Chapter 4 - LOCKER 317
Union Station at five in the morning belonged to cleaners, exhausted travelers, and people trying not to be noticed.
Marcus had experience with the third category.
He wore an old baseball cap from Helen's clinic, a gray work jacket two sizes too large, and a bandage beneath his shirt that pulled every time he moved.
Sadie wore exactly what she'd been wearing in the alley.
Saint wore nothing but scars.
The dog attracted more attention than Marcus liked.
“Does he always look like he's planning a murder?” Marcus asked.
Sadie looked offended.
“He's friendly.”
Saint growled at a man who walked too close.
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“Extremely.”
The old storage level sat beneath the east concourse.
Most travelers didn't know it existed.
Renovations had moved nearly everything upstairs years ago, leaving a corridor of battered metal doors and fluorescent lights that flickered like something from an old prison movie.
Locker 317 waited at the end.
Marcus stopped twenty feet away.
“What?”
Sadie whispered.
He studied the floor.
The ceiling.
The corners.
“People like Victor don't leave important places unguarded.”
“Is he here?”
“I don't know.”
Saint sniffed the air.
Then stopped.
His ears lifted.
Marcus saw it.
“What is it?”
Sadie crouched.
Saint looked behind them.
Marcus turned.
Empty corridor.
But the dog wasn't looking at the corridor.
He was looking at the ceiling.
Camera.
Tiny.
New.
Marcus smiled without humor.
“Victor knows.”
Sadie's face went pale.
“Then we leave.”
“No.”
“You said—”
“He wants us to leave.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if he wanted me dead right here, we'd already hear footsteps.”
Marcus pointed at the locker.
“He doesn't have the key.”
Sadie understood.
“He wants us to open it.”
“Exactly.”
“So we don't.”
Marcus looked at the camera.
“We do something better.”
He pulled his cap lower.
Five minutes later he had borrowed a luggage cart from an unattended maintenance closet.
Sadie watched him load three discarded cardboard boxes onto it.
“What are those for?”
“Crime.”
She stared.
“Kidding.”
“You don't sound like you're kidding.”
“I rarely do.”
They rolled the cart to the locker.
Marcus positioned the boxes between the camera and Sadie.
“Open it.”
She slipped the brass key into the lock.
Click.
Marcus pulled the door.
Inside sat a black duffel bag.
Nothing else.
Marcus did not touch it.
“Is it a bomb?”
Sadie asked.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I don't.”
Her eyes widened.
Marcus almost smiled.
He took a cleaning pole from the cart, hooked the strap, and pulled the bag out.
Nothing happened.
He waited.
Still nothing.
Then he opened it.
Inside were four things.
A laptop.
Three paper ledgers.
A voice recorder.
And a sealed envelope with Marcus's name written across the front.
Marcus stared at the handwriting.
He knew it.
Evan Quinn.
Impossible.
Sadie leaned closer.
“My dad wrote that?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he filled out my payroll books for two years.”
“You paid him?”
“Yes.”
“To do bad things?”
Marcus looked at her.
“To count bad money.”
Sadie considered that.
“Still bad.”
“Correct.”
He broke the seal.
Inside was a single page.
Marcus—
If you are reading this, then I failed to get my family out.
Victor has been moving against Anthony and you for longer than either of you realizes.
Do not trust the accounts.
Do not trust the captains he introduced.
And do not believe my death was an accident.
There is a second set of books.
Rachel knows where.
If she comes to you one day, listen to her.
I know what you are.
I know what you've done.
But Anthony believed there was still a line you wouldn't cross.
For my daughter's sake, I hope he was right.
Evan Quinn.
Marcus read it twice.
Sadie watched him.
“What line?”
Marcus folded the letter.
“The one between being bad and being something worse.”
“Which are you?”
He looked at her.
“I've been asking myself that since last night.”
A faint sound traveled down the corridor.
Elevator bell.
Marcus immediately zipped the bag.
“Move.”
Sadie grabbed Saint.
The elevator doors opened.
Two men stepped out.
Not station security.
Marcus recognized one.
Luis Calder.
Victor's man.
Calder smiled.
“Morning, Marcus.”
Marcus pushed Sadie behind him.
“No gun?”
Calder opened his coat.
“Always.”
Marcus scanned the corridor.
Two exits.
One blocked by Calder.
The other behind them.
Then two more men appeared there.
Victor had waited until the locker was open.
Predictable.
Marcus whispered, “Sadie.”
“What?”
“When I say run, take Saint and go through that red door.”
“That says employees only.”
“Today you're employed.”
Calder stepped closer.
“You've made Victor very nervous.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Give me the bag.”
Marcus held it tighter.
“No.”
Calder sighed.
“Don't make this difficult.”
“You brought three armed men to steal from a wounded man and a child. I'd hate to interfere with your dignity.”
Calder's smile disappeared.
“Victor said the girl stays alive.”
Sadie stiffened.
“What about me?” Marcus asked.
“You already know.”
Marcus nodded.
Then dropped the duffel.
Calder glanced down.
That was the mistake.
Marcus slammed the luggage cart forward.
The heavy metal frame smashed into Calder's knees.
Sadie ran.
Saint went with her.
Gunfire exploded.
Marcus dove behind the lockers.
A bullet punched through door 312.
Another ricocheted from concrete.
Marcus crawled toward the duffel.
Calder recovered.
“Stop!”
Marcus grabbed the voice recorder from the open bag.
Then deliberately kicked the laptop toward Calder.
Calder stared.
Marcus smiled.
“You wanted it.”
Then the fire alarm screamed.
Red lights flashed.
Sprinklers erupted.
Marcus blinked.
He hadn't triggered that.
Across the corridor, Sadie stood beside a broken alarm box.
She had smashed it with a fire extinguisher.
“Seriously?” Marcus shouted.
“You said create seconds!”
She had listened.
Crowds would come.
Security would come.
Police would follow.
Victor's men couldn't stay.
Calder knew it.
“Take the bag!”
One of his men grabbed the laptop and ledgers.
Marcus shoved the voice recorder into his jacket.
Calder aimed at him.
Then Saint appeared from the smoke-colored mist of the sprinklers.
The dog didn't attack.
He simply stood between Marcus and the weapon.
Sadie shouted from the red door.
“Saint!”
Calder hesitated.
That hesitation saved Marcus.
Station security rounded the corner.
“Drop the weapon!”
Calder and his men fled through the opposite exit.
Marcus staggered toward Sadie.
“Go.”
They disappeared through the maintenance door before security reached the lockers.
Ten minutes later they were in an underground parking structure beneath a hotel across the street.
Marcus leaned against a concrete column.
Sadie stared at him.
“They took everything.”
“No.”
He removed the recorder.
She blinked.
“You stole that.”
“It was mine.”
“You dropped the bag on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor thinks he won.”
Marcus pressed play.
Static.
Then Evan Quinn's voice filled the parking garage.
“If Marcus is hearing this, Rachel, then you found him.”
Sadie's breath caught.
Her father's voice.
A voice she barely remembered.
Saint sat beside her.
Evan continued.
“Marcus, Victor ordered Anthony's murder.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“He paid Ray Delgado to arrange the first attack. When Anthony survived, Victor finished it himself.”
Sadie covered her mouth.
The recording continued.
“That's not the worst of it.”
Marcus opened his eyes.
“Victor has been using your businesses to move people.”
Marcus frowned.
“People?”
“Girls. Runaways. Migrants. Anyone he thinks nobody will miss.”
Marcus felt something turn to ice inside him.
Evan's voice shook.
“I found the payments. Warehouses. Transport routes. False employment records.”
Sadie's eyes filled with tears.
“Rachel found the rest. If she is missing, assume Victor has her.”
Marcus stared into the distance.
For eighteen years he had called himself many things.
Smuggler.
Extortionist.
Bookmaker.
Criminal.
He had justified each sin with rules.
No drugs near schools.
No children.
No trafficking.
No violence against families.
The rules had allowed him to sleep.
Victor had used those rules as camouflage.
Evan spoke again.
“There is one location Rachel discovered that isn't in the ledgers.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“Pier Fourteen. Old ferry warehouse.”
Sadie whispered, “Mom.”
The recording ended.
Marcus immediately reached for Helen's burner.
Then stopped.
A shadow moved behind a car.
Saint growled.
Marcus pulled Sadie close.
A man stepped into view.
Hands raised.
Jonah Price.
Marcus stared.
“You followed me?”
“No.”
Jonah looked at the damaged bandage beneath Marcus's shirt.
“Victor did.”
Marcus's hand moved toward the pistol he'd taken from Calder during the struggle.
Jonah noticed.
“I'm alone.”
“You swore to him?”
“You ordered me to.”
“Good.”
“It worked.”
Jonah's expression darkened.
“Too well.”
“What happened?”
“Victor took the chair an hour ago.”
Marcus said nothing.
“And Elena?”
Jonah looked at Sadie.
Then back to Marcus.
“Victor has her.”
Marcus's body went still.
“He took my daughter?”
“He says she's under protection.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Marcus stepped close.
“Find out.”
Jonah shook his head.
“There's more.”
He pulled out his phone.
A photograph appeared.
Elena sat in Marcus's own dining room.
Victor stood behind her.
His hand rested on her shoulder.
On the table in front of them sat a newspaper.
And a gun.
Marcus stared at the image.
Then read the message beneath it.
BRING ME SADIE QUINN AND THE LOCKER CONTENTS.
OR YOUR DAUGHTER JOINS YOU AT YOUR FUNERAL.
Sadie read it too.
She slowly stepped away from Marcus.
“No.”
Marcus looked down.
“What?”
“You can't give me to him.”
“I won't.”
“You might.”
“I said I won't.”
“My mom trusted you.”
Marcus looked at Victor's hand on his daughter's shoulder.
Then at the nine-year-old whose mother was trapped somewhere at Pier Fourteen.
Two daughters.
Two mothers.
One empire.
And one cousin who believed Marcus would choose blood over conscience.
Marcus handed Jonah the phone.
“Find Elena.”
Jonah nodded.
“And you?”
Marcus looked toward the river.
“I'm going to Pier Fourteen.”
Sadie stepped beside him.
“So am I.”
“No.”
“My mom is there.”
“Which is why you stay behind.”
Sadie's eyes hardened.
“You don't know what she looks like.”
“I know her name.”
“Victor has lots of people there.”
Marcus frowned.
“How do you know?”
Sadie looked at Saint.
“Because that's where I found him.”
Marcus stared.
“What?”
Sadie's voice became small.
“They kept dogs there too.”
Saint's scars suddenly had a different meaning.
The cut ears.
The old burns.
The places where fur never grew back.
Marcus looked toward the river again.
Sadie whispered, “Saint knows the way in.”
May you like
And Marcus realized the little girl and the stray dog hadn't wandered into his alley by accident.
They had escaped from the same place he was about to enter.
