32

AN HOUR AFTER BETH WENT TO BED THAT NIGHT, GARY STOPPED HIS CAR a half block away from Solid Gold Pawn, on the opposite side of the street. The pawnshop was located in a battered, decaying building, the type of place that had probably looked depressing the moment it was built. The lights inside the pawnshop were on, but the front window was so crammed with merchandise, it was impossible to see inside the store from this distance.

Gary removed the key from the ignition and grabbed the gun from the glove compartment. He waited in his car for five minutes. No vehicles passed through the street intersection beside Solid Gold Pawn. No people walked past the pawnshop. He was alone.

He opened the car door and stepped out into the chilly night, his trembling hand clenched tightly around the gun. He quickly walked across the empty parking lot and crouched down in front of Solid Gold Pawn. He peeked past the merchandise stacked in the window.

It looked like a regular pawnshop, nothing out of the ordinary. Otto stood behind the counter, roughly thirty feet away from the front door. The big man from the Alpine Development—Champ—stood next to him. Neither man noticed Gary looking in at them through the window.

Gary swallowed. This was it. The tension was so great that he felt like his body could simply cease functioning at any moment.

He opened the door with one hand and held the gun out from his body with his other hand. The movement caught the men’s attention and they looked over. Neither man uttered a word.

Gary moved the gun from Otto, to Champ, back to Otto, going back and forth between the two men. He took another step into the pawnshop.

“Nobody move,” he said.

•   •   •

NOBODY MOVED.

Otto stood behind the counter, frozen in place, staring across the room at Gary Foster—more accurately, staring at the gun in his hand. The barrel was pointed at Otto’s chest, not point-blank range but close enough. Less than twenty feet. If Gary started firing, it’d be over. His life would end at the hands of Gary Foster. Of all the hardened criminals and thugs he’d squared off against over the years, this pissant would be the one to end it all.

That wasn’t going to happen.

“Just calm down,” Otto said.

“I am calm,” Gary said. His voice was soulless, detached. There was a dead, cold confidence in Gary’s eyes. He wasn’t fucking around.

Otto put his hands up in the air, palms out. “We can work something out,” he said.

“I want the money,” Gary said. He took a step toward them. Fifteen feet away now.

“Just calm d—”

“Where the hell is the money?”

The gun remained pointed at Otto’s chest. One squeeze of the trigger—that’s all it would take to end everything. Somehow he had to buy himself some time. “The money’s downstairs,” Otto said. “All of it. You can have it.”

“Downstairs?” Gary said.

“There’s a fake door built into the wall. Right underneath those guitars to your left. A staircase is behind it. There’s a safe with the money down there.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. This is no bullshit. I’m the only one who knows the combination to the safe. You kill me, the money stays there. You let me live, it’s yours.”

The silence in the room dragged on. Gary stared across the room, looking far different from the timid, desperate man Otto had met with before.

“Lift up your shirt,” he said. “Show me you’re not carrying a weapon.”

Otto lifted the hem of his white T-shirt, revealing his ink-covered stomach. He slowly spun around. When he was facing Gary again, he bent over and patted down the legs of his pants. “No gun,” Otto said. “See? I’m not armed. I’m not gonna try nothing.”

“What about you?” Gary said. He gestured at Champ. “Lift up your shirt.”

Champ lifted his shirt and slowly spun around. He patted down his legs. “No gun,” he said.

“Okay,” Gary said. “Walk over to the door. Either of you try anything, I’ll pull the trigger.”

•   •   •

GARY KEPT THE GUN POINTED AT CHAMP AND OTTO AS THEY WALKED ACROSS the pawnshop floor. When they reached the display of electric guitars hanging from the wall, Otto nudged the gray wainscoting underneath the guitars. The wall moved inward, opening on hinges that made a low, barely audible squeaking noise.

Behind the door, Gary saw a darkened stairway. A set of around fifteen wooden stairs descended down to a pitch-black room. “The money’s down there?” Gary said.

“Yeah. The light switch is right over there, to my left. I’m gonna hit it,” Otto said. He flipped the switch and a light at the base of the stairs flickered on.

“Start walking,” Gary said.

They took the stairs one by one. Otto in front, struggling to navigate the stairs with his bad leg. Champ in the middle. Gary in the rear, the gun pointed at their backs. Gary was in total control of the situation but that did little to calm his racing heart.

Once they reached the final step, Gary looked around the small shadowy room. The floor was made up of scuffed panels of driftwood. The room was packed with metal storage racks pushed up against the walls. Cardboard boxes marked with their contents were stacked on the shelves: LAPTOP COMPUTERS, DVDS, PAPERBACK BOOKS. A dim lightbulb hung in the middle of the room, directly above a large metal table with various items strewn on top of it.

“Where’s the money?” Gary asked.

“The safe’s right there,” Otto said. “To your left. On the floor.”

Gary’s eyes scanned past the cardboard boxes stacked on top of one another. Below them, a metal safe rested on the floor.

“You,” Gary said, gesturing at Champ with the gun. “Stand in the corner of the room.”

Champ walked over to the corner.

Gary turned to Otto. “Now unlock the safe.”

•   •   •

OTTO CROUCHED DOWN IN FRONT OF THE SAFE, WINCING AT THE DULL PAIN in his bad knee. He spun the dial until it came to rest on the notch directly above the 15. He took his time, trying to think of some sort of escape plan, some way to get out of this mess. Something. Anything.

Gary would blow his ass away the moment he handed the money over. Of that, Otto was positive. This sure as shit wasn’t going to end with them sharing a laugh over the misunderstanding and happily going their separate ways.

But even if he somehow convinced Gary to let him live, he’d have no way to pay off his debt to De La Fuente without the money in the safe. He’d be a dead man walking.

Otto turned the safe dial to the right. He thought about the contents of the boxes stacked against the wall. Was there a gun in one of them? Probably, but there was no time to search for it. Gary would pull the trigger and end him long before he could rummage around in the boxes.

“Unlock the safe,” Gary said. “Get to it.”

Otto stopped the dial on the 21. He slowly spun the dial back to the left and stopped on the notch above the 25. There was a clicking noise from inside the safe as the lock disengaged.

“Don’t open it,” Gary said. “Leave it unlocked and walk five steps to your left.”

Otto stepped away from the safe, counting off five steps in his mind. He came to a stop just in front of the table in the middle of the room. Champ was a few feet away.

“Stay there and put your hands up,” Gary said.

Otto raised his hands over his head. His mind was racing. He had to think of something—some sort of weapon or distraction. He focused on Gary, but through his peripheral vision, he scanned the items on the table in front of him.

There were a few rags and some assorted junk he’d purchased over the past week. The small toolbox resting on the edge of the table intrigued him—he knew there were some scissors and a hammer inside—but Gary was almost ten feet away, too far for either item to be useful.

He glanced at Champ, a few feet away in the corner of the room. Could Champ save him? Doubtful. The big man wasn’t even armed. Champ had come to talk, nothing more. Otto was going to hire Champ to burn down Solid Gold Pawn once his debt with De La Fuente was squared away. He planned on being halfway across the city when Champ doused the place in paint thinner and—

Paint thinner.

His eyes skittered back to the table in front of him.

Next to the toolbox was the tin container of paint thinner.

When Otto saw the book of matches on the table beside the paint thinner, he suddenly knew his next move.

•   •   •

GARY TOOK A STEP TOWARD THE SAFE. HE HELD OUT THE GUN FROM HIS BODY with one hand, fingers clenched tightly around the grip, moving the gun back and forth between Otto and Champ.

“It’s all inside that safe,” Otto said. “The money. It’s yours.”

Gary was silent. He took another step, passing a storage rack filled with five smaller cardboard boxes sealed with duct tape, each with JEWELRY written on the side. Another step, and he passed two large cardboard boxes—LAPTOP COMPUTERS and DVDS.

Gary finally reached the safe but his eyes and the gun remained fixed on Otto and Champ. With his free hand, he reached behind him and ran his fingers over the front of the safe until he found the latch next to the combination dial. He pulled on the latch and the safe opened.

He glanced away from Otto and looked in the safe. Inside were bundles upon bundles of hundred-dollar bills with orange bands holding them together, an enormous mound of money.

•   •   •

OTTO WATCHED GARY GLANCE AWAY FROM HIM AND LOOK INTO THE SAFE. The money provided a brief distraction, but it was just enough of a window of opportunity. This was his chance. Otto lunged forward and knocked over the can of paint thinner. It glugged out of the container and poured across the table. He immediately grabbed the book of matches and struck one. The flame caught on the first try; he threw the match into the expanding pool of paint thinner.

When the match’s flame hit the liquid, there was an instant explosion.

•   •   •

BY THE TIME GARY NOTICED OTTO’S MOVEMENT, IT WAS TOO LATE. BEFORE he could pull the trigger, a whirlwind of orange and yellow flames jumped off the table, shooting nearly to the room’s ceiling, rushing toward him like a blast from a flamethrower. The burst of fire hit him before he could turn away. The flames stung Gary’s eyes like acid, singed his skin. He instantly fell backward, away from the flames, landing on his back.

He dropped the gun and furiously rubbed his hands into his stinging eyes, unable to see anything but total blackness. Gary coughed, dry heaved. The filthy, scorched smell of smoke was spreading throughout the room. Bent over on his hands and knees, Gary blinked open his eyes. His vision was blurred, eyes watery. Through the blurriness, he saw three things.

First, the flames; they were everywhere. The fire had spread onto the dusty, dry cardboard boxes that lined the room. The flames jumped from box to box, quickly scattering throughout the room.

The second was a person covered in thick flames, flailing his arms in the corner of the basement as the fire roared all over him.

The third thing Gary saw was a shape charging toward him through the smoke billowing throughout the room.

Otto.

Gary tried to stand, but before he could get to his feet, Otto kicked him in the ribs. The tip of Otto’s boot felt like an ice pick stabbing into the side of his body.

Gary let out a grunt and collapsed onto his stomach. He gasped for air and inhaled a lungful of smoke. He coughed. His vision clouded with tears.

Flames roared around them. From the other side of the room, Gary heard screams coming from the body on fire. He recognized Champ’s deep voice. Champ continued to scream and yell and flail his burning body around on the ground.

Gary felt Otto’s boot smash against his ribs again, in nearly the same spot. The impact made him roll onto his back. Another vicious kick from Otto forced Gary back onto his stomach.

“You motherfucker, you almost had me,” Otto said.

Another kick from Otto. The pain in Gary’s ribs was so intense that it hurt to breathe. He felt like he was on the verge of passing out. He inhaled another lungful of smoke and instantly coughed it back out—a whooping, powerful cough that rocked his entire frame.

Suddenly, through his blurred vision, he spotted it. The handgun. He’d dropped it when he fell to the ground, but there it was, on the scuffed wooden floor, just a few feet out of reach. Gary stretched for the gun, but before he could grab it Otto’s boot streaked past his hand and kicked it away. The gun slid across the floor and disappeared into the flames.

•   •   •

END THIS. OTTO KNEW HE HAD TO END THIS AND GET THE HELL OUT OF THE basement before it was too late. The storage racks of cardboard boxes were quickly turning into a giant, roaring wall of fire. Some of the flames were jumping so high that they reached a section of the ceiling. It was only a matter of time before the first floor collapsed right on top of them. This shitbox building was old. It wouldn’t withstand much more.

He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold up, either. He was kicking Gary with his good leg, but with every kick, he felt his bad knee buckle. It could give out at any time.

End this, grab the money, and get out of here—that was what he had to do. Otto limped toward Gary’s writhing body and kicked him in the ribs again.

Through the corner of his eye, Otto saw Champ. He was no longer moving, no longer screaming. Flames danced all over his motionless body.

Otto looked around the room and tried to spot the gun. Where the hell had it gone after he kicked it?

Fuck it. He didn’t need a gun to kill someone.

BLACKNESS CREPT IN AROUND THE CORNERS OF GARY’S EYES. HE FELT woozy, dazed. He inhaled another lungful of smoke and he coughed, wheezed, nearly vomited.

Another kick or two and he’d pass out for good. Somehow he had to fight back. He forced himself onto his knees. The room spun around him, moving in and out of focus. He felt the tip of Otto’s boot kick him in his lower back, right by his kidney. The impact propelled Gary forward. He slammed against the metal table, upturning it and sending the scattered items on top crashing to the ground around him.

Gary could barely see or breathe, but in the mess of items on the ground he spotted an overturned red toolbox. Small wrenches, a couple of hammers, and a pair of scissors littered the ground.

He mustered up every last bit of willpower and stretched out his arm. He closed his fingers around the first item he could reach: the scissors.

He spun onto his back. Otto kicked toward him again, but this time Gary was ready for him. He reached out with the hand not holding the scissors and blocked the kick. Gary wrapped his arm around Otto’s leg and squeezed it against his body, as if holding on for his life. With his other hand, he stabbed the scissors into Otto’s left knee socket, the same leg he’d been limping around on. Otto screamed out in pain. Gary forced the scissors in farther, leaning in and putting his full body weight behind them. He twisted his wrist and felt the scissors scrape against bone, sever through tissue. Otto screamed again. Gary let go of the leg and Otto fell to the ground, holding his knee.

•   •   •

OTTO YANKED THE HANDLE BURIED IN HIS KNEE, TRYING TO PULL THE SCISSORS loose. He grimaced and screamed. The bullet shattering this kneecap years ago had been excruciating, but this pain was far worse, unlike anything he’d ever felt.

He clenched his jaw. Yanked the handle again. He felt the blade inch out of his knee, the pain so intense he nearly passed out.

•   •   •

GARY STOOD UPRIGHT, ALMOST FALLING BACK DOWN BEFORE CATCHING HIS balance. The air was heavy with heat and smoke and both were rapidly intensifying.

He looked over at Otto, sprawled on the ground a few feet away, grabbing the scissors in his knee. Directly to Otto’s side, towering above him, was a large metal storage rack, its shelves filled with cardboard boxes and assorted merchandise, all of it on fire.

Gary hobbled over to the storage rack. He grabbed a rag from the ground and wrapped it around his hand. Without hesitating, he thrust the hand into the flames and grabbed a diagonal cross brace on the side of the rack. Holding on to it, he leaned backward and pulled as hard as he could.

The rack tipped over. Gary rolled to the side, moving out of the way just as the burning boxes of merchandise all tumbled off the shelf, falling onto Otto, covering his body in flaming boxes. The storage rack toppled, too, trapping Otto underneath the flames.

Gary unwrapped the fiery rag and threw it to the side. Under the flaming pile of boxes, he could see Otto thrashing on the ground. Otto’s hand shot up from the flames, moving wildly from side to side, pounding feebly against the large storage rack, rocking it in place but barely moving it at all.

And then the hand went limp, motionless. It fell back to the ground and was swallowed whole by the raging flames. Gary stared at it, waiting to make sure it didn’t move again, but it remained lifelessly flopped on top of a burning cardboard box, the skin charring to a deep black as the flames consumed it.

Gary scanned the room.

Champ’s body was a motionless heap in the corner, completely covered in flames.

All around Gary were stacks of burning cardboard boxes.

To his left was the safe.

The safe’s door was still open, lightly swaying on its hinges. Flames were dancing around it, but they hadn’t yet spread to the bundles of money inside.

He ran to the safe. A black duffel bag resting on top of the safe was also untouched by the fire. Gary grabbed the bag and held it open in front of the safe. In one sweeping motion, he shoveled the stacks of money into it. A few bundles landed inside, but most spilled out onto the floor. Gary grabbed them and threw the handfuls of money into the bag as quickly as he could.

He heard a loud snap, followed by a tremendous boom that shook the floor. He glanced behind him and saw that a four-foot-wide section of burning ceiling had caved into the basement, leaving an open hole above him. Flames danced through the hole, reaching the pawnshop’s first floor.

Gary grabbed the final stack of money from the floor and threw it into the bag. Shielding his eyes from the smoke, Gary ran to the staircase and hurried up the steps. Behind him, he heard another boom and a loud crash. The entire building shook.

He reached the top of the stairs. The floor of the pawnshop was covered with holes, some no more than a few feet wide, some larger. Gary sucked in a deep breath and held it as he ran across the pawnshop floor, avoiding the flames that leapt from the holes. He could hear the fire roaring in the basement below, could feel the heat spewing up like blasts from a furnace.

Gary reached the front door and kicked it open. He stepped out into the night and immediately collapsed to the ground, inhaling deep lungful after deep lungful of the fresh, cold night air.

He huddled on the ground for a few seconds. The fire hadn’t consumed enough of the pawnshop’s ground floor to attract attention yet, but it would be only minutes until it did. The fire department and police would be showing up soon.

Gary stood up and looked both ways down the block. No people, no cars—nothing but abandoned and boarded-up buildings in either direction.

He hurried across the street to his car and threw the duffel bag onto the passenger’s seat.

He started the engine and drove away from Solid Gold Pawn.