Chapter 12 - Blood on the Asphalt
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The South 19th Avenue railyard was a graveyard of rusted shipping containers and abandoned train cars. Rain had begun to fall over the Phoenix basin, turning the dirt tracks into slick, dark mud.
I parked my truck fifty yards away, keeping the headlights on high beam. In the blinding white light stood Victor Hale, holding a heavy iron wrench, surrounded by three armed enforcers.
Beside them, tied to a wooden chair with heavy rope, was Irene. Her face was bruised, a cut open above her left eyebrow, but her eyes burned with fierce defiance when she saw my truck.
“Marcus, don’t!” Irene shouted, her voice raspy. “Don’t give it to him!”
One of Victor’s men struck her across the face with the flat of his hand.
“Shut up!” the thug growled.
A wave of pure rage snapped inside my chest. I opened the truck door and stepped out into the pouring rain, holding the brass key high above my head where Victor could see it.
“Let her go, Victor!” I yelled over the sound of the rain striking the metal containers. “You have the key! Take it and let her walk!”
Victor walked slowly toward me, his expensive leather shoes sinking into the mud.
“You’re weak, Marcus,” Victor sneered, holding out his hand for the key. “Just like your father. Richard thought he could use my capital to expand his firm and then walk away when he found out where the money came from. He thought he had a conscience.”
“You poisoned him,” I said, stepping closer, my posture unyielding.
“He poisoned himself by refusing to play ball,” Victor corrected coldly. “Now give me the key.”
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I threw the key into the dark mud ten feet to his left.
As Victor’s gaze involuntarily tracked the falling brass, I lunged forward with everything I had. I slammed my shoulder into his chest, sending us both crashing hard onto the wet asphalt.
