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It’s odd, but I don’t ponder who did it or what happened. I’m here for a different reason. Taking the binoculars from the dashboard, I scan the surroundings. Warren’s staff have been evacuated. They’re standing on the pavement. Through the open gates, two firetrucks are visible, the firemen trying to douse the flames with hoses.
“Whatever the fuck is going on, this makes our task considerably easier,” Mateo says with a chuckle.
Judging by the size of that fire, it must’ve been going for a good hour, already. The roof is gone, and flames are raging through the windows.
“You take care of the men,” I say to Mateo. “Warren is mine.”
“How long do you need?” my brother asks.
“An hour, max.” I hand him the key for the car we left around the corner. “Get out of here as soon as you can.”
Taking my bag, I get out. Mateo follows suit. The neighbors have all come outside to watch. They’re piled up in the street in front of Warren’s house. We walk toward the commotion in the broad fucking daylight, and no one as much as glances in our direction.
Warren himself is shouting orders, his fat belly bouncing as he runs up and down next to the wall of his property. Andrew gives me a nod as he drives past. I pull the baseball cap lower over my eyes and duck my head. I wasn’t planning on taking Warren today, only his men, but the fact that he’s here is a bonus. It speeds up my plan.
Everyone is watching the work of the firemen, their faces turned toward the house. Warren is yelling at a man in a fire suit, going on about the valuables they need to clear from the house.
I walk up to Warren. “Excuse me. I need a word.”
Warren looks at me, not hiding his irritation. “What now?”
“Insurance.” Taking his arm, I pull him aside. “Over here.”
Andrew gets out and opens the door.
“What—” Warren starts.
Before he gets out another word, I slam my fist against his temple, knocking him out cold. Andrew takes one side and I the other. We drag him to the car and throw him into the back. We’re taking off and no one has noticed that he’s gone.
“What now?” Andrew asks.
I think quickly, improvising. Not the house. It’s too far. We’ll lose too much time driving there.
“The gasworks,” I say.
The old factory has been abandoned for years due to soil contamination. Glancing over my shoulder, I take in Warren’s quiet bulk. He’s not moving. It may take him a while to come to.
The drive takes fifteen minutes. Glancing around to make sure there are no cars heading down the road, I use the bolt cutter to cut the lock on the rusted gate. I was planning on using it to cut the barbwire on the wall of Warren’s property, but like Mateo said, this is much easier.
I kick open the gates and wave Andrew through. When my cousin has entered, I push them closed. He parks behind a metal wall where the car is out of sight. Together, we drag Warren inside the deserted warehouse and dump him on the floor. Using the rope I packed for scaling the wall of his property, I tie his hands and feet to the metal legs of old workbenches, spreadeagling him.
When he’s secured, I tell Andrew, “Get some water.”
While he goes in search of water, I find old rags with suspicious looking stains in a corner.
Andrew returns with a dented, rusty bucket. “I found this in the back. There’s water in the rain barrel, but it’s dirty.”
“Perfect.” I motion for him to leave the bucket on the floor. “Watch the gates. Let me know if anyone comes sniffing around.”
From the empty baked bean cans and used condoms on the floor, it’s clear that squatters or horny adolescents frequent the place.
He nods and jogs to the exit.
Taking the bucket, I empty it on Warren’s face. He comes to with a cough, spluttering dirty water. I set the bucket aside and stand over him, watching his eyes as he focuses. They flare when recognition sets in.
I grin wide. “Hello, Warren.”
“You won’t get away with this. My men will hunt you.”
“Your men are dead.”
He pales. “What do you want? Money?”
“You know what I wanted.”
“You’ve got Evie,” he says, measuring me to read my reaction. “You have what you wanted.”
I click my tongue. “I had Christina, with the emphasis on the had.”
His cheeks turn a pasty color. “Where is she? Did you kill her?”
I let him think what he wants.
“Fine,” he says. “What you really want is the diamond. I’ll give it to you.”
“It’s not what I want, any longer,” I say, crouching down to take the shears from the bag.
“What is it you want?” he asks, his voice shrill. “Name your price.”
“I don’t think you have much left to bargain with. Didn’t your house just burn down?”
