AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My heart leaps into my throat as we wait with bated breath to see who’s coming through it.
Carrying a tray of fruit, a girl I used to work with in the kitchen pushes through and stops, startled, when she notices us.
“Fuck, you scared me,” she yells, color draining from her face.
“Sorry Rosie,” I say. “Do you know the way to the garbage bay?”
She nods. “Yeah, take that door.” She points to the one she just came from. “Then take the first door on the right. It’s at the end of that corridor. But why do you want to go there?”
“Umm,” I stutter, not sure what to tell her. “Umm…”
“I accidentally threw out my passport,” Claudette says, coming to my aid. “They told me to check there.”
“Oh, good luck with that,” Rosie mumbles, turning to go up the stairs.
“Hey, Rosie,” I call after her. “If anybody asks if you saw us, can younottell them please?” I expect more puzzled looks and questions, but she just shrugs and throws a “sure” over her shoulder.
Claudette and I share a look, not at all sure Rosie will help.
“We better get going. I’m sure those guys are still looking for us,” Claudette says, opening the door.
We rush through and follow Rosie’s instructions. Sure enough, a minute later we stand in front of another door labelled ‘Garbage Storage Bay’.
“Do we knock?” I ask Claudette quietly.
“What if Tiero’s guys are in there?” she whispers back.
Yeah, maybe not then.
Claudette opens the door and peeks in. Cold air and a foul stench hit us. The place is only dimly lit, and she squints to see better.
“Doesn’t look like anybody is here,” she says, stepping inside.
“I’m here,” a voice from the left says, making us jump.
We spot a dark outline of a man sitting in a chair by a desk. He hits a button on a remote and the room brightens.
Just like Aiden told me, he looks Italian, but that’s where the similarities to Tiero’s men end. He’s on the short side, his face rounded from too much good food, his hair unruly.
“Mario?” I ask.
“That’s me,” he replies, his accent obvious. He’s in a dark blue overall smeared with dirt. He must work here.
“I beginning to give up. Need to hurry,” he continues in his broken English, waving to a bunch of carts standing off to one side. “Collection is soon. After no can do.”
What is he talking about? Glancing over at Claudette, she’s wearing the same bewildered expression.
The smell of rotting food mixed with the faint scent of diesel has my stomach churning, and I swallow the bile that’s trying to rise up my throat.
“Come, come,” he says, walking toward the carts. Most of them are already fully loaded with bags of rubbish.
He points at two empty carts. “Get in.”
“Excuse me?” Surely, he doesn’t want us in there and then load bags upon bags of stinking garbage on top of us?
“In here,” he repeats, leaning in and pulling back a lid, revealing a double bottom.
Neither Claudette nor I move.
