Page 25 of Johny B

“Told you he wouldn’t freak out,” Rory laughs snatching the money, kissing it and stuffing it into the top pocket of his dark green cotton shirt.

“You two are fucking jerks,” I shake my head and snigger. “What if I thought you were being serious and tried to disarm you? Your stupid wager could have all gone to shit.” I rebuke them. “What if I’d have pulled this out?” Faster than they have a chance to blink, I pull out the black shiny Glock 17 from my waist band, and point it at Rory’s head. “And this fucker doesn’t have a safety catch.”

They both stiffen as they realize I could take out both of them before Nolan would have a chance to raise his hand towards me. I hold my position for a beat before I lower my weapon and tuck it back where it was. I’m hoping that it’s enough to calm the situation, and the crazy fucks chill the hell out, taking it as a sign that we’re all on the same side. So they think, anyway. For now.

I turn back in my seat and fire up the engine of the car, bringing my hands up onto the steering wheel. “So, where is it we’re going?”

It’s around forty-five minutes before we pull up outside a four-story building on the outskirts of Yerrington. We all pile out of the car, and I follow the twins as they walk past the boarded up front of the building, turning down the side toward what looks to have been an emergency side exit, that sits underneath old fire escape steps, that are a hazard in themselves.

Nolan raps his knuckles against the door. A square window at eye level, that I hadn’t realized was there, slides open so that the person at the other side can see who’s here.

“What the password,” the guy asks with all seriousness.

“Feck-off, Col,” Rory shouts over Nolans shoulder. “Let us in, ya eejit.” The trapdoor shuts, the sound of metal on metalfollows, which can only be the bolts being released before the door swings outwards.

“You know you’re meant to give the password,” the five-foot nothing dude that stands in the entrance gripes out. He might be lacking in stature, but the scar that curls up from each side of his mouth tells me that he’s no doubt seen his fair share of trouble. He has an air of ‘give no fucks’ about him, which no doubt means he’s dangerous. “Who the hell is this?” he barks when he catches sight of me behind Rory.

“Chill your shit, Col. This is Jackson, and do you really think I’d be stupid enough to bring someone here without Paddy’s approval?”

“Nobody told me.” He huffs under his breath as he steps outside, holding the door fully open to let us in. All the while, his eyes are surveying the surrounding area, before he finally closes the door behind us.

“Where is the boss, anyway?” Nolan asks, as we stand in what appears to be the stairwell to the building. A set of dirty stone steps lead up to the levels above, metal handrails with peeling paint hang loose, where the bolts are starting to come away from the concrete wall. The whole area is windowless, the only light comes from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting shadows against the dirty gray walls. I’m still unsure what this place is, or used to be, because it’s obviously been left to rot for quite some time.

“In his office, but he’s in a shitty mood,” Col warns him.

“What’s got him all pissed?” Rory and Nolan ask at the same time.

“He’s restless. Waiting until the dust settles so we can…” Col stops suddenly, his brow creasing, eyes spearing me, remembering that I’m in clear earshot and he could quite possibly be talking too much. “Best speak to him yourself.”

“Maybe later,” Rory sniggers. “Chances are he’s online gambling, so hopefully he’ll win a few dollars and be in a better mood by then. Come on Jackson, let me show you around, introduce you to some of the guys.”

I follow the twins through another door and the space opens up dramatically. The fluorescent fixed lighting that’s set into the ceiling is bright, and a strain on the eyes after being in the darkened stairwell, and it takes a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. But when they do, I can see that this was once a productive manufacturing company. The huge machines, that I’ve no idea what they produced, take up most of the floor space. Long conveyor belts, connecting one contraption to another. Two round vats the size of the hot tubs seem to be where the process starts, but still doesn’t give me a definitive answer. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust. Even the floor, except for a clear used track that leads further down the side of the factory floor and towards another door at the end.

My curiosity would normally get the better of me, and have me asking questions about this place, but that’s not why I’m here, so I keep my trap shut.

“It’s an old candy factory,” Rory pipes up as if reading my mind. “Closed down about ten years ago, after they got called out for using an unregulated chemical in the process that was toxic. The legal case bankrupts them and the place got left to rot. We moved in here a few months ago. No one’s got a clue that we’re here.”

I nod my understanding, but snigger inside knowing that the YOMC know that the DVI are holding out here, and Ghost has had eyes on the place for quite some time. As yet, he hasn’t had the opportunity to penetrate the building.

My being here now, gives me that much-needed chance to see this place from the inside, giving me the capabilityto feedback detailed information on the interior layout of the building. Which I’ll do as soon as I get back to the motel.

Nolan, who gets to the door first, pushes it open, and it brings us to another room that must have been the worker’s area.

The room is narrow, one end consisting of a kitchen area with a sink set into yellowing counter tops that have clearly been cleaned up, and now hold the usual tea and coffee making paraphernalia. Two coolers sit under the counter containing various beers and soft drinks. There’s a trash can in the corner overflowing with empty bottles.

I eye the room. Four guys are sitting around one of the round tables playing cards, but instead of laying bets with dollar bills, they’re using bottle tops.

As we get nearer to the players, Nolan comes to a stop, while Rory keeps on walking, making a beeline for the coolers.

“Anyone need a beer,” he shouts out to everyone, which is met with a collection of positive grunts and hand waves. Not one of them taking their attention off the game.

“Assholes,” Nolan calls them out to get their attention. “This is Jackson, He’ll be joining us.” All eyes come to me. Guess I’m more interesting than the cards their hands are holding,

“Hey!” I simply offer in return.

“You’ve got, Dean, Brian, Oli and the skinny one at the far side, that’s Fox,” Nolan points out each one of them. They all look similar. Short, cropped, dirty brown hair, and green eyes. Even though they’re all seated, they look to have good height and stature. Except for Fox, that is. He’s slight, narrow shoulders, and it’s difficult to judge his height because he’s hunched over the table, as if his backbone is made of flexible rubber. Again, as if reading my mind, Rory comments while placing a handful of bottles on the table, “Don’t let that fucker fool you,” he nods toward Fox. “He’s a wily fucker. He’d sneak up on you, rip outyour liver, sauté it with a handful of shiitake mushrooms and a nice merlot before feasting on it.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I take the bottle that Rory holds out to me.

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