Page 50 of Glamour and Grit

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I heard voices. When we go in, keep the chatter to a minimum and stay behind me. If I move, you move. Got it?”

I nod, stopping myself from giving a verbal assent. He returns the nod, and then takes my hand and leads me inside the darkened building.

The smell of standing water and mold assaults my nostrils. But there’s another aroma, faint but present. Cigar smoke. Someone has puffed on a stogie, quite recently. Dane releases my hand and motions for me to hug the wall of the long halfway. I do so, trying to keep my body in check. Being this close to finding my brother has me worked up more than the danger.

We approach the pool of radiance. Several lighting fixtures provide the illumination. A table and chairs come into view first, with a battered deck of playing cards sitting dead center next to an ashtray full of cigarette and cigar butts.

Then I see something that chills me to the bone: A battered military style cot with rumpled sheets. The white sheets bear dark stains. Bloodstains. Was my brother here? Hurt? Dying? Did they get some mafia doc to do a hack surgery job on him?

I clasp my hands over my mouth, but a sob escapes nonetheless.

“What was that?”

The voice comes from a short distance away. Beyond the ring of light, there’s a closed door with a line of brilliance at the bottom. Someone’s behind that door, and I just blew our cover.

Dane moves with blinding speed. He grabs me around the waist and yanks both of us behind a rickety metal shelf bearing empty celluloid tins. On instinct, I start to cry out in surprise. His big hand clamps over my mouth, silencing me.

It’s like being held by a gorilla. His strength is incredible. I couldn’t break loose in a million years, not that I need to. The door shoots open, slamming against the drywall and puncturing it withthe knob. A big, burly man in an ill-fitting suit stands in the doorway, eyes snapping suspiciously left and right.

“Get out of the way, you big goon,” grumbles a voice behind him.

The big man awkwardly crab scuttles to the side and Petty exits the room. His voice sounds different than I’d expected, a lot higher pitched and nasally.

“I know I heard somethin’, Will,” the big man says.

“Yeah, I did, too, Guido. Do me a favor and keep your yapper shut. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Once his eyes adjust, he’ll probably spot us. The shelving doesn’t provide much cover. Dane releases the hold on my mouth and carefully picks up a dusty film tin lid. He frisbees it through the dark to clatter in the distance.

Guido’s gaze snaps that way. He starts to barrel off after the tin, and I think Dane’s plan has succeeded.

But Petty grabs Guido by the shoulder padding of his cheap suit.

“Whoa, slow down, big man. Where are you going?”

“Didn’t you hear that?”

“Yeah, I did, and don’t you watch the movies? Obviously, somebody threw something to distract us. And while we’re off chasing after the sound of their errant missile, they’ll make their escape. Well, not on my watch.”

My heart stops beating. Shit, did we have to come across someone who thinks like this?

“Now, judging by the trajectory,” Petty says, turning in a slow circle. “I can only surmise that the object was thrown from…this direction.”

He points off into the deeper darkness of the warehouse. Away from us. Petty confidently leads Guido in the wrong direction.

“Let’s go,” Dane says, releasing me at last. He takes my hand and leads me toward the exit.

We have to take a different route to avoid Guido and Petty. It’s easy to get turned around in one of these old studio buildings. You never know if a door is real or just a prop that leads nowhere. Or if that setof steps abruptly ends at the edge of a stage, sending you on a six-foot drop to a hard concrete floor.

Somewhere, we get turned around and wind up back at the table and bloody bed. Dane grinds his teeth in silent frustration, then leads me off in a different direction. This time, we come upon a door marked with a shabby, flickering exit sign.

He reaches out for the bar, when the door starts to open. Dane grabs the bar and holds it shut as someone shouts on the other side.

“Give me that,” he snaps, gesturing with his chin. I look over and see a bucket and mop. It only takes me a split second to figure out what he’s planning. I grab the handle and shove the mop into his waiting hand.

He wedges the mop handle into the door handle, blocking the passage. But it creaks and begins to snap immediately. He has to brace it with his own body to keep those outside at bay.

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