“No, you can’t do that! Kill me, you fucking pussy! Me! Do it, please,” she screamed, tears soaking her face.
“Josie, shut up!” Tristan shouted back at her, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“You’re not in a position to offer deals, Moloney. I’ve got the upper hand.”
“You’ve got nothing.”
Moloney grinned and whistled through his teeth. The sound shot across the building, but nothing happened. Everyone looked around and listened for approaching danger, but silence and empty space surrounded them. Confused, Moloney whistled again, his eyes searching the darkness.
“Expecting someone?” Alex asked.
Moloney turned to Barry expectantly.
“They were in place when I came in,” Barry answered.
“Like I said, upper hand,” Tristan said. “Now drop it.”
“Not anymore, Fallbrook,” Rob said softly, raising his gun to the back of Tristan’s head. “I need this money too bad for you to screw this up.”
Although Rob did not possess the ability to end Josie’s life, Tristan’s would not be an issue. He had no feelings for the boy and frankly believed he’d be saving Fallbrook from a torturous death at the hands of Moloney.
“Rob?” Monica’s voice shouted as she emerged from between two stacks of boxes. “Why? I don’t … What are you doing here?”
“Rob?” Tristan and Josie said in unison, turning their attention to the blond man now holding all the cards.
Monica had obeyed Tristan’s command to stay in the car for almost a full five minutes. She’d worked her way down the block, checking each building before finding the right one. From her hiding place, Monica had been listening to the men’s conversation, waiting for an opportunity to make her move. Sure, she was unarmed, but she had the element of surprise.
Unable to see everything, the sound of Rob’s voice had shaken her and she didn’t even think before emerging to investigate. Her mind reeled with the scene before her, and she fought to understand her lover’s place among these men.
“Monica? What are you doing here?” Rob screeched.
“Do we have a problem, Mort?” Moloney asked.
“You’re Mort? The Mort who’s been hunting Josie?” Tristan asked.
“No! It’s not true!” Monica screamed. Her hands flew to her head, pulling at her hair as her eyes scanned his impassive face. “Rob, tell them it’s not true!”
“Get out of here, this has nothing to do with you,” Rob said firmly, his trembling gun still pointed at Tristan. “Fallbrook, drop the gun. You too, big man,” he demanded, nodding toward Alex.
“Damn!” Alex sneered.
Monica watched in disbelief as Alex relented first. He surrendered, not wanting to be responsible for the death of Tristan, especially in front of Josie. He knew she would never survive that kind of heartbreak even if she did escape this mess. Tristan dropped his gun, the clanking sound of it hitting the concrete floor marking the extinction of hope.
“Now that that is all squared away,” Moloney said, rubbing his hands together in victory, “you three, join the girl.”
Alex and Monica took their places next to Josie. Tristan rushed to her, running his hands over her hair and whispering apologies.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Josie said.
“Enough!” Moloney shouted. “I’ll do it myself.”
He pulled his 9mm from his waistband and pointed it directly at Josie. A shot rang out, a deafening break in the otherwise silent building. Barry dove for cover, disappearing from view. Josie squeezed her eyes tight and prepared for the hurt, but it never came.
Josie opened her eyes to find Monica on the floor before her. She had taken the bullet meant for Josie. She was small, but she was fast. Her tiny body lay still at Josie’s feet, crimson spreading out around her like ink saturating paper.
Tristan jumped Moloney, wrestling his gun away. Frank raised his gun and fired once before Alex took him out with a bullet to the temple.
“Monica!” Josie screamed, her voice a haunting and agonizing cry.
“No! No, no, no, no! Monica!” Rob shouted, running to her side and dropping to his knees. “Why did you do that? You stupid woman!”
“I had to. I saved her,” she barely got out before her throat flooded with blood.
The blood soaked into the knees of his jeans as he pulled her into his lap. Rob wailed as her breaths became shallow and her eyes fixed onto his, his howling pleas for a miracle falling on helpless ears. Monica’s body arched as a cough forced crimson rivers from the corners of her mouth.
“Button. I love you,” he whispered, pushing her hair back from her face.
She managed a smile, exhaled a stuttered breath and faded away from this world.
Everyone who had been watching the scene now looked on helplessly as Rob jumped up and hurled himself toward Moloney. What began as excruciating sadness morphed into something malevolent and irate. Tristan let go of the man and stepped aside as Rob raised his gun and emptied the entire magazine. But each blast from his gun offered no redemption, no satisfaction. Even when Moloney lay dead at his feet, Rob wanted to crush him, to pound him into the earth with his own fists. He wanted to bathe in his blood, but he knew that wouldn’t resurrect his love.
Rob dropped his smoking gun to the floor and disappeared into the shadows. A few seconds later, the sound of the door slamming closed jarred everyone from their daze.
“Tristan!” Josie shouted.
Alex turned to find Tristan leaning against one of the crates, blood soaking his shirt. Alex knelt beside him and looked at the wound.
“Who got you?” Alex asked.
“Frank.”
“Are you okay?” Josie shouted.
“‘’Tis but a scratch. A flesh wound,’” Tristan said, giving Josie a reassuring smile.
Alex took his shirt off and wrapped it tightly around Tristan’s biceps.
“That’ll help,” Alex offered.
“Any excuse to take your shirt off, huh, muscles?” Tristan said.
Alex untied Josie from the chair, his large fingers fumbling with the knots. She fell onto the floor, sobbing over Monica’s body. She fought for each breath, the air feeling like razor blades to her lungs. She felt undeserving and wondered how she’d ever take a guilt-free lungful of air again.
Alex helped Tristan stand and together they retrieved Josie. She clung to Tristan, crying into his chest.
“I hate to break up the reunion, but we gotta get outta here,” Alex said.
A loud smacking sound came from behind them in the dark. The three eyed each other as Alex pulled his gun and pointed it toward the sound. Another smack. Josie whimpered. Then came another and another, until the sound of a single person clapping became recognizable. From the back of the warehouse emerged a man wearing an expensive suit and matching hat. Shadow covered most of his face, making only his menacing smile visible.
“That was truly an entertaining show,” he said, his voice amused and heavily accented.
The three onlookers stood motionless, curious as to the identity of this stranger and worried about what it meant for their survival.
“My name is Gino Gallo. You have done me a great favor here today.”
He snapped his fingers, and Barry appeared behind him. “You saved this man from having to eliminate his former associates. You should be grateful, Barry. Are you grateful?”
Barry nodded, his eyes on Tristan the whole time.
“Yes, sir.”
“Of course, we did offer a bit of help, eliminating Moloney’s backup for you,” Gallo said.
“What now?” Alex asked, unfazed by the man’s presence.
“Let me tell you what now,” Gallo said, glaring at the boy who dared to question him. “You all will leave this place. My men will take care of the bodies and clean up the mess. Do not fear retaliation. I’m in charge now. I will not allow it. Now go, before I change my mind.”