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But then I see something and move to the side to conceal myself. I recognize him. It’s the guy I saw in the picture on Danny’s desk and at the Minute Key. Kenny Spittle.
Didn’t they shoot this piece of shit?
I pull my gun and wait, and as soon as he turns to lock the door behind him, I wedge it in his temple. He stills. Curses.
“Open up,” I say.
He inhales sharply and peeks out the corner of his eye to see if it’s really me.
“The Brit and The Enigma won’t show up to save you this time.” I force the gun farther into his temple as I pat him down, checking he’s clear, before taking the briefcase in his hand and tossing it into a nearby bush.
“I’m legit,” he says, sounding panicked as he pushes his way in, me following. “Do you think after what I’ve been through with those two I’d fuck up again? They held me in a metal container for weeks, for fuck’s sake. Starved me!”
“Shut up.” I lead him with my gun to the next door. “Where’s security?”
“Through there.” He points to a closed door, and the sound of a TV drifts into my ears. A football game.
I gaze around at the cameras pointing down on us. “How many work?”
“What? All of them.”
That’s unfortunate, but I haven’t got time or the resources to fix that. They’ll see me soon. “Open.”
His shaking hands fumble over the keys until he finally gets it open, revealing more doors.
“Where’s the vault?”
“Oh God, I’ll go to prison!”
“I’m not here to rob you.” I hold up a key. “Familiar?”
He nods and points to a door. “Oh Jesus. The vault’s through there.”
“Open.” I demand, waving my gun. Spittle holds a key to a pad and then his eye to the scanner, and the door pings open as he starts praying while he goes through the motions of opening the vault.
When the colossal metal door drifts open, I inhale, momentarily losing my focus. A moment is all it takes. Spittle moves fast, facing me, and I fire before I have a chance to think about where I’m shooting him. Blood splatters against the wall, and I look away on a wince. “Shit,” I breathe, telling myself, forcing myself to calm the hell down. I find Spittle face up, eyes open, a hole in his head.Fuck!I still, listening for any sounds of security coming to investigate. Nothing. I frown and step toward the door, hearing cheering from the security room, then look up and around at the cameras. Uneasy, I take Spittle’s legs and pull him to the door, using his body to wedge it open.
Then I start trying all of the boxes, looking up every time I hear a sound, pausing my search, bracing myself for a security guard to come running in. No one does. Box after box refuse to open, until...
The key turns, and I inhale at the sound of a lock shifting. I open the box, tense, finding a piece of paper, and with shaking hands, I unfold it.
A letter.
From my father.
And with each word, my heart slows more.
Beau, If you’re reading this, you’ve found out something I desperately didn’t want you to know.
I’m so sorry…
“Beau?”
I still, staring down at the words before me, frozen. The voice behind me spikes both comfort and distress.
And then a sharp stab in my arm has me dropping the paper.
And everything is...
