Chapter 3 - THE WATCH IN THE PAWN SHOP
The SUV’s engine screamed as Gabriel floored the accelerator.
Two more rounds hammered the armored chassis.
Dull metallic thuds echoed through the cabin.
Clare pressed herself flat against the leather floorboards, her arms wrapped around her treatment bag.
Her heart slammed against her ribs like a sledgehammer.
"Hold on!" Gabriel yelled.
The SUV smashed through a wooden security barricade at sixty miles an hour.
Tires squealed on the wet highway.
Gabriel cut the headlights, plunging them into the storm's shadows.
He took three sharp turns through the industrial outskirts of Waukegan.
No pursuit followed.
After ten suffocating minutes, Gabriel pulled into a deserted gravel lot behind a closed warehouse.
He kept the engine idling.
He checked his side mirrors, his breathing slow and measured.
"Professional shooter," Gabriel muttered, inspecting the cracked window.
"Armor-piercing tungsten core."
He turned back to look at Clare.
"You're shaking."
"Someone just tried to blow my head off," Clare snapped, her voice trembling.
"Welcome to the Lombardi payroll," Gabriel said without sympathy.
He put the SUV back in gear and turned the low beams on.
"They weren't aiming for you."
"They were aiming for whoever Sebastian had inside his car."
An hour later, Clare walked up the crooked steps of her South Side brownstone.
The hallway smelled of boiled cabbage and damp radiator steam.
Her hands were still shaking so badly she dropped her keys twice before finding the lock.
Inside the small apartment, the rhythmic hum of Oliver’s filtration machine welcomed her.
Whir-click.
Whir-click.
Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was asleep in the armchair with an open paperback on her lap.
Oliver lay in the twin bed beside the window, his pale face illuminated by the machine's green display.
He was eight years old, but his frame looked barely six.
Clare paid Mrs. Gable with two crisp bills from the envelope Gabriel had given her.
The older woman left with a grateful nod, not asking where the money came from.
Clare kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of Oliver’s mattress.
She smoothed the damp bangs from his forehead.
Oliver’s eyelids fluttered open.
He smiled, sleepy and thin.
"Mom?"
"I'm here, bug," she whispered, kissing his temple.
"You're late."
"I had a difficult patient."
Oliver reached beneath his small pillow.
His fingers pulled out a heavy object wrapped in a faded blue bandana.
"I found something for you today," Oliver murmured, holding it out.
"At Mr. Kowalski's junk shop."
Clare took the bundle.
She unfolded the cotton fabric.
A heavy gold pocket watch rested in her palm.
The crystal was scratched, and the winding crown was stiff, but the casing was solid eighteen-karat gold.
On the back, an intricate crest was hand-engraved into the metal:
A soaring falcon clutching a broken chain, flanked by two Roman numerals.
Beneath the crest was an inscription:
To Sebastian. Time is the only sovereign. 1982.
Clare's breath seized in her throat.
The room seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
"Where did Mr. Kowalski get this?" Clare asked, her voice hushed.
"A man brought it in three days ago," Oliver said, rubbing his eyes.
"He sold it for forty dollars."
"I traded my comic books and the five dollars you left for groceries."
"I wanted to fix it for your birthday."
Clare stared at the falcon crest.
She recognized the crest.
It had been carved into the stone mantelpiece above Sebastian Lombardi's fireplace.
The watch belonged to the mob boss who had threatened to drown her in Lake Michigan.
The next evening at 7:55 PM, Clare walked into Sebastian’s private study.
She didn't wear a blindfold this time.
Gabriel had escorted her directly through the service entrance.
Sebastian sat behind an antique walnut desk, reviewing financial manifests under a green banker’s lamp.
His titanium chair was angled toward the door.
He did not look up when she entered.
"You're late by two minutes, Miss Bennett," he said smoothly.
Clare didn't apologize.
She walked straight to the mahogany desk.
She reached into her coat pocket.
She placed the heavy gold watch directly in the center of his paperwork.
The gold clicked against the wood.
Sebastian’s gaze drifted from the papers to the watch.
His entire body went completely, terrifyingly still.
The silver pen in his right hand snapped clean in two.
He did not breathe.
Slowly, his head lifted.
His gray eyes were black with a murderous, freezing fury that made the air in the room crackle.
He opened the top drawer of his desk with his left hand.
He pulled out a black, customized Kimber .45 pistol.
He cocked the hammer.
He pointed the barrel directly between Clare’s eyes.
"Where did you get this?" Sebastian whispered.
May you like
His voice shook with rage.
"Answer me before I paint that wall with your brain."
