Page 57 of Greed
Only when it was wrapped around the baby did Lilo reset the hammer on the gun, twist it, and give it handle first to the woman.
“For protection,” she said. “So you can hold on to your warm clothes.”
“Oh, thank you, Missus.” The woman slipped the pistol into her pocket, then gave the man an evil eye before retreating to her corner of the stoop on the abandoned church.
A cold breeze brushed past Lilo’s face and she wrapped her denim jacket tight. She’d be fine. A few hours in the cold wasn’t the same as spending a night in it. It hadn’t snowed for days, and the night was one of the warmest it had been all month. Cold enough to hurt if you had to sleep out all night, but not enough to harm her for a few hours. She’d be fine.
With a mutual nod, Lilo left the woman, ensuring her strides remained uniform and confident even though her heart pounded erratically. By the time she arrived at the meeting location, she was so cold, her toes and fingers were numb. Thank goodness for the beanie holding in whatever body heat her skirt and denim jacket couldn’t.
She refocused on her surroundings.
Let’s do this.
The warehouse was an old packing plant. Wooden crates stacked outside had been pulled apart, most likely scavenged for makeshift furniture or building supplies. The doors to the place were boarded up, all except one.
Trembling from the cold, she pulled the heavy metal sliding door to the side, cringing as it screeched from rusty rollers and debris in the tracks. Inside was dark, but the air was crisp and a breeze pushed at her face. Looking up, she located the source of the wind and the reason no one took shelter inside. Except a few steel beams, the roof was missing, leaving the warehouse completely exposed to the elements.
She pulled her phone from her bag and checked the time.Half an hour early.
“Hello,” she called into the darkness, just to be sure. When her voice finished echoing off the walls, she strained to locate movement, but only silence greeted her.
Rather than wait in the cold, she turned on her phone’s torch function and pointed the light around the perimeter of the warehouse. May as well get familiar with her surroundings to avoid being taken by surprise. She also had to scout for a location for her second spy-phone.
Columns of stone pillars reached for a roof that wasn’t there. Metal stairs rose to a platform that lead nowhere. Graffiti covered the walls and broken bricks and crates littered the floors. Nuts and bolts crunched underfoot. An abandoned fire pit sat alone in a corner with broken crate beds around it. Maybe in the warmer weather people actually used the place for refuge. It broke her heart to see such poverty in her city, while others choked on their wealth. Others like her mother and father.
Not long now.
She quickly propped her spy-phone on a crate next to the wall and set a timer on the camera. It wasn’t a fancy gadget or anything, just a normal smart phone with an app she’d downloaded that promised to take continuous photographs at random intervals. If all went well, then by the end of the meeting, she should have incriminating evidence to publish in tomorrow’s paper. After making sure the phone looked inconspicuous by putting a few scattered baked beans tins near, she kept moving around the darkened room, using her phone-torch to light the way.
She searched for improvised weapons to replace her pistol and mentally recited Krav Maga moves to keep her mind sharp. If she was attacked with a knife, she imagined blocking and then using the knife arm against them. If it was a tire iron, she would need to take control of the weapon. Protect her face with one hand, move forward instead of back, dodge and…
A sudden sound made the hairs on her arms lift. She swung her light toward the source somewhere behind her.
“Who’s there?” Her voice echoed.
Shadows emerged from the darkness. One, two, three men. And a fourth shoved into the area by another tall shape. How did they get in? She’d been watching the entrance. Her eyes darted around for another entrance, but found nothing. She must have missed something.
Straightening her spine, she tracked their approach.
“I’m Lilo Likeke,” she said, voice loud and proud.
“No pumpkin,” came the raw sound of her father. “You weren’t supposed to come.”
Pushed into her circle of light, her father appeared haggard and dirty. Dried blood streaked from a wound where his left ear used to be and down his thin polo shirt. Once some pale pastel color, it was now almost brown. Despite his condition, her father held onto an air of self-respect she knew came from years of ordering people around. Once, she had been impressed with his strength and importance. She’d felt safe with him.
Probably why she had a penchant for confident men. God, she was hopeless.
“I’m here,” she said. The same words had been a show of solidarity when Griffin spoke them, but here in the cold warehouse, they sounded empty.
Lilo glanced around, stupidly hoping to see police, even impossibly yearning to see Griffin. But she’d spurned him and lied to him. He thought she was home.
The other men moved into a formation, surrounding her.
Coming into the light, she took note of their appearance. They wore clean leather jackets—some long and brown, some short and black. None of them seemed feral which led her to believe they were part of an organized crime syndicate. Caucasian looking, she noted, trying to memorize facts for her article. She pretended to swing her phone their way so she could see better, but quickly took stealthy shots of their faces in case her spy-phone failed.
“Did you bring the contents of the safe?” Asked a barrel chested man with a round face. He had an Irish accent, pale skin, and dark ear-length hair. His eyes were round and far apart.
Lilo patted her bag. “First, tell me what you want it for.”
