Page 93 of Tito

Cash jiggled the door handle. “What’s in here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Baker responded. “It’s time to go.”

“Town’s fucking dead,” Cash argued. “You heard it from Goose. All these retired fuckers are asleep. Cops included. C’mon Bake. The man’s got this fucker locked. A locked room inside a locked room?” He nodded toward the door. “Get Ally in here.”

Baker checked his watch. He forced a sigh and reached for his earpiece. “We’ve got another lock, Ally.”

“On my way,” she responded.

In seconds, Ally was inside the room with her lock picking devices. After choosing the proper pick, she inserted it into the lock.

With our greedy eyes fixed on the door, Baker, Cash, Goose, and I waited with bated breath to see what was inside.

The mechanism clicked. With the lock pick still in the lock, Ally pushed the door open and peered inside the dimly lit room.

“Lighted jewelry cases,” She said. “They’re full.”

Baker took a step toward the room. “Tito, stay with me. Everyone else, get the car loaded.”

“Let me take a look,” Cash said, outwardly excited to see what was inside the room.

“Get the fucking car loaded,” Baker snarled. “Tito and I will get this.”

The building’s interior, less the open storefront, was configured in an “L” shape. With the two rooms that we were in at the lower leg of the “L”, the establishment’s exit door wasn’t visible without walking out of the rear room and around the corner. Goose and Ally had already disappeared in that direction.

Cash hesitated, and then turned away in a huff. Before he took one step, a voice from the other room caused the hair on my neck stand on end. It wasn’t the lack of familiarity in the voice so much that startled me.

It was what he said.

“Take one more step,” the voice said in a firm drawl. “And I’ll blow a hole in you big enough to drive a truck through.”

“You, too, Missy,” a second voice said. “Don’t fucking move.”

Hidden from view, I pinned myself against the back room’s interior wall. The veins on my neck pulsed with each beat of my overactive heart. I lowered myself to my hands and knees and crawled to the door.

Nervously, I peered around the corner.

A police officer that was big enough to challenge Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson to a fist fight stood with his pistol aimed at Goose’s chest. His hands were rock-steady. His threatening glare bore the intensity of a man who was committed to his cause. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in such a situation, that much was clear.

Beside him, another officer stood. Not near as sure of himself as his partner, he pointed a shaking assault rifle at Ally.

I quickly surveyed the situation.

The first officer was on the left side of the door. He was ten feet away from Goose. To the right of the door, the second officer was fifteen feet in front of Ally with his rifle pointed at her chest. Neither of the officer’s uniforms bore the square-shaped outline of a bulletproof vest.

My heart raced at a breakneck pace as I attempted to assemble a plan of escape.

The exit door was open. Our escape vehicle sat outside the door, running. The rumble from the high-performance exhaust was a welcome sound. Without it I feared the officers would be able to hear my heart pounding.

The first officer barked out his command. “Get on the floor, asshole! I’m not going to tell you again.”

There was only one option. I withdrew into the room and pulled my weapon, a HK USP .45 caliber pistol. Still on my hands and knees, I looked in Baker’s direction.

I signaled for him to cover the man with the rifle. He quickly got in position. I mouthed the words “on three.”

Baker nodded.

Cash shook his head adamantly and then pointed to his chest. “Move out of the way,” he whispered, nudging his way against the doorframe. “You count, we’ll shoot.”