Chapter 4 - The Sound of Iron
The rain started right around six o'clock, turning the oily asphalt of 9th Street into a giant black mirror that reflected the red neon lights of the closed warehouses.
I sat in the back of the black SUV between Big Leo and another man named Marcus. Marcus didn't talk much. He spent the whole drive wiping down the slide of a black handgun with an oily rag.
Dominic sat in the front passenger seat, staring straight ahead through the sweep of the windshield wipers.
"He stays in the car," Dominic said without turning around.
"I want to come," I said instantly, leaning forward between the two front seats. "I can help. I know what the back door looks like. The handle is broken on the right side."
Dominic looked at me through the rearview mirror. His eyes were dark, quiet, and completely unreadable.
"Your job was hiring the crew, Leo," he said. "My job is executing the contract. You stay with Jimmy. If anything goes sideways, Jimmy drives you straight back to the building on Mercer Street. Understood?"
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded once.
The SUV pulled into an alley fifty yards behind the meatpacking plant. The air smelled like wet concrete, old garbage, and sour fat. Two other black sedans pulled in right behind us, their headlights killing instantly as soon as their tires hit the gravel.
Eight men stepped out of the cars. None of them spoke. None of them slammed their doors. They moved like shadows drifting across a graveyard.
Dominic opened his door and stepped into the drizzle. He adjusted his dark coat, checked the silver watch on his left wrist, and turned back toward my window.
He tapped on the glass.
I rolled it down two inches. Cold rain sprayed against my nose.
Dominic reached into his coat pocket, pulled out my wrinkled five-dollar bill, and pressed it against the gap in the window until I took it back.
"Hold onto this," he said low. "Consider it escrow. You get it back when your mother is standing on this gravel."
Before I could answer, he turned toward the alley and waved his hand once.
The eight men moved into the dark.
I pressed my forehead against the wet glass, watching Dominic's tall shoulders disappear behind a row of rusted green dumpsters.
Five minutes passed. The clock on the SUV dashboard clicked from 6:14 to 6:15.
Then came the sound.
It wasn't loud like in the movies. It sounded like someone dropping a heavy book on a carpeted floor. Thump. Thump.
Then a loud metallic crash screamed through the alley as the heavy steel loading door was kicked off its frame.
May you like
A man yelled—a short, wet scream that cut off instantly.
Then total silence returned to 9th Street, heavy and thick, broken only by the steady tap of rain against the roof of the car.
