Chapter 7 - The Ambush At Pier 42
South State Street was gray beneath a low ceiling of winter clouds.
Crown City Loan & Jewelry sat between a shuttered pawnshop and an abandoned diner.
Heavy iron bars covered the storefront windows.
Inside, behind three inches of bullet-resistant polycarbonate, sat an old man with thinning hair and a gold tooth.
Silvio Vance.
Luca stepped up to the counter without hesitation.
He slid the thirty-year-old pawn ticket through the teller slot.
Silvio glanced at the yellow paper, then up at Luca.
His gold tooth disappeared as his mouth snapped shut.
His skin took on the color of wet dough.
“Moretti,” Silvio croaked, his fingers twitching toward a silent alarm beneath the counter.
Luca didn't flinch.
He reached through the slot with lightning speed, catching Silvio by his collar and pulling his face hard against the glass.
“Touch that button, Silvio, and Daniel will dismantle this building brick by brick with you inside it.”
Silvio whimpered, his hands shooting into the air.
“The ticket is thirty years old, Luca! The statute of limitations on pawned goods is five years!”
“Where is the Star of Genoa?” Luca asked, his voice low and vibrating against the glass.
“I don't have it! I swear on my mother’s grave!” Silvio cried.
“Who redeemed it?”
“Nobody redeemed it!” Silvio gasped, his eyes darting toward the security camera in the corner.
“Hector took it out of the vault three months ago!”
Luca frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he made a deal with the Russian syndicate at Pier 42!”
“They were trading the blue diamond for a shipment of unregistered bearer bonds!”
Luca’s grip tightened on Silvio’s collar.
“When does the exchange happen?”
Silvio’s eyes rolled back in terror.
“Tonight! At eight o'clock! Warehouse 4 on Pier 42!”
Luca shoved Silvio back into his chair and pulled his hand through the slot.
He turned toward me and Daniel.
“Daniel, call the harbor unit.”
“Emma, back to the car.”
We never made it to the car.
As we stepped out of the pawnshop into the cold alleyway, the roar of modified V8 engines shattered the silence.
Two black unmarked vans screeched around the corner, blocking both ends of the narrow alley.
The side doors slid open with violent speed.
Men in tactical vests and balaclavas leveled submachine guns at us.
“Down!” Luca roared, grabbing me by the waist and diving behind a row of heavy industrial steel dumpsters.
A hail of bullets chewed through the brick walls of the pawnshop.
Glass rained down like hail.
Daniel was already on his stomach, returning fire with terrifying precision.
Two of the attackers collapsed onto the asphalt.
Luca leaned over me, shielding my body with his broad shoulders.
I could feel the thunderous beat of his heart through his wool coat.
He pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster, leaned around the edge of the dumpster, and fired three controlled shots.
An engine block in the lead van cracked with a metallic scream, steam pouring into the freezing air.
“They’re not Russians,” Luca hissed, reloading his magazine without looking down.
“Who are they?” I shouted over the deafening crack of gunfire.
“Corvallis’s remnants,” Luca said.
“They know we’re closing the circle.”
Suddenly, the firing stopped from the north end of the alley.
A heavy diesel engine roared to life.
A black semi-truck rounded the corner, its reinforced steel bumper smashing directly through the rear van, clearing the alleyway in seconds.
Ray was behind the wheel of the truck, his face set in grim determination.
He slammed on the air brakes right beside our dumpster.
“Get in, boss!” Ray bellowed through the open passenger window.
Luca grabbed my arm, lifting me effortlessly into the truck cab before diving in behind me.
May you like
Daniel scrambled up the metal steps, firing two final suppressing shots behind us.
The heavy truck surged forward, smashing through the wreckage and roaring onto South State Street toward the lakefront.
