Chapter 23

Beast

Beast saw how tense Jena was. She pretended she was all right, her conversation as lively as ever, but beneath the surface, he knew she was trembling with fear.

She didn’t even know what they were going to do but was afraid of something going wrong.

She truly cared about them.

That’s never happened before.

It was weird. That feeling was like a weight on his shoulders, a burden he never had to bear. But at the same time, she was the energy he needed in his life, she gave him a sense of purpose, she made him happy.

No, it wasn’t a burden. It was something entirely different.

He wouldn’t give it a name, no. It would be too dangerous.

Love.

He felt a shiver ran through him.

“Pass the dressing,” he asked Mills, the words stumbling out of his mouth.

He didn’t even want it, just needed to focus on something, anything else.

“Wake me up when you come back, all right?”

They nodded, knowing full well she wouldn’t sleep.

It was nine in the evening. The drizzle outside stopped. It was disappointing. In the back of his head, he wished for another day with her.

This was, without a doubt, the best day in his life.

Beast stood up, not able to take it anymore. He needed to just fucking do what he needed to do and be done with it.

“Beast?”

“Thank you for dinner,” he said, turning to Mills.

“We have to go now, Jena,” Mills finished.

“Guys, no, you still have some food—”

“We know,” Beast said, “we’ll finish it when we come back.

She turned away, trying to cover her tears.

Beast rushed to her side, holding her in his arms.

“Hey, hey.”

Mills walked to them and she gave him a hug, too.

“We’re going to be fine.”

Beast smiled, Mills was even tougher than he thought.

She kissed his friend, then him.

“Let’s go,” he said to Mills and turned to the door. He didn’t need to say anything else.

“Be careful, please,” Jena whispered.

“We’ll be back soon,” Beast replied with a smile, and he meant it.

He would be back, whatever it took.

Both of them would. They wouldn’t just leave her there.

* * *

The long way back to the Chicago was silent. The car’s headlights shone on the cold pavement, his gun felt heavy, hidden in the holster under his left arm.

He drove slowly, not wanting to have an accident out here, or worse, getting pulled over by a cop.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Mills said.

“What is?”

“The boss, he hasn’t called us all day.”

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. He was right. He had been so—

“I just thought about it, we’ve been so busy all day that it slipped my mind.”

“Fucking hell. Do you think we should call him?”

“Too late now, I guess.”

They entered Chicago and headed straight to their destination.

Mills turned his phone off. He wouldn’t risk someone calling him while they sneaked into the warehouse, alerting everyone and getting fucking killed.

Beast gave him his own. Mills did the same.

“Are you ready?” Mills asked.

“We do this and she’ll be free.”

“Yes, I know.”

Silence engulfed them again.

The orange glow of the city lights paved their way. The big edifices turned to smaller apartment buildings, then they were amidst old warehouses with big yards full of containers. They were almost there.

“Do you think she’ll be safe?” Beast asked.

It took Mills a few seconds to answer.

“Honestly, yes. But we can never be too sure.”

“We’ll have to look out for her for a while.”

The warehouse stood a couple blocks away, a high ceiling building with a tin roof, surrounded by white and blue Mattress 4 All pick-up trucks, and a lonely guardhouse at the entrance.

The fucking Saliani’s were so confident about their “hidden treasure” that they didn’t even bothered to guard it right.

“It’s genius, if you think about it,” Beast blurted out.

“What?”

Beast shrugged, making a right and parking near the corner of the street, hidden from view.

“The Saliani’s make this place look like any other warehouse around, it doesn’t call anyone’s attention.”

“Yeah, but five people?”

“I know, but industry standard is what, one guard at night? How many people do you need here before someone starts asking questions?”

They ran amidst the darkness of the streets, just three lampposts lit the small parking lot where the pick-up trucks sat. The plan was to go behind the warehouse, away from the guardhouse, near the loading docks, and start the operation from there.

Beast pulled out the wire cutter and made a hole on the fence.

Easy. Too easy.

They hid among the parked trucks, walking closer and closer to the loading area.

“There it is,” Mills whispered, pointing at the entrance closer to them.

A radio noise blasted beside them, less than five yards away. Beast grabbed Mills and pulled him down.

“All clear,” a man with a raspy voice said.

“They’re doing their rounds,” Mills whispered. Beast nodded.

The man walked back to the warehouse, giving a last puff at his cigarette before throwing it away, placing the big assault rifle he carried on his shoulder back in his hands.

“Move,” he whispered to Mills, who sneaked through the next row of cars, getting closer to the guard. Beast waited for him to get in position.

The guard didn’t look like an evil man. He was a thug, yes, and God knew he first started in this business just the same.

But he wasn’t careful, and that would cost him everything.

If he doesn’t play his hand right.

In the shadow of a truck, ten or so yards away from him, Mills gave him the signal. Beast instinct took a hold of him, his feet moved without even thinking. The game was on.

The guard blew air on his hands, the hot white steam of his breath contrasting against the dark background.

Mills tapped the back of a truck with his pistol and the guard instantly stopped.

“Hello?” He called.

He put his finger on the trigger, fear rising up in him. He wasn’t a professional at all.

He’s new. Must be.

Beast sneaked past two more trucks, going behind the guard, just five more steps and that would be it.

“Anyone there?” The guard called, his voice rougher, “if someone’s there, come out with your hands up or I’ll fucking shoot you. This is private property.”

It took him several seconds before he moved, waiting for a response. Beast could see how incredibly tense he was.

Just a few seconds ago, he carried the gun near his chest, now it was pointed down. He’s trying to convince himself it was only a stray cat or shit like that.

Poor guy. That’s why you have to hire professionals.

The guard gave another step forward and Mills tapped the back of the truck again. That made him stop.

This was it, time to act.

“All right mother fucker, you’re dead!” He said, but his voice didn’t sound so confident.

He turned to his right to go around the truck and met the barrel of Beast’s .45 pistol.

“Move and you’re dead,” he said flatly, there was no emotion here, just a statement of fact.

The guard stopped, Beast could almost see the million thoughts going through his head. He pressed his rifle against his chest, wondering whether he should try to shoot him or if he was a dead man already, then his eyes turned to pleading.

His body went stiff, anxiety taking a hold of him. He was less than ten feet away.

“Put your gun down,” Beast said, and the man began to move, “go slow, motherfucker, unless you want your brains splattered on the floor.”

“Don’t shoot!” He pleaded, going much slower now, setting his gun flat on the ground.

Mills came around the truck, taking a zip tie out of his pocket, tying the man up.

“Please don’t kill me,” he said.

He looked forty-ish, with red, balding hair, too skinny for his own good… and definitely very scared.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Mills said, finishing up with his hands, going to his feet, “unless you fuck things up.”

“How many inside?” Beast asked.

“I— uh….”

Good. He was a talker. These kind of docile thugs were the scourge of the Earth. They would sell you for nothing just to save themselves.

No loyalty whatsoever.

The radio came alive again.

“West side is clear, too, I’m going back in, over.”

“Copy that,” another voice replied.

Beast hit him in the face, he let out a yelp that sounded more like a whiney, desperate whimper than a cry of pain.

I didn’t even hit him that hard.

“How many?”

“Four,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Wait. No. Inside? Three, one in the front.”

Beast grabbed him by the collar.

“What’s your name?” The man was so scared he looked like he was going to piss his pants.

“Albert.”

“Okay, Albert, you’re going to do exactly as we say, understand?”

“Yes.”

“You try something, and you’re dead, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say the words, say I understand.”

“Yes,” Albert said, his voice quivering.

Beast punched him again, harder this time.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself, asshole.”

He pointed the gun at his head.

“Yes, I understand!” He screeched, unable to move his head away from the barrel of the gun, “I understand, sorry!”

“Good, you don’t have to worry if you do what we tell you.”

Mills grabbed the radio from his belt and lowered its volume.

“Who else is out on patrol?”

“It took him a few seconds to compose himself enough to remember.”

“I… err… Floyd, and… that, that’s it.”

“One person. The other two are inside the building?”

Good. Another guard outside, one in the front entrance, two inside. Things seemed to be going as planned.

He nodded, “watching TV.”

“Floor?” Mills asked.

His face turned to a question mark.

Beast slapped him.

“What floor, asshole?”

“Uh, first floor. Second floor is management.”

Beast nodded at Mills. They were done with him.

Mills stood behind the guard, and he went crazy.

“No, man! Don’t kill me!”

He was losing it. God damn it.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Please, bro!”

Mills chokeholded him hard. They were feeling merciful. At least with this guy.

He lost consciousness before ten seconds passed. He would no longer be a problem.

“Now, the fun starts,” Beast said with a smile, knowing full well going against three heavily armed guys was suicide unless they played it right.

The warehouse door opened and a big Latino guy walked out, looking out at the parking lot.

“Albert?”

Shit.