and offering no privacy.

  I stepped out of the room and looked for Selena. She had opened the door closest to her, and when I looked in I could see surrounded by four or five women. They were all speaking Spanish in hushed tones. I stepped out and crossed back to my next door, this time turning on the light and standing on tiptoes to look through the window.

  This room also held a half a dozen women, laying on cots. When the light came on they squinted up at the door warily. I tapped on the window lightly with my brass knuckles, then held my finger to my lips. They seemed dazed, and barely moved.

  I set to work on the padlock and had the door open quickly. “Vamos,” I whispered, and indicated that they should come out. The women were all Latina, and as in Windsor they wore plain grey housedresses and were either barefoot or wearing light slippers. They looked and smelled as if they had not bathed in quite a while.

  They filed out into the hall and joined the women from the two rooms Selena had liberated. She was talking in hushed tones to a small woman with angry eyes who seemed more alert than the others. We all huddled together.

  Selena spoke to the women quickly in Spanish, gesturing several times to the small woman, calling her Carla. There was some quiet resistance to what Selena was telling them, but when Carla moved down the hall toward the door we had entered, all the women followed.

  “I told them to climb down the fire escape and climb into one of the trucks and hide,” Selena whispered to me. “Maybe we can bust through the gate with the truck.”

  I nodded;iIt was a serviceable plan. I gestured toward the last two doors. “Let’s get the rest before those yahoos figure out we’re inside,” I whispered.

  As I approached the last door on the left before the open stairs, I noticed the padlock was hanging open. It was unlikely there was anyone in there but opened the door and stepped into just to be safe, flicking on the light as I went.

  I stopped short. A man was lying facedown on one of the cots, his naked ass shining in the overhead light. From underneath his bulk a woman’s bare legs protruded. His head whipped around when the light came on, and before I could close the distance, he hollered: “Intrusa!”

  As he rose, I leapt through the air in a flying tackle, knocking him off the woman and into the wall. As we crashed down together in a heap I pulled my left arm back and hit him repeatedly in the head with the brass knuckles, all the while the naked woman screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Crap! The dirtbag collapsed without too much of a fight, but the damage was done. Selena stuck her head in the doorway.

  “Jesus Christo, Red. Stop the screaming.”

  “I wasn’t the one screaming,” I retorted, disentangling myself from the man and leaping off the cot. The woman had leapt onto another cot, against the opposite wall, and was huddled against it with a blanket wrapped around her. She had stopped screaming, but when I grabbed her by the upper arm she let out another yelp.

  “I’m sorry,” I hissed, “but we’ve got to go.” She wouldn’t budge.

  “Leave her, for now!”

  “What?”

  “We’ve got company coming, we’ve got to go!”

  “Valentina?”

  She shook her head. No luck. We rushed back into the hall, met with the sound of voices and boot thumps rising from the open stairwell. I pushed Selena toward the other end of the hall.

  “Find the women. The yard is going to be full of guards Use the truck to break the gate. I’ll see what I can do from in here.”

  She nodded and took off toward the fire escape door. I turned and sprinted toward the stairwell, reaching back and pulling the baton from my belt. A wooden railing surrounded the opening to the stair well, and between the slats I could just see the top of a man’s head coming into view. I launched myself completely over the railing, not trusting my bad hand for support, and flicked my right wrist as I flew, extending the telescoping baton. My timing was slightly off, and I passed just behind him, punching him hard in the temple as I flew by. Still in the air, I kicked off the far wall and came crashing down on the man who was ascending just behind him. I let go of the baton to grab him with both hands as we went down, one hand on his bicep and the other on the strap of his automatic rifle, keeping him from using it. He tried anyway, half a dozen shots exploding in less than a second, the sound of wooden and plaster splitting.

  There was a third man behind him, and tumbled strait down the stairs and into him, all three of us falling in a tangle to the floor at the foot of the stairs. I started to rise when I was hit hard from behind, launching me across the floor where I leapt to my feet, snatching my baton off the floor as I went.

  Wild-eyed, I scanned the room quickly. The man who had hit me was the one from the top of the stairs. It wasn’t an attack, I had knocked him cold with the brass knuckles and he had simply tumbled down the stairs after us.

  I startled as I realized there was another man in the room, but he was sitting on the floor, against the wall, blood pouring from his chest. It took me a moment to realize he had been hit by one of the stray bullets fired by the falling asshole.

  Speaking of which, he and the other man at the bottom of the stairs were beginning to rise. I stepped forward, using the baton in both hands. I swung it like a baseball bat into the side of the first one’s head, then turned and did the same to the second before he could get off his hands and knees. I switched back and hit the first again, and as he tried to raise his arms to ward off my blows, he fell on his face. I turned to the next man and kicked him hard with my right boot, then brought the baton down on the back of his head.

  Everything was silent. The stairway let out onto the main floor of the warehouse, which was mostly dark except for an office at the far end. It had a big window that looked out on the warehouse floor, and it was lit up from inside.

  I started toward it but had only taken a few steps when a man stepped out of the shadows ten feet to my right, his automatic rifle pointed square at me.

  “Don’t move,” he said with a southern drawl. I heard movement to my left, and two more men came out of the dark. I dropped my baton to the floor, breathing heavily, winded from my jaunt down the stairs.

  “I’m not sure if you know this—” I began.

  “Quiet!” The man with the gun barked. “On the floor.”

  The two men next to me helped me find the ground, face down. They drew my arms behind me and cuffed my wrists together, pulling the brass knuckles off my hand and tossing them across the floor as they did. A hand groped my butt, and then ran down my legs and pulled the pistol f
rom my boot.

  “Listen,” I tried again, but one of them put a black cloth bag over my head, a subtle way of telling me they weren’t interested in what I had to say.

  Twenty-two

  They locked me in shackles. Honest to goodness shackles, like I was Andromeda, or Antigone, or whoever it was chained to the rock. At least they felt like shackles, I still had a bag over my head. Wide metal cuffs around each wrist, with connecting chains that went up and out, and then attached to the wall, pulling my arms apart so that I had no chance of escape, no chance of even removing the hood.

  I strained my ears and could hear a few low voices on the other side of the warehouse. Outside, there were all kinds of crazy sounds, including an occasional gunshot. I was scared and didn’t know what was going to happen. If they were going to kill me, they probably would have already, but that wasn’t much comfort. A future as a white slave didn’t seem much better.

  My grim reverie was broken by sudden loud shouts in Spanish and English from the far end of the warehouse.

  “We have her!” someone shouted, and my heart sank. Heavy footsteps, I couldn’t tell how many men, crossed to the center of the warehouse. There was a moment of silence, and then a man made a grunt of pain, and there followed the sound of at least three or four guns cocking. Then more silence, then a deep laugh. This blindness thing sucked; I was dying to know what was going on.

  “That had to hurt,” said a man’s voice, still laughing. “I told you to stay out of her reach.” Damn, they had Selena.

  There was a clanking of metal on cement, and then the voice spoke again. “Put them on your wrists and lock them.”

  “I think my leg is broken,” said another voice, with a strong accent. I could hear the pain in his quivering speech, I could picture him grasping his leg, perspiration on his face. No one answered him, and I heard him hop off toward the office.

  Metal rang out as chains, presumably attached to Selena, were picked up and attached to something in the air. So far, she hadn’t said a word, but there was a strained exhale, almost a groan, that didn’t sound like a man.