IT WAS A midsummer's day, in the dead center of June, and I could not have picked a worse day to wear all black. The wool cap on my head, pre-cut with four holes, was bunched up at my forehead, digging into my skin. I rolled the ends of the cap to alleviate some of the pressure that was beginning to give me a killer headache, but the white gloves on my hands made this a tricky task. Huffing, I removed my hands from my forehead and, instead, tried to pull the black tank-top I was wearing away from my sweat-laced skin. The bullet-proof vest I wore underneath it was making matters worse, but I took out a couple of napkins from the bag I was carrying and wiped the piled up sweat from my chest, armpits, and upper back. Wherever I could reach, really.
My ripped jeans did not provide much ventilation, and neither did the heavy army boots I had decided to wear. When I had planned everything months prior, it had still been relatively cool. I did not take the heat into account, and now I was going to pay for it. I glanced down at my watch. It was a quarter to three, which meant I only had to hang tight for a couple more minutes. Looking at the sun glaring down at me, though, the seconds seemed to drag on. I cursed my luck.
"Any sign of movement?" I asked, picking up my radio and bringing it near my mouth. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm, slightly disgusted.
The radio cracked before a muffled voice came through. "No, little miss. Nothing yet."
"Donald...how many time do I have to tell you not to call me little miss?"
He chuckled, the sound of his laughter fading in and out of the radio as static overshadowed him. "As many...times...as it takes for you...to stop calling me Donald. No one calls me that anymore, Angie. It's Don now."
He moved, the sudden loudness of static noises a dead giveaway, and then spoke again, this time stern and serious. Just like how Dex often spoke when he smelled danger and wanted me to reconsider my plan. "Two guys just left the building...I repeat. Two guys left the building."
"Copy," I said, grabbing the blueprints of the building out of my bag. Unrolling them, I cursorily glanced at the marks I had made before honing on the first step of the operation.
"Operation: Klein Brothers is good to go," I said, circling the phases of my plan with a yellow sharpie.
"Tell me again how you're gonna make it through such tight security?" Don asked, most likely pacing back and forth out of concern.
Although he was ex-CIA, and a rogue mercenary who had fought with the biggest criminals, he was showing more nerves than me, a rookie. The thought of Dex possibly setting him up with me as a babysitter rather an ally did not sit right with me. Shit, I should've searched for my own contacts than taking on one of Dex's friends. I shook my head. The water had been spilled, the operation was underway, and I had come too far to lose any help now.
"You're saying that as if we're raiding the White House. Relax, it's just an old building with a couple of henchmen with a few guns. No big deal."
"We're talking about the same thing, right? This is the dungeon of the Klein Brothers, a gang known for their ties with King. It's a huge deal!"
"Don't be such a wuss, Don. Need I remind you that this is not their only hideout? They've got tons more, and this was the easiest target out of all of them. So, quit worrying."
There was radio silence, afterwards. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I shook my radio hoping to hear something...anything, from him. To my immense relief, he had not thrown in the towel—yet.
"Alright, alright. Don't blame me when this all goes to shit. Just go over the plan once more."
"Really? Again?" I asked.
"Please."
I sighed, shifting my position from crouching behind the water tank to kneeling. "Fine. The main mission is to get from here—the roof—to the basement, where all the transactions occur, and the leaders are most likely to hang out."
"Don't you have to get through like three floors for that?"
I glanced at my handiwork. The phases were simple enough.
"Leave that to me," I said.
"What about when you get to the basement? How are you going to handle the leaders?"
I smiled. "I'm going to wing it."
"You're...what?"
"You heard me," I said, smiling cheekily. "Confrontations can be a little...messy. So, I'm just going to wing it when the time comes."
"You're going to die, Angie. You're insane if you think it's going to be easy."
I chuckled. "I never said it's going to be easy, Don. Don't worry too much about me. Just focus on your job. You have the snipers under control?"
He sighed. "Yeah. I got two guys with me covering the north side. One guy each on the roofs of the building to the east and the west...and one guy on the south side."
I whistled. "You went all out...did you tell them the plan?"
"Yup...they have been duly told to shoot any targets leaving the building from all exits. I will be supervising them, but let's just hope that we don't have to kill anyone today."
"You're such a sissy for an ex-CIA officer," I teased.
He snorted. "Funny...now stop cracking jokes and get busy. You're on the clock."
"Okay...here goes nothing," I said, lowering the volume of the radio.
Once it had been lowered to a quiet whisper, low enough for only me to hear, I hooked it on to my chest and sat down on one knee. Quickly gathering the blueprints and my plan, I shoved everything unnecessary into my bag and slung it across my chest. I picked up the black bag lying next to me, and fished out the tools required to complete the first phase.
First step of the operation was to create an entry point. I stood up and walked to one side of the water tank. The roof was empty, which meant I could execute my task without interference. Good, it was all looking per the plan. Walking a few steps to my left, I found a penny with its head up on the ground. I picked it up and kissed it. It was my marker. Throwing it behind me, I counted ten steps to my left and crouched down, my knees hovering above the ground.
I placed five stick-on bombs on the ground until they made a circular shape. Standing up, I waved my hand in the air. A few seconds later, Don, standing on the fourth floor of the building across from me, repeated my gesture. Having received his signal, I took a few steps back and pulled out a small remote from the back pocket of my bag. With only a gentle push, I quickly activated the bombs. Taking cover behind the water tank, I heard the silent explosions of the bombs. It was like dominos falling, one at a time, a chain of events. When the smoke cleared, I was looking at a clean hole in the roof, leading directly into third floor of the building.
According to the intel I had gathered over the past week, there were about four men who played poker on the third floor—every day without fail—around three in the afternoon, while two men who were usually assigned to patrol this floor went out to grab lunch for everyone in the building. Counting on the fact that bombs exploding on the roof were going to catch most, if not all, of their attentions and lure them to the hole, I waited precisely sixty seconds—giving them just enough time to react—before flinging a gas bomb into the hole.
Luckily, the bomb detonated quietly. I waited another ninety seconds, allowing time for the gas to escape, before I pulled on my mask and, with my gun cocked, jumped through the hole. I coughed as some of the remaining fumes tickled my throat, brining sharp tears to my eyes. Placing a hand on my nose, I looked around to find that three unconscious men had blocked my fall. The fourth man was slumped over in his chair a few feet down. Patting the chest of one of the henchmen, I leveraged myself from their cold bodies and stood up to examine the floor.
"Phase one complete," I said, raising the radio slightly above my chest. I checked my watch. I had only fifteen minutes until the men returned with the food and raised alarm. "Initiating phase two. Over."
The radio crackled to life. "Roger."
I glanced around the floor, grinning so wide that my cheeks ached. It was my lucky day. Although the blueprints of the building showed that each floor had multiple rooms, which had once been a part of an office, the third floor was now empty and lifeless. No structures of any kind were present on the third floor, and I suspected that the same applied for the other floors. Instead of rooms, only thin pole-like pillars littered the floors. The only other equipment, besides the lone table and four wooden chairs, present were long blue sheets covering the windows and the wall, as if the building was under construction. Only I knew that they were there merely for appearances, part of a larger deception with the state of New York.
Phase two required me to cover the building with a cloth of darkness, allowing me to stealthily make my way down to the basement. The only problem was, the sheets prohibited me from seeing where the electricity room was. Running quickly to the nearest wall, I lifted one sheet at a time to see if there was a door hidden behind them. After running around in almost a circle, I began to believe that the Klein Brothers had dismantled and moved the electricity room when they hijacked the building, but, to my disbelief, as I lifted the last sheet remaining, I hit jackpot.
Twisting the knob, I came face to face with another obstacle. It was locked. Lifting my face mask to breathe easier, I scratched my forehead as I thought of a solution. As my fingers went further into my scalp, I hit a metal piece. Pulling it out, I almost jumped with glee when I saw a bobby-pin clutched in between my fingers. If I couldn't get in with a key, I could always pick-lock my way in.
Morphing the bobby-pin until it fit my need, I inserted it into the keyhole and fumbled with the lock. It took me two minutes and thirty-six seconds, but I managed to unlock the door. Sweating profusely, I stood up and threw open the door.
"Fuck."
Don was quick to respond. "What's wrong? Over."
I kicked the dry wall. "They must've moved the electricity room. There's nothing on the third floor. Over."
"Want me to look in the second floor? Over."
"How are you going to do that?" I asked, perplexed as I glanced at the unconscious men with growing irritation. My blood was boiling, and I wasn't sure if the heat was the culprit. The more I looked at their lifeless bodies, I grew more and more tempted to shake one of them awake and pry all the information out of them. It wasn't in my best interest, however, to do so. Instead, I bit my lip and punched a hole in the wall.
"Stop fighting with walls, Angie. It's a waste of energy and time...I brought high-powered binoculars...wait, over," he said, and then going radio silent.
The seconds on my watch ticked on by at the speed of light. It felt as if time was mocking me, saying you really thought you could pull this off? Think again, sweetheart. You're almost out of time. Of the fifteen minutes I had, only seven remained. Clasping my hands tightly against my chest, I closed my eyes shut and prayed to whoever was listening, please let the guys get into a car accident or something. Anything that'll delay them. Please! I'll go to church every week, please!
Praying did not make me feel stronger. On the contrary, I felt pathetic afterwards. I did not have time to ponder the existence of God, however, because ten seconds later, static noises on the radio indicated that Don was about to speak.
"I can't see much, but from what I can tell, there's about two small rooms on the second floor—sniper # 6 confirmed. You might wanna check them out. Over."
With the lights on, I knew it would be difficult to venture down to the second floor without attracting unwanted attention, but Don was right. I had no other choice. It was either do or die.
"Roger—I'm going for it. Out." I swiveled my bag until it was in front of me. Unzipping all pockets, I checked my inventory. Since this was the first battle on my to-do list, I had erroneously decided to travel light. Seeing how many obstacles I had to face just at the first phase, I made a mental note to bring more equipment with me next time.
My 9mm semi-auto pistol currently had 17 rounds. I had hastily packed only a couple of extra ammunition and only three bombs remained out of the four I had brought with me, excluding the five smaller ones I had already used. There was a hand grenade, a gas bomb, not unlike the one I had already utilized to my advantage, and a smoke bomb—if all went well, I would not need them. Digging further into my bag, I found a pistol silencer. Taking it out, I equipped my gun with the silencer. Almost immediately, a surge of power flew through me. It was akin to receiving a brief electric shock, but, instead of momentarily paralyzing me, it heightened my energy two-fold. Pushing out my chest, I felt my lungs inflate with potential. If someone had asked me, then, if I could've single-handedly taken out an army, I would have said yes.
I stretched out my hand, the gun pointed downwards, and flexed my muscles. Flinging my bag around, I placed my gun behind me, tucked into the small of my back, and, then, crackled my knuckles. My body was tingling, electricity traveling through my blood stream faster than the rate of oxygen. Adrenaline was rushing into my heart, making it pump out blood faster. This was not a new feeling for me, but euphoria spreading throughout my body made me feel like the King of the Jungle. I was ready to fight.
Sprinting to staircase at the opposite end of the floor, I took a moment to breathe before opening the exit door. Fortunately, it was not connected to an alarm. However, the stairs were not solid. They were made of transparent steel, which meant walking down would create a lot of commotion, like that of a rattle. It also made it difficult to hide. Not only could I see anyone who ventured out into the staircase from the third floor, but so could they—providing no cover in case of a shoot-out. Don's words echoed in my head...I had to think on my feet.
Holding onto the banister, I positioned myself on the handrail. Before I could adjust my grip, I slid down the staircase at a breakneck speed. If it wasn't for the second banister at the end of the staircase, I would've flown off the handrail and faceplanted a brick wall. Phew, I wiped off the sweat gathered at the base of my neck. That was close.
Jumping off the railing, I examined my location. I still had to go down another flight of stairs to reach the second floor. Shit, I huffed out hot air full of annoyance. Pulling down my face mask, I pulled off my gloves and held them in between my teeth while I grabbed the third banister. This time, with my hands no longer slippery, the ride went much smoothly. As my hip connected with the fourth banister at the end of the staircase, I planted my feet onto the last staircase and backed against the wall.
There were no windows in the door, prohibiting me from seeing inside. Slipping on my gloves, I quickly pulled out the blueprint of the building and cursorily examined the second floor. Don had mentioned there were two rooms on the second floor. As specified by the blueprint, one of them was a surveillance room that was undoubtedly being used by the Klein Brothers and the other was an office room. There should've been four to five other rooms, per the building plan, but if the floor above was any indication, they had most likely been dismantled, allowing them easy access to the entire floor. Both rooms were the far end of the floor, right below the electricity room, and, as far as I knew, they were guarded by four men, two for each room.
Still, I needed to confirm all my information with my own eyes before making any move. As my uncle used to say, diligence is the key to success; and, a dead man did not lie. Taking his word to the heart, I turned the door knob at a snail's pace, gently prying the door open wide enough for me to peek in and survey the floor.
Consistent with Don's observation, there were indeed two rooms at the end of the floor. The lights inside the rooms were on, as well, indicating that there were people inside. The information I had gained via spying had also rung true. There were four men loitering around in front of the two rooms, but the one thing that neither Don nor I noticed earlier was the door hidden in between both rooms. It was very likely that this was the room I was searching for.
Glancing around one last time, I double-checked for the presence of any other men, or women, and then, just as slowly, closed the door. The total body count of this floor was four, just like before. Without an opening for me to throw in one of my bombs, it would difficult for me to incapacitate them, but I braced myself—it was not an impossible task.
To avoid commotion, which would alert the people inside the rooms, I needed to isolate them. Fighting with them one on one would be hard, but, with a little imagination and some effort, I could persevere. Sitting against the door, I glanced out the window, which hung high above me, midway between the floors. As my mind trailed, zoning in and out of consciousness as the sun glared down at me like a nemesis, suddenly, I found a way out. With a light bulb flashing above my head, I decided to use a tactic I had only ever seen in movies.
Standing behind the door, as if I was about to pull a silly prank, I searched my bag for spare change. Finding a couple of pennies, a nickel, and a quarter in a small hidden pouch, I shook them in my hand and relished at their coolness. Then, with all my might, just as a pitcher hurls a ball at the batter, I threw the change on the stairs. Standing as straight and still as a corpse, I tensed as the coins made contact with the metal. On the other side of the door, I could hear the four men talking loudly amongst themselves, intrigued by the noise.
"...what was that?" one of the men asked. I placed his voice to be that of Joel's, the right-hand man of Jack Klein. He was the rambunctious one of the group, always getting into trouble with the wrong people. His personality was one of the reasons why Jack preferred him over all of his other men—he got the messy jobs done.
"I don't know, man... maybe one of us should check it out?" This time, it was Micah, the enforcer. Although he was usually low-key and somber, which others people often misinterpreted as lazy, his bulging muscles—the result of years of steroid usage—gigantic frame, and towering height made him the muscle of the gang. He, alongside some of his trusted men, were the toughest to beat in the Klein Brothers gang. However, just because he was three hundred pounds of pure muscle did not mean he was the least of my worries. If anything, he was the one to watch.
"He's right...Connor? Go check it out," Snider ordered. Standing at five-seven, he was the shortest of the bunch, but that made him lethal. Years of torment at the hands of bullies in public school had hardened him, and he had learned to use his insecurity to his advantage. Just like his height, his patience was small. Like a short fuse, he was quick to blow up and smash the head of his enemies, which is probably why Peter Klein assigned him to guard duty.
Connor, the kid, was the new man in town. From what I could find, his backstory was pretty much straightforward. He was orphaned at a young age and raised by a distant aunt, who was pretty much the paragon of a drug-addict. Name a drug, and she's probably done it. Why he decided to join the Klein Brother's gang out of the blue, I did not know, which made him spontaneous in my opinion. If he was the one I was going against first, I had my work cut out for me. After all, the first rule of the business was, during confrontations, always know who's who.
Grunting, Connor—I deduced—made his way to me. Judging by the lightness of his footsteps, I pictured him as a lanky man, built like a teenager, with sinewy muscles. From his past jail record, I knew he was only a few inches taller than me, standing at a proud five-eleven. My best bet with him was to catch him off guard. As he neared me, I prepped myself. With my knees bent, I held my gun near my left shoulder, aimed at the roof. My index finger gingerly pressed into the trigger, the silencer working like a charm.
"Hurry up, kid...we've got better things to do," Joel hollered at him.
A hand on the doorknob, Connor paused in his tracks and, presumably, turned towards him. "Shut up, will ya? If you got a problem with me, come do it yourself." He spat on the ground.
I pressed myself into the wall, doing my best to remain silent. During moments like these, however, even the quietest of sounds, like that of me breathing, made the loudest of noise.
"Watch your mouth, kid," Snider said. There was a loud and clear warning in his voice, telling Connor to tread lightly. Although he barely said much in response, it seemed as if Connor understood the message because, without a word, he unlocked the door and stepped into the stairwell.
Since I had been intently focused on the conversation, the sight of his shaven head made my heart lurch. I waited for the door to close behind him before making my first move. Reacting instantaneously, as if it was in my nature to kill, I took hold of his arm and pulled him towards me. As his face collided against my chest, I twisted his arm behind his back, effectively turning him.
"What the—"
{...}