driven from the last insignificant excuse for a town to get here. In my professional estimation, it was pretty damned far. The idea of calling someone for a pickup crossed my mind. I laughed at it, and sent it on its way.
I didn’t just burn bridges. I incinerated them. Everyone I knew had a legitimate reason to hate me—and none of them were my fault. Okay, maybe that thing back in Albany a few years ago was my fault, but everything else came down to sheer bad luck.
In the distance, a long and low howl rode the breeze, frustrated and almost human. I’d heard enough dogs to know the sound didn’t come from a domesticated breed. A coyote, maybe even a wolf. Terrific. For the thousandth time, I reminded myself that I never should have taken this gig. At least, not alone. But with my reputation, only the greenest punks would agree to partner with me, which guaranteed I’d spend more time babysitting than working. I’d been in this game too long to bother breaking in newbies.
There was another reason I should’ve told Trevor to shove this job. It wasn’t his style. I’d gotten a weird vibe when he laid it out—the flashy son of a bitch always wanted high-end vehicles or fine art or precious metals and jewels. But this score was ordinary. Small-time. Wouldn’t fetch fifty bucks on eBay. He’d said it was for his private collection, but even then, the little voice I never listened to insisted there was something fucked-up about the whole thing.
I considered telling Trevor the truth—but hell, I didn’t even believe it. Who’d believe a professional thief lost the item he’d been hired to steal? No way that unforgiving bastard would buy it. I’d seen Trevor shoot his own thugs for picking up the wrong kind of wine. Granted, it had been five hundred cases of wrong, but that was beside the point.
There was still a good ten feet between me and freedom when the drone and swell of an approaching engine sounded outside. Headlights swept the curve leading to the building and swung around to frame the doorway, pinning me in the glare. Hello, sitting duck.
The engine gunned. Tires screamed as the car shot forward. I darted back into the darkness of the warehouse and took a hard left. The car screeched to a halt somewhere behind me. I turned toward the front wall, held out a hand, and walked briskly until I encountered something solid. Flattened with my back against the surface, and waited.
I had a knack for concealment, a trait that served me well on the job. A few ex-partners had sworn I could make myself invisible—especially when they’d gotten caught and I hadn’t.
Car doors opened and closed. I counted four slams. Trevor had sent a lot more muscle than necessary. I almost felt honored, before I realized the son of a bitch probably wanted me taken alive. Should have seen that one coming.
Flashlight beams swept the main aisle. A rumbling bear of a voice delivered an order. “There. Search his car.” I recognized it instantly. Skids Davis, Trevor’s left-hand man. Left, not right, because Trevor only called on Skids when he needed something dirty cleaned up.
So I was dirty now. Fine. I’d been worse.
I held my breath and inched along the wall. The entrance stood five or six feet to my right, within my grasp. With a bit of luck, I could slip out before the creeping thugs reached my car.
A low shape broke away from one of the goons and headed straight for me with disconcerting clicks. Great. They’d brought one of the dogs. Though I couldn’t make out features in the gloom, its build suggested Rottweiler—and its strut suggested human flesh was its favorite meal.
I’d never been bit by a dog during a gig, but they always found me fast. This one was no exception. He padded to within two feet of me and sat down like I’d promised him a snack. His mouth drew back in what looked like a smile. My, vicious animal, what big teeth you have. Please don’t bark.
The dog licked his lips a few times. And
I didn’t just burn bridges. I incinerated them. Everyone I knew had a legitimate reason to hate me—and none of them were my fault. Okay, maybe that thing back in Albany a few years ago was my fault, but everything else came down to sheer bad luck.
In the distance, a long and low howl rode the breeze, frustrated and almost human. I’d heard enough dogs to know the sound didn’t come from a domesticated breed. A coyote, maybe even a wolf. Terrific. For the thousandth time, I reminded myself that I never should have taken this gig. At least, not alone. But with my reputation, only the greenest punks would agree to partner with me, which guaranteed I’d spend more time babysitting than working. I’d been in this game too long to bother breaking in newbies.
There was another reason I should’ve told Trevor to shove this job. It wasn’t his style. I’d gotten a weird vibe when he laid it out—the flashy son of a bitch always wanted high-end vehicles or fine art or precious metals and jewels. But this score was ordinary. Small-time. Wouldn’t fetch fifty bucks on eBay. He’d said it was for his private collection, but even then, the little voice I never listened to insisted there was something fucked-up about the whole thing.
I considered telling Trevor the truth—but hell, I didn’t even believe it. Who’d believe a professional thief lost the item he’d been hired to steal? No way that unforgiving bastard would buy it. I’d seen Trevor shoot his own thugs for picking up the wrong kind of wine. Granted, it had been five hundred cases of wrong, but that was beside the point.
There was still a good ten feet between me and freedom when the drone and swell of an approaching engine sounded outside. Headlights swept the curve leading to the building and swung around to frame the doorway, pinning me in the glare. Hello, sitting duck.
The engine gunned. Tires screamed as the car shot forward. I darted back into the darkness of the warehouse and took a hard left. The car screeched to a halt somewhere behind me. I turned toward the front wall, held out a hand, and walked briskly until I encountered something solid. Flattened with my back against the surface, and waited.
I had a knack for concealment, a trait that served me well on the job. A few ex-partners had sworn I could make myself invisible—especially when they’d gotten caught and I hadn’t.
Car doors opened and closed. I counted four slams. Trevor had sent a lot more muscle than necessary. I almost felt honored, before I realized the son of a bitch probably wanted me taken alive. Should have seen that one coming.
Flashlight beams swept the main aisle. A rumbling bear of a voice delivered an order. “There. Search his car.” I recognized it instantly. Skids Davis, Trevor’s left-hand man. Left, not right, because Trevor only called on Skids when he needed something dirty cleaned up.
So I was dirty now. Fine. I’d been worse.
I held my breath and inched along the wall. The entrance stood five or six feet to my right, within my grasp. With a bit of luck, I could slip out before the creeping thugs reached my car.
A low shape broke away from one of the goons and headed straight for me with disconcerting clicks. Great. They’d brought one of the dogs. Though I couldn’t make out features in the gloom, its build suggested Rottweiler—and its strut suggested human flesh was its favorite meal.
I’d never been bit by a dog during a gig, but they always found me fast. This one was no exception. He padded to within two feet of me and sat down like I’d promised him a snack. His mouth drew back in what looked like a smile. My, vicious animal, what big teeth you have. Please don’t bark.
The dog licked his lips a few times. And
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