Of course, they were dead. Three of them that is. Black Widow Joyce, her loyal-to-the-death husband, Larry, and Mean Gene Bender. Miraculously, Derrick Sweet managed to survive. Although the extent of his thumb wound was getting so bad, it would be a miracle if he didn’t lose his hand.
I turned to Sheriff Hylton. “This has turned into a hell of a lot more than just a couple of escaped cons. This is about some seriously bad shit going on in Dannemora Max. Those invading bastards might have been wearing ski masks, but you and I both know that the big one was Rodney. We’ve got to scale the fortress walls, expose the Crypt to the world, before more kids get violated or die.”
“D’Amico is on his way,” she said. “It’s his call.”
“This your town,” Blood said. “You make the call.”
“The more we stall,” I said, “the better chance Rodney, Clark, and Valente have of whitewashing the Crypt operation. We need to get there now while it’s in working order.”
Outside the facility, the sound of emergency sirens. Fire, EMTs. The back door burst open once more. Men dressed in ballistic gear marched in. They were the good guys this time.
“Down on the floor!” the lead man shouted.
You didn’t fuck with these guys.
Blood and I dropped our weapons, went down onto the floor.
“Hands over your head!”
We did as they told us.
“I’m the sheriff,” Bridgette said while she too dropped down, setting her side-arm onto the concrete floor. “You know exactly who I am.”
A man squeezed through the crowd. A short man with a solid build and an angry as all hell face.
D’Amico.