Disappearance - Section 1: Loose Ends

DARK NIGHT, REDENZIONE APARTMENTS:107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiyUsxKZcpe

I slowly walk up the metal stairs leading to my apartment. Clouds are covering the moon in the night sky, making it hard to see. The only lights illuminating the complex are the yellow-orange hues of nearby streetlights. My legs are killing me. I think I’m getting too old for this. I reach the third floor and get off the stairs. The air is thick, or maybe that’s just from the gunfire earlier. I walk toward my red apartment door, passing doors of the same color. The walls and floor are painted a greenish-blue. You can hardly tell by the lack of lighting. I approach the door, getting my keys out of my pocket. I insert the key into the lock above the knob and twist it. I take the key out and do the same to the doorknob lock. I put the key back in my pocket.

I open the door and can’t see anything but a black void beyond the doorframe. I feel the wall by the door inside the apartment for the light switch. I eventually find it and flip the switch up. A dim, yellow light illuminates the apartment’s living room. I enter the apartment, walking on the carpet, stained from previous renters. I close the door behind me and lock it. I walk over to the kitchen at the back of the living room. I take off my belt, my holster attached to it, and set it on the serving hatch. I stand by the hatch for a moment.

Should I eat something quick? Oatmeal? Fruit bowl? Nah, I’m tired. I walk over to the green couch in the center of the living room. I collapse onto the couch. I close my eyes and can’t help but sigh. Thank God today is over. 107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTKXg8vfnhi

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EARLIER THAT DAY, ABANDONED WAREHOUSE:107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbXAsDzTbWw

I lean on a brick wall attached to an abandoned warehouse, only used by the homeless as shelter. To my left is a corner leading to an alleyway with muddy sleeping bags lining the wall. The warehouse is about a block or two away from my apartment, just in case. The afternoon sun gleams in my peripheral vision. My left eye is sort of squinted to keep the sun out.

“Where the hell is he?” I mumble to myself, I feel like I’ve been waiting here for years. I sigh and lean my head against the wall. I close my eyes. Not much later, I hear the sound of tires on asphalt, slowing down. I open my eyes and see an all black car. The back of the car is facing the sun, making it hard to see who's inside.

I detach myself from the wall and walk toward the car. As I approach it, I see a familiar face: Mulligan Leal. If anyone were going to drive me, I’d rather it be him. I grab onto the passenger door’s handle and pull it. The door doesn’t budge. I bend down to look through the window, glaring at Mulligan with a serious expression. He notices my look and realizes he didn’t unlock the doors. He presses a button on his door, and I hear a click come from the car. I pull the car handle. This time, the door opens. I get into the car, sitting on the leather passenger seat, and close the door.

“Sorry,” Mulligan says.

“It’s fine,” I respond as I put on my seatbelt. Mulligan pulls the gear stick to drive. He presses down on the gas and starts moving down the street. As Mulligan speeds up, the doors lock automatically. I put my elbow on the door, next to the window. I rest my head on my fist. The car remains silent for a few minutes. I start to zone out.

Just one last time, I just have to keep telling myself that. Just one more time, and I never have to do this ever again. All I need is that money, and the peaceful life is as good as mine.

“So, Ander,” Mulligan breaks the silence, “I thought you retired.” I snap back to reality, taking a moment to process Mulligan’s question. He’s driving on the highway. I didn’t even notice.

“I thought so, too,” I answer, looking over at Mulligan. “But then the Portillos stole the money. I’m here to ensure that I get that money back.”

“Fair enough. So then you’ll be gone after this?” Mulligan asks.

“Hopefully,” I turn my head back to look out the window, “I knew that score was way too easy to be as straightforward as it seemed!” I say, frustrated.

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Mulligan drives up to a factory. Mulligan enters a lively parking lot. I thought everybody would’ve gone home by now. Mulligan drives through the parking lot, looking for an empty space. Mulligan finds a space in the corner, next to a tree with all of its leaves surrounding its trunk. Mulligan pulls into the parking space and puts his car in park.

He grabs the car keys and turns them toward him, turning the vehicle off. We unbuckle our seatbelts. We exit the car, closing our doors behind us. I walk ahead of Mulligan toward the factory. I hear a small beep come from behind me. I notice in my peripherals that Mulligan isn’t walking by me. I stop in my tracks and turn around. Mulligan is speed walking toward me to catch up. Mulligan fumbles to put his keys in his pocket. Mulligan slows his pace as he approaches me. I begin to pick up my speed again, and we walk side-by-side.

Mulligan and I approach a blue wooden door. The paint on the door is heavily aged, starting to flake off. I could say the same thing for this entire factory. Mulligan grabs the door handle and opens the door. Inside is a small office space with a punch card device in the corner. Mulligan enters the factory first. I follow him inside, closing the door behind me. We turn left down a hallway toward another door. Mulligan opens the door, and we go through it. Through the doorway is an assembly line for weaponry. It’s an odd front for mafia activity. But we haven’t been caught, so what do I know? We walk through the factory, passing workers wearing brown dress shirts and black dress pants with badges attached to their belts.

We approach a brick wall, separated from the assembly line. Mulligan grabs one of the divots in the bricks and pulls on it. The brick door pulls back like a door to reveal a blue-tinted room with a fold-up table and chairs in the middle. Multiple people stand around the room, looking at us. One of them sits in a chair at the end of the table, Mr. Tremoli. On the table, in front of Tremoli, is a notepad. Tremoli always formulates plans better on paper.

I recognize mostly everyone else, as well. Though it seems like Tremoli was quick to replace me, as I see someone wearing a dull green jacket, blue jeans, and tan boots.

“Ander, Mulligan, there you are!” Tremoli greets, Mulligan approaches him. I pull back on the brick door until it realigns with the wall. Mulligan sits down by Tremoli. I start to approach the table, as well, when someone I don’t recognize walks up to me. It’s the guy in the green jacket. What does he want? I stop walking to get the small talk over with.

“Hello,” he greets, in a light-hearted tone, “I’m Grant Marston. I see that I’m not the only new person here,” Grant sticks out his arm, hand open, for a handshake.

“Ander Aligato,” I shake Grant’s hand, “not new. Retiree,” I sound a lot more annoyed than intended. Thankfully, I only have to work with this guy once. I let go of Grant’s hand and start to walk toward the table.

“What are you doing here, then?” Grant asks, and I stop again.

“After this ‘Portillo Gang’ stole your money, my retirement money got caught up in the mix,” I explain. This Grant guy is just rubbing me the wrong way. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s not anything he’s doing, necessarily, just his energy. “Hold on, don’t you seem a little… innocent for this place?”

“Maybe, but I’m a good shot and need some cash myself,” Grant answers. I nod in response. I suppose most of us were like that at one point.

“Well, nice to meet you, Grant,” I start walking away again.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I hear Grant call out to my back. I can feel chills in the back of my neck. I approach the table and the chair across from Mulligan. As I reach the chair, Mr. Tremoli stands up.

“Glad to have you back, Ander,” He says with more excitement in his voice than I’m used to. It’s weird. Tremoli sticks out his hand, going for a handshake. I shake his hand. His grip is a lot stronger. I forgot how much shaking his hand hurts.

“Just to make it extra clear, I’m only back this once, so I can properly retire,” I explain, letting go of Tremoli’s hand. We both sit down in our respective seats. I stumble through a few poses, trying to get comfortable on the metal chair. I rub my hand with my other hand under the table.

“I saw you talk to Grant,” Mr. Tremoli observes, “how are you liking him?”

“He seems fine,” I answer, “though he seems a bit too naive for this place.”

“I’m sure he’ll toughen up. He’s only been with us about two weeks,” Termoli explains, “you used to be the same way.” Tremoli lightly elbows me in the shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I admit. Tremoli puts his hands on the table.

“I gave the rest of these guys the plan already,” Tremoli states, “I had to start without you, because someone took their sweet time getting you.” Tremoli’s voice is serious. He looks over at Mulligan, who raises his palms in defense.

“My bad, Ander didn’t tell me where he was waiting,” Mulligan reasons. Tremoli looks away from Mulligan and down the center of the table toward the notepad. I look down at the notepad. I see “To-do list” written on the paper. Before I can read the list, Tremoli flips the page.

“Nevertheless, the plan is to negotiate with the Portillo gang to see if we can get our money back that way,” Mr. Tremoli explains, skimming his notepad. “We don’t want to cause any unnecessary trouble. However, if push comes to shove…” Tremoli forms a gun with his hand. “No loose ends.”

“I understand,” I respond, “nothing we haven’t done before.” Tremoli nods before standing up.

“Alright, we’re already to go!” Tremoli announces to everyone else, he points at someone I recognize: Stacy Arimend. She wears a black jacket, dark blue jeans, and sneakers. Aside from Tremoli, Stacy is the only one in this room who has been in this gang longer than I. She joined the gang at a young age. I don’t know the details; she doesn’t really have any friends in the gang. Especially not me. “Stacy, ride with Mulligan and Ander.” Tremoli orders, reading the notepad.

“Alright,” Stacy responds, starting to head out the door. Tremoli points at Grant.

“You too, Grant,” Tremoli puts his hand down and heads toward the brick wall.

“Yes, Mr. Tremoli!” Grant follows Tremoli and Stacy out of the room. Everybody else leaves, as well. Mulligan and I stand up.

“It’s nice to work with you again,” Mulligan states, his voice is a bit lighter than normal. It’s from the heart.

“Yeah, but don’t get too sentimental, this is the last time,” I respond. Mulligan and I start to head toward the door.

“I know,” Mulligan admits, “what do you plan on doing after this, with all that money?” His voice shifts back to its normal, energetic tone.

“I’m probably going to get out of here. Get some tickets online and hopefully, end up somewhere in Central America.” I explain, Mulligan and I go through the doorway. I realign the brick door with the wall. “Maybe live the peaceful life.” Mulligan doesn’t answer. I look over at Mulligan. He looks tense, a serious expression on his face. “What is it?” I ask. We begin to walk the opposite way we entered, toward the office.

“Nothing, I just don’t think the peaceful life is in the cards for people like us,” Mulligan responds.

“Maybe,” I can’t help but agree, it’s not like people like us deserve peaceful lives, “but it couldn’t hurt to try.” We approach the door, left open by the others.

“Fair enough,” I exit the door first. Mulligan follows, closing the door behind him. We walk over to his car. Grant and Stacy wait by Mulligan’s car. Stacy leans on the car, impatient.

I look to my right and see Tremoli walking toward a mute green truck. Is that what he’s driving to the Portillo’s base? I thought he was stealthier than that. Tremoli opens the passenger door to the truck and looks around for something. He grabs a pair of sunglasses. He opens the glove compartment and places the notepad in it before closing the compartment. Tremoli closes the door. Tremoli walks over to a black car that looks very similar to Mulligan’s.

Mulligan pulls his keys out of his pocket and presses the unlock button on them. The yellow-orange lights on the back of the car light up for a second as the doors unlock.

“Finally,” Stacy says to herself, out loud, before getting into the backseat. Grant opens the door across from Stacy and enters the other backseat. I approach Mulligan’s car and open the passenger seat door. The door is warm on my hand from being in the sun. I sit in the passenger seat and close the door behind me. The air is hot and thick. Mulligan enters the driver's seat and puts his keys in the ignition. Mulligan twists the key, and the car roars awake. The AC turns on and blows hot air in my face. I move the vent away from me while it cools down.

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Later, Stacy grabs onto the back of my seat and looks out the windshield. Mulligan is driving on the highway. Mr. Tremoli’s car is behind us. Stacy turns her gaze over to the speedometer.

“You’re going 71 in a 65,” Stacy states as she lets go of my seat and leans back into her seat. Backseat driving, really?

“Of all the laws we’re about to break, speeding is the one you're most concerned about?” I ask, and Mulligan nods his head.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Mulligan agrees.

“Well, when Mr. Tremoli’s eating your ass when the mission is compromised cause of a speeding ticket,” Stacy shrugs, “I don’t wanna hear it.” The car goes silent. I look over to my right, out the window. The sun has, more or less, passed the horizon. However, there’s still a little bit of pink left in the sky.

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Before I know it, we’re driving on pebbles, approaching a foundry littered with colorful graffiti. Mulligan slows the car down to a complete stop in front of the foundry. Tremoli parks his car next to ours. Mulligan puts the car in park and turns it off. Mulligan puts the keys in his pockets and unlocks the doors. Mulligan, Stacy, Grant, and I exit the car. We leave the doors open. Mr. Tremoli gets out of his car.

We all start to walk toward the foundry. I walk next to Mulligan. Before I know it, a ton of purple leather jacket-wearing Portillo gang members exit the foundry. They stand on the catwalk along the walls of the foundry. One of them walks toward us, staring at Mr. Tremoli.

“I’m not sure we can do this. If things go bad,” I whisper to Mulligan.

“Well, when there’s a will, there’s a way, I guess,” Mulligan responds. ‘When there’s a will, there’s a way.’ That’s interesting coming from him. Maybe he has more hope than he lets on. I shouldn’t focus on that right now. I turn my head to Tremoli as a Portillo member walks up to him. We stop as Tremoli and the member are only about a foot away from each other. They stare at each other for a moment. The Portillo member wears an angry expression, as does Tremoli. I put my hand on my pistol in my holster, just in case.

“Tremoli!” The Portillo member exclaims. His face turns into a happy one near instantly. He raises his arms as if going for an embrace.

“Lamori!” Tremoli returns the excitement. Lamori returns his arms to his sides. I take my hand off of my gun.

“How have you been?” Lamori asks.

“It’s been a bit of a struggle,” Tremoli answers. He rests his hands on his belt and looks at the ground, “considering that one of your people stole our money.” He raises his head to look at Lamori as his voice instantly becomes more serious. Lamori’s happy expression dissipates.

“Really?” Lamori sounds confused.

“We found the one who did it,” Tremoli explains, “he told us that he already gave the money to you.”

“Who was it?” I look around and see a couple of Lamori’s men have their hands on their guns.

“Jackson Branson,” Tremoli responds.

“Branson, huh?” Lamori’s eyes narrow; he’s thinking, “He must’ve given me the money without telling me where it came from.”

“Interesting…” Tremoli takes a step back. I put my hand back on my gun. I look over at Mulligan. He grabs his gun in a holster. “One thing, I know you run a tight ship and would want to know where any money was coming from. I am not the guy you want to cross,” Tremoli draws his gun and aims it at Lamori. Lamori draws his own gun before starting to run away. The other Portillo members fire at us. I duck and head for cover by Mulligan’s car, near the trunk.

“You’re only so tough because of what’s in your back pocket!” Lamori yells over the gunfire. I can barely make it out.

I hear a few bullets hit Mulligan’s car. I look over and see Mulligan and Grant taking cover, as well. I peek over the car and see Tremoli approaching the entrance to the foundry. The Portillo members fire at him. I duck back behind the car.

“Where’d Stacy go!?” I ask Mulligan and Grant, having to yell over the gunfire. Grant looks around the car to his right. He turns back and looks at me. Grant says something, but I can’t make it out. “What!?”

“I said she’s going to a side entrance!” Grant raises his voice.

“Can you two cover me?” I ask, the gunfire quiets down as the gang members reload. Mulligan and Grant nod back at me. I take a deep breath. Let’s try not to die. I move out of cover and start to head for the side entrance, on the left of the foundry. I stay crouched. I hear gunfire behind me, coming from Mulligan and Grant. I look up for a moment and see a Portillo member on the catwalk collapse.

I make it to the side of the foundry, away from any Portillo members. I stand up. A slight ache forms in my back. Yeah, I probably should’ve stretched. I see an open door to the foundry, safe bet that Stacy went through there. I approach the door and take cover by the wall right next to it. I peek my head out to look through the doorway. I see nothing but an empty hallway with worn-out walls.

I walk through the hallway, my hands gripping my gun tightly. I hear the distant noises of gunfire throughout the hall. Hopefully Mulligan and Grant are doing okay. Where did Tremoli and the others run off to? They’re probably chasing after Lamori. I reach the end of the hallway and find an open doorway. I walk through and enter a large room with large metal buckets attached to a rail on the ceiling. Suddenly, I hear the sound of metal clashing against the ground. The sound resonates throughout the room. I turn to my left quickly. I see a table in the room. It probably fell off there. I’m not alone in here.

The noise definitely didn’t come from Stacy. She wouldn’t be hiding. I approach the table and look around it. I find a pair of big metal jaw pliers on the ground. Nobody else is around. I turn around and see a corner. I slowly approach it, tightening the grip on my gun. I slow down as I arrive next to the corner. I turn the corner, fast, and aim my gun down it. A woman throws her hands up, palms open. She wears a green T-shirt and blue jeans. Her clothes are dirty, and I can see the shine of dried tears on her face, as well as a panicked expression. She breathes heavily. And she has no weapon. She’s not one of them. I return my gun to my side.

“There’s a way out down there,” I point to my left, “get out of here, fast, and forget all about this.” The woman nods in agreement. She takes off down the way I came from. I turn around. I see Stacy walking out of a hallway. Stacy’s eyes are narrow; she’s judging me.

“What was that?” Stacy asks, a bit of irritation in her voice. More than usual.

“She’s not a Portillo member, I think she was a hostage,” I explain, walking toward Stacy.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlEDOe3R4CV
“Did three weeks of retirement make you forget a decade's worth of Tremoli drilling the same thing into your head?” Stacy argues, her voice rising, “We don’t. Leave. Loose. Ends!”

“That’s not a loose end,” I retort, “she’s gonna go on with her life and, hopefully for her, repress this.” I sound smug. Aside from the gunfire, the room goes silent.

“I think Tremoli is around there, somewhere,” Stacy gestures down the hallway, “I came over here when I heard metal fall on the ground.” I begin to walk down the hallway.

“Let’s not waste time, then,” I state. Stacy starts to follow me. We walk down the hallway for a while, in silence. Eventually, we approach a corner. I round it and see someone approaching me. I instinctively aim my gun at him, and he points his at me. Stacy takes cover on the corner. Then I see the stranger’s face, it’s only Mulligan. Mulligan’s face fills with relief when he realizes it's me. We return our weapons to our side.

“Thank God,” Mulligan sighs. Stacy turns the corner, seeing it’s safe.

“Where’s Grant?” I ask, noticing Mulligan is alone.

“The Portillo members outside were overwhelming us, so we decided to split up,” Mulligan explains. Hopefully, he’s alright. Suddenly, a gunshot rings throughout the hallway, louder than the others. Mulligan turns around.

“It came down here,” I say, pointing down the hallway. Mulligan, Stacy, and I start to run down the hall. We come across a fork in the road. One of the paths leads to the right, and the other is straight ahead. Another shot rings straight ahead. We continue down ahead. My legs begin to tire. Crazy how fast you can get out of shape.

We reach a windowless door at the end of the hallway. I tilt the knob and open the door. The hallway continues for a few feet before opening to paths in front of us, to our left, and to our right. On the other side of the room is Mr. Tremoli, taking cover behind a wall and next to another door. He holds his gun in his right hand, close to his face. Tremoli sees us and puts his free index finger on his lips. There must be Portillo members here.

Mulligan, Stacy, and I slowly walk through the doorway. We take cover behind the wall. I’m closest to the corner. I raise my gun, ready to fire. Tremoli rounds the corner and aims his gun ahead of him. He fires it, the sound resonating throughout the room. A Portillo member, out of my view, fires at Tremoli. They miss, and the bullet hits the wall. The concrete embraces and stops the bullet, as it doesn’t come out of the other side. Tremoli goes back to cover behind the wall.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. Focus. I open my eyes and turn the corner, aiming my pistol. None of the Portillo members show themselves, so I wait them out. Eventually, a Portillo member rounds the corner. He has his gun pointed down the hallway. Before he can react. I aim my gun at him and fire. The bullet hits the member. He falls to the ground, dropping his gun. He holds the wound with his hand tightly. Another member rounds the corner, also armed. It’s hard to see from a distance, but from what I can see, she wears a shocked and distraught expression.

Suddenly, a bullet comes from the left of the Portillo member and hits her in the head. She falls to the ground. Who fired that bullet? Before I can ponder the question, another bullet comes from the same source. This time, it hits the Portillo member lying on the ground, killing him. Mulligan, Stacy, and Tremoli round the corner. The four of us walk down the hall. Grant reveals himself, walking out of cover. He holds his gun in his hand.

“You’re welcome,” Grant says, sounding confident. I barely notice, but there’s a tiny shake in Grant’s hands. He’s still new at this. “I heard the noise and came running this way.”

“Thanks,” Mulligan responds.

“Have you seen any sign of Lamori or the money?” Tremoli asks.

“No, unfortunately not,” Grant admits. I can feel my face scrunch up out of annoyance. Not at Grant, just that we need to pick up the pace. Not too much longer, Lamori will run off with the money and disappear to Tahiti or somewhere like it.

“We need to hurry up,” I advise, “or that money is as good as gone.” I start walking past Grant and toward the door that he entered from. I turn around to face Tremoli. “Mr. Tremoli, did the Portillo members come from this way?”

“One of them was already here when I entered, but the other one came from this door, yes,” Tremoli answers. I nod at him, and Tremoli, Mulligan, Stacy, Grant, and I walk through the door. Stacy closes the door behind her. Tremoli walks in front, of course. I walk next to Mulligan.

After walking down a hallway for a few moments, we find a fork in the road. We can go left or right. At the end of both hallways is a door. I look down the left hallway and there is a neon green exit sign above the door. I turn back toward Grant.

“Did you come from that door?” I ask, just to be sure. I point down the hall. Grant looks down the hall.

“Yeah,” Grant answers.

“Let’s go right, then,” Tremoli states, going down the right hallway. The rest of us follow him. We slow down a bit before approaching the door. I can’t speak for everyone, but I hear the faintest conversation. Tremoli puts his palm up. Mulligan, Stacy, Grant, and I stop in our tracks. Tremoli walks up to the door and puts his ear to it. He takes his ear off and looks back at us. “Game faces, everyone,” Tremoli whispers. We all get closer to the door. Tremoli kicks the door open.

We all funnel into the room, guns blazing. The room is filled with a small group of Portillo members and Lamori himself. Lamori stands by an open window. Seeing us, Lamori leaps through the window. The Portillo members aim at us. We shoot all five of them down, quick. Before I know it, all of them are on the floor.

“Anybody shot?” Tremoli asks. We all shake our heads. In the corner of the room is a wooden desk. A desk with a couple of duffel bags on it. This is it. Tremoli walks up to one of the duffel bags and unzips it. I can’t see what’s inside, but Tremoli looks back at me with a promising expression. “Well, Ander,” Tremoli looks back at the bag, “this is your lucky day.” I walk up to the bag. Inside are stacks of cash. Tremoli already had it laundered before the Portillos stole it. This is one hundred percent clean cash right here. Tremoli zips it up.

Tremoli hands one of the bags to me. “Carry this,” He orders. I grab it by the strap and hoist it around my shoulder. “Leave it in my car, though.”

What? Is he trying to scam me out of what I just worked so hard for? My blood starts to boil for a moment.

“You can have it in a few days, after I make sure that we have every single dollar that is rightfully ours,” Tremoli explains.

Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes more sense.

“Okay,” I respond, simply. Mulligan looks at me with a smile on his face.

“Lamori doesn’t happen to still be around here, does he?” Tremoli asks. Stacy approaches the window.

“No,” she responds.

“Eh, we’ll deal with him later,” Tremoli waves his hand, shoving off those problems for the future. We begin to walk out of the room with both bags of money. We walk straight down the hallway, toward the door with the exit sign. Tremoli opens the door, revealing the outside. I haven’t heard any gunfire for a while; the rest of the members must’ve ran off. We walk along the side of the building to get back to the front.

I turn back, making sure everyone is keeping up. I see Grant in the back, in deep thought. I slow down until Grant catches up with me.

“You okay, kid?” I ask, putting on my best comforting voice. It’s likely not that effective.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Grant responds, “just a little shaken, is all.”

“I get it,” I admit, “my first few jobs, especially ones like this, were really tough for me.” Grant doesn’t say anything back. Mulligan notices our conversation and slows down to get to us.

“Listen,” he starts, “I think the best thing to do is to get out as fast as possible. Before you make too many enemies.” Grant smiles a bit.

“I’d love to, but this is the only option I have left.” Grant looks at his feet. Mulligan and I look at each other. We both know how that feels. I ponder for a moment.

“Then you fight,” I advise, “fight until you can make your own way out.” I pat Grant on the shoulder. I look over at Mulligan; now he’s the one looking at his feet. I don’t say anything about it.

We approach the front of the foundry. Mulligan’s car is riddled with bullets. Tremoli’s car looks just fine, aside from a few bullet holes. Mulligan walks up to his car.

“I’m sure she still drives,” he jokes, chuckling a bit.

“Sure,” I think about it for a moment. I’m probably still gonna ride with Mulligan.

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Later, Mulligan drives up to my apartment building. He parks next to it. I ride in the passenger seat. Everybody else took Tremoli’s car. As told, I left the money with Tremoli. We took the backroads, trying to avoid cops.

“Good work tonight,” I tell Mulligan, “it’s been nice working with you.” I open the door.

“Likewise,” Mulligan responds. I flash a grin at him before exiting the door. I close the door behind me, and Mulligan drives off. It’s weird to think that I’m never going to see him again. Or, if I do, it’ll just be in passing.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfg5xtQponT

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THE MORNING, ANDER’S APARTMENT:107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW2KwDjQaHi

I wake up to the sound of knocking at my door. The knocking is loud. I open my eyes to the couch’s green cushion. The fabric uncomfortably rubs against my face. I get up from the couch, groaning. Everything is sore from last night. The knocking continues. It grows louder, likely from impatience. I begin walking to the door, rubbing my eye. Wait. I stop in my tracks. What if this is a Portillo member sent to kill me? Or, what if this is Tremoli trying to get me out of the picture?

“I’ll be right with you!” I call out to the person outside. The knocking stops. I back up, toward the serving hatch. I grab my belt, with the holster that has my gun in it, and wrap it around my pants. I approach the door again. My breath grows heavy. I hold onto my gun. My heartbeat quickens. I’m not awake enough for this.

I walk up to the door and look through the peephole. I see a man in a three-piece suit. His pants, tux, shoes, and tie are all black. His dress shirt is white. His hair is black and curly. He has a black beard and mustache. The man holds a manila folder in his hands.

“I’m Hank Grambelle, the police chief around here,” The man introduces, “I just want to ask you a single question.”

This seems risky. He could be pretending to be the chief just to get me to let my guard down. But the suit? He could be the actual chief. But that could mean he’s just trying to get me to confess and have me arrested.

“Can you hold your badge up to the peephole?” I ask, just to check.

“Sure,” Chief Grambelle, or whoever they are, responds. He pulls his badge out of his pocket and holds it to the peephole, close enough for me to get a good look at it. I skim the badge. The picture matches, although he doesn’t have the beard in the picture. His name is stated as Hank Grambelle on it. I guess I’ll take his word for it.

I back off from the peephole and unlock the door. I take my hand off of my gun handle. I turn the knob and open the door. Chief Grambelle puts his badge back in his pocket. He sticks his arm out for a handshake. I shake the chief’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he greets.

“Likewise,” I reply. The handshake ends, and we return our hands to our sides. Grambelle walks through the doorway. I keep the door open, just in case I need to make a quick escape. I look back at Chief Grambelle, who’s looking at my belt.

“Is that really necessary?” the chief asks, likely referring to my gun.

“Oh, sorry,” I chuckle slightly, “it’s a messy neighborhood. You can never be too safe,” Grambelle looks back up at me.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Chief Grambelle responds. “Anyways,” the chief walks over to my couch, “I do have some questions for you about last night.”

Here we go.

“Ask away,” I put on a confident voice. Hopefully, playing along will help me not get arrested.

“Street cameras found a woman walking away from an abandoned foundry last night,” Chief Grambelle explains, “a foundry where gang activity was supposedly happening at the same time.”

What? He noticed a woman walking away from the foundry, but not two cars driving up to it and away from it? He’s incompetent, I’ve got nothing to worry about.

“All I want to know,” Grambelle continues. He opens up the manila folder. He hands me a piece of paper that’s been drawn on. I grab the paper from his hands and look at the drawing. It’s a rough sketch, but I can tell who it is. It’s the woman from last night. The woman I let go. “Do you recognize this woman?” Grambelle asks, pulling me back into the conversation.

“Uh, no,” I stay as calm as I can, “sorry.” So long as Tremoli doesn’t get word of this, I’ll be fine.

“That’s what I figured,” Grambelle states in a more menacing voice. I narrow my eyes a bit. He knows more than he’s letting on. He’s just waiting to see if I crack first. “The nearby street cameras showed the woman around this area,” Chief Grambelle’s voice returns to normal, “I just thought I would ask around.” He shrugs before sticking his arm out. “Thanks for the cooperation!”

“You’re welcome, sorry I couldn’t be more help,” I shake his hand. Chief Grambelle lets go of my hand and turns around. Instead of leaving the apartment, Chief Grambelle grabs the door and closes it, gently. He turns around with a much sterner expression on his face.

“Listen, I know who you are, and I know where you were last night,” Grambelle states.

Shit, it’s over. My heartbeat quickens. I was so close to getting it out. I guess it all ending like this was always likely. I slowly move my hand toward my gun.

“The only reason that you and your peers aren’t behind bars is because of a little compensation Tremoli gives me on occasion,” Grambelle continues. “So, cut the crap and tell me where this woman is!” The chief orders.

“Listen, if I knew, I would tell you,” I admit. And that’s true. I’ve come too close to freedom to sacrifice it for someone I’ve encountered once. “But, I don’t know, sorry.” Chief Grambelle closes his eyes and puts his thumb and index finger on his nose. He breathes deeply before sighing with a grunt.

“I guess I have no choice for now but to take your word for it,” Grambelle admits as he turns around and opens the door. Before leaving the apartment, he turns his head toward me. “Watch yourself, Mr. Aligato,” the chief walks through the doorway, closing the door behind him.

I sigh with relief as I lean back against the couch. So, Lamori was right, Tremoli does have something in his back pocket. That one was too close. I should’ve known that Tremoli had people on the inside. Wouldn’t have expected it to be the chief himself, though.

I do hope that woman ends up okay. She seems at least semi-normal. Not sure what she did to piss the Portillo’s off enough to kidnap her. Not that it’s my problem. All I have to do now is wait until Tremoli is done counting the cash. That shouldn’t take too long. I jump from a sudden vibration on my right thigh; it feels weird, given how sore my leg is. Wait, it’s just my phone. I sigh from the realization.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and look at it. There’s a text from Tremoli. I have his contact named simply as Boss. I look at his message: Retirement party tomorrow at 11:00 A.M. I scoff out loud. Yeah, that’s definitely not gonna have cake and decorations. But I’ll get my big bag of clean cash and disappear.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrQlLydYim9

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NOON THE NEXT DAY, ANGOLO FACTORY:

I walk up to the factory. I took an Uber here, just had my stop a few buildings down. Still gotta be careful, not out of the woods yet. I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do on my way home. Maybe I can get Mulligan to drive me again. Or maybe I can just get another driver and pray to God they don’t ask too many questions.

I walk up to the factory’s blue door and open it. I enter the factory, closing the door behind me. I stroll through the factory. I see the assembly belt of weapons again.

Now that I think about it, I guess the police chief is the reason we were able to have such an obvious front. How big is his reach? Does he work for Tremoli? Or is it the other way around?

I shake my head. No, I can’t start asking those questions. I am literally 5 minutes away from achieving my freedom. Now is the time to look the other way and let things naturally play out.

Before I know it, I’m right in front of the fake wall. I pull on it, revealing the secret room. Mr. Tremoli sits at the table with Stacy and Grant at his side. The bag of cash rests on top of the table.

Is having backup really necessary, Tremoli? Whatever.

“You’re right on time,” Tremoli exclaims, “good to see you, Ander.” I close the fake wall behind me.

“Yeah,” I respond, bluntly. I’m losing patience with the niceties. Suck it up for the money; you did it this long, Ander. Tremoli seems to notice that I’m confused about Stacy and Grant’s presence.

“Don’t mind them,” Tremoli waves his hand, “after our attack on the Portillos, I just want to remain safe.”

“Makes sense,” I walk up to the table.

“I personally checked every dollar, and it’s all there,” Tremoli explains as I approach the bag. I zip open the bag to check. The bag is still filled with money. I can’t believe it. It’s finally happening.

“I guess this makes it official, then,” I state. I feel a sense of calm wash over me. The anxiety of the police, the Portillos, and Tremoli himself. It doesn’t seem so daunting right now.

“Yes, I guess it would,” Tremoli responds, standing up out of his chair. I look to my right, toward Tremoli. “It’s a shame to see you go, Ander.” I can feel the anxiety coming back. Why is he trying to get me to stay?

“Yeah, I guess it had to end at some point,” I respond, keeping composure. I zip the bag up and hoist it around my shoulder.

“I know, it just feels like you’re quitting while you’re ahead,” Tremoli explains, “instead of finding the height of your potential.” I can feel my eyebrows instinctively narrow for a moment. This is getting concerning. Did Tremoli want me to be his successor or something? I thought that would’ve gone to Stacy, if anyone. Tremoli sticks out his hand for a handshake.

“Well, quitting while you’re ahead is a good way to avoid falling behind,” I retort, shaking his hand. It’s firm, but it doesn’t hurt like before. I eventually let go of Tremoli’s hand. I begin to walk backward out of the room.

I turn to look at Grant. Poor kid, I wish there was more I could do for him. To do that would jeopardize everything I’ve worked for. Who knows, maybe he’ll be standing where I am someday. Grant nods at me. I nod back.

I look over at Stacy. She has a stern expression on her face. Her eyes narrow when our eyes meet. I can tell she’s still not happy with me after the foundry. I turn around and open the fake wall. I walk through the doorway and close the wall behind me. I walk the way I came from.

On my way out of the factory, I see a familiar figure approaching me. It’s Mulligan. Mullgian looks surprised to see me. We stop in front of each other.

“So,” Mulligan starts, “you got the money.” Mulligan gestures to the bag.

“I did,” I confirm. There’s a moment of silence. “And you said the peaceful life wasn’t in the cards for people like us.” Mulligan looks upset for a moment.

“I don’t know,” Mulligan responds, “I’m not sure if this ends with getting the money.” I ponder for a moment. He could be right. But so long as I completely disappear, I’ll be fine. “Only one way to find out, I guess,” Mulligan backpedals. He must’ve noticed me getting in my own head.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“Good luck, Ander,” Mulligan wishes, “and be careful.” He begins to continue walking.

“Right back at you,” I continue walking, as well. We go our separate ways. I approach the office space in the factory, and the blue door to the factory. I open the door. I step out of the factory and onto the gravel outside. I close the door behind me and take a deep breath.

I did it. All of that work. All of the things I’ve done. It’s all in the past, now. I start walking away from the factory and toward freedom. I have a passport at the apartment, and I can get on a plane and go far away, where no one can find me. I can start living a new life and put all of this gang business behind me after so, so many years.

Suddenly, I hear someone walking behind me. I turn around, fast. It’s the woman from the foundry, standing right in front of me. This can’t be real, is it?

“Hello,” the woman greets, approaching me slowly. She wears a lot cleaner clothes than before. “Do you remember me?”

“What are you doing here!?” I ask, ignoring her question. I’m definitely too loud. Hopefully, no one heard me.

“I was a hostage of the Portillos,” the woman explains, “I knew about the Cedere gang beforehand, and I knew that the Portillos stole your money.”

“Still, what are you doing here?” I was so, so close to being cut free. Just one more obstacle, and that will be that.

“I just wanted to thank you for letting me go the other day,” the woman reveals, “the Cedere gang is… notorious for their brutality.” This isn’t news to me.

“You need to get out of here, right now!” I order, not just for my sake but for the woman’s as well. Suddenly, I see the door to the factory swing open. Stacy steps out. We lock eyes. Stacy’s eyes widen.

“I knew it!” Stacy yells, drawing her gun. I dash in front of the woman. Stacy may not like me very much, but she wouldn’t shoot me unless I attacked her. Stacy aims her gun at me. “I knew she would come back! Get out of the way, Ander!” Stacy orders, I don’t budge. Stacy walks away from the factory and closer to us.

“Stacy, listen, it’s not like that,” I explain, “don’t be rash. There-”

“No,” Stacy interrupts, “I let you brush this off before. But she is right in front of our headquarters, Ander,” Stacy sounds genuinely desperate and concerned at the possibility of our location being widely known. “That’s a loose end!” I look over Stacy’s shoulder and see Tremoli and Grant standing at the doorway.

“What is this about!?” Tremoli asks, walking toward Stacy.

“Ander let this woman go at the Portillo’s foundry,” Stacy explains. Tremoli looks at me with a look of disbelief that quickly turns to anger. Tremoli grabs his gun with one hand and aims it at me. Grant, as if mimicking Tremoli, aims his pistol at me, as well. I look around at the parking lot. I see a mute green pickup truck fairly close to me and the woman. It looks pretty sturdy, too. It should be able to take more than a few bullets. But how do I get out of this standoff without getting gunned down?

Suddenly, I hear a loud bang. I dart my gaze in front of me. Someone shot at the ground, likely a warning shot. Behind Stacy, Grant, and Tremoli is Mulligan with his gun out. The barrel emits smoke. Tremoli, Grant, and Stacy all turn around, not expecting Mulligan. He wasn’t trying to kill me. That wasn’t even a warning shot. He gave us an opportunity.

I turn to my left and make a run for the truck. I look behind me for a moment, and the woman is following me. It’s hard to run with the bag of money, but I keep going. I make it to the driver's side of the truck and elbow the window. The window shatters, sounding the car’s alarms. I stick my hand through it and hit the unlock button on the inside.

The doors unlock with a confirming click. I open the door and enter the driver’s seat. The woman enters the passenger side. We close our doors. I throw the bag of money into the back seat. Bullets begin to riddle the truck. The woman ducks under her window.

I pull out the wires under the wheel. I fumble my way through some wires. I haven’t needed to hotwire in a while. I connect a few of the cables, and the car eventually vibrates to life. I press down on the brakes with my foot and shift the car into reverse. I push on the gas. The truck speeds backward, jolting my head forward.

I press back down on the brakes, sending my head back into the headrest of the seat. I turn the steering wheel all the way to the right. I put the car in drive and ease on the gas. I straighten the wheel and push on the gas harder. We approach a stop sign. There’s no time for that. Without slowing down or using my blinker, I turn right onto the road. I look in the rear-view mirror, and the factory grows farther away.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ95ir52StaE

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Meanwhile, The Angolo Factory:107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7UgnLpYrXM

Mr. Tremoli, Stacy Arimend, Grant Marston, and Mulligan Leal stand in the parking lot of the Angolo factory. Tremoli’s fists are clenched. Tremoli turns over to Mulligan.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAzPaVHOa2J

“Why would you do that?” Tremoli asks, in a stern tone, “Why would you give them an opening like that?” Tremoli approaches Mulligan.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0GxJOwweCP

“Well, I didn’t have time to aim,” Mulligan stammers, steadily walking backward, “I was trying to hit the woman.”107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6Ptcyvcrzv

“And yet,” Tremoli responds, “she is living and breathing. I know I taught you better than that.” Tremoli narrows his eyes at Mulligan.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA6CjthRaZD

“I wasn’t in the right head space,” Mulligan explains, “it won’t happen again, Mr. Tremoli, I promise.”107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8ARcpYexop

“Prove it, then,” Tremoli challenges, pointing at Mulligan, “I want you to lead the charge to bring Ander and the woman in.” Mulligan’s face is filled with dread. “Got it?” Tremoli asks.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSSWLgi77Vf

“Yes, I won’t let you down, Mr. Tremoli,” Mulligan answers.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGQlaVEh0DS

“You'd better hope so,” Tremoli threatens. Tremoli walks away from the others and toward the factory. He pulls out his phone and unlocks it. Tremoli opens the phone app and dials a number. The phone buzzes as Tremoli holds it up to his ear. Eventually, the buzzing stops as someone picks it up.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNgQzZ3JbMH

“Hello?” Police Chief Hank Grambelle asks on the other end of the phone.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnmhygJotQr

“Hello, police chief,” Tremoli greets, “I have two loose ends on the loose. They’re together in a green pickup truck. I believe you’ve met one of them, Ander Aligato. I want the other one gone. But, I want you to bring Ander to me,” Tremoli orders.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAssTfZK5Md

“What’s in it for me?” Grambelle asks. Tremoli’s eyebrows narrow before he sighs.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeDwi781hqc

“Ander has a bag full of cash with him,” Tremoli states, “if you catch them, then a third of that bag is yours. However, we’ll have to negotiate the specifics of how much you get afterward.”107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqcOLHSXzrK

“Good enough,” Grambelle admits, “I’ll do all I can.” Grambelle hangs up the phone. Tremoli enters the factory. He walks through the office and assembly line. Tremoli holds his phone in his hand before dialing another number. The phone buzzes again. Eventually, someone picks up.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsc0JHm1Kae

“Hello, is this Lamori?” Tremoli greets, “I know we’re not on good terms, but I bet you’ll want to help me with this issue.”107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK0qC4STNhe

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EARLY AFTERNOON, ON THE HIGHWAY:

I keep to the fast lane on the highway. I stay perfectly within the lane. However, my focus is entirely not on driving. Is Mulligan gonna be alright? Does Tremoli know that he missed on purpose? Or did Mulligan actually miss by accident? 107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBGCuiibQvG

I don’t have any time to ponder these questions before another car cuts off in front of me. I step on the brakes for a moment before taking my foot off of it. I ease back on the gas. 107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfjCAL6vePc

Without even knowing it, I’m mumbling some heinous words to myself about the driver in front of me.

“Roadrage much?” The woman in the passenger seat asks. I have to be honest, I kind of forgot she was there.

“Sorry,” I apologize. I don’t really mean it. I’m just not in the mood to talk.

“Well, seeing as we’re going to be spending a bit of time together,” the passenger continues, “what’s your name?” She asks, “Mine is Alex.”

“Ander,” I respond, reluctantly. “And it won’t be that much time. We’ll only be together until we go to the airport tomorrow. I don’t care where you go from there.” She got me into this whole situation, and I don’t want to be any more of a part in it than she has already made me. Alex doesn’t respond.

I see Alex open up the glove compartment in my peripheral vision. She looks around in there. I turn over to Alex for a moment.

“What are you doing?” I ask her. She looks away from the glove compartment and toward me.

“I’m trying to see if this guy has any CDs in their truck,” Alex responds before going back to rummaging through the truck’s glove compartment. Alex eventually finds a CD that she likes. I’m too focused on the road to see what CD it is. Maybe the music will help me get my mind off of everything. Alex inserts the CD and turns up the volume a tad.

Suddenly, Sitting by Cat Stevens starts playing over the truck’s speakers. Mr. Tremoli always liked Cat Stevens. I never enjoyed his songs. They were far too sappy for me. I can’t stand to listen to him now. I slam down on the radio button. The speakers go from Cat Stevens to some generic pop song. Alex shoots me a concerned look.

“You alright?” She asks. I only respond with a short groan, keeping my mouth closed. I’m too far in my own thoughts to talk. Then it hits me.

Didn’t Tremoli have a green truck? My eyes widen. Not only did I go against my boss’ number one rule. But I also stole his truck. I am in deep with the sharks, aren’t I?

“Ander,” Alex brings me back to reality, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say after I clear my throat. I don’t need Alex worrying on top of my own worrying. I go back to swimming through my head, driving on autopilot.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Alex asks after a while. We’re still driving on the highway.

“Tremoli likely expects us to be driving as far as we can possibly go,” I explain. “It will throw him off if we check into a motel close to the city next door. When he inevitably finds that I was checked in at the motel. We should both be on planes by then.”

“Makes sense,” Alex responds, “where’s the motel?” I look to my right and see a bright green sign above an exit that reads Fransten.

“At the exit we just passed!” I answer, frustrated. I hear Alex trying to hold back laughter.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaZeZTSoBA2

LATER, NENDOME MOTEL:

I park in a space at the Nendome Motel. The motel looks as if it’s barely standing on its own two feet. The windows are all smudged with something. The paint on the doors is peeling off. Alex looks at me with a concerned look.

“Are you sure we want to stay here?” Alex asks.

“I don’t really want to,” I respond, “but staying at a place like this should buy us more time. Tremoli will have the more well-known hotels checked before here.” I say this more to calm myself down than Alex. I know what Tremoli is capable of. And he has the police chief on his side? This is a nightmare scenario. But panicking isn’t going to do anything.

I get out of the car and close the door behind me. Alex does the same. I open one of the back doors. The bag of money is still resting in the backseat. I zip open the bag. I still can’t believe just how much money is in this thing. I pull out two one-hundred-dollar bills and zip the bag up. I close the back door.

“I’ll come for the money after we check in,” I state, “can’t be too safe.” I start to walk away from the car, Alex following.

“We’re just leaving the car running?” Alex asks.

“Yep,” I answer.

“And leaving the doors unlocked?”

“Don’t have the keys,” I explain.

“What if someone steals it overnight?” Alex gestures to the car, “The truck may as well have ‘steal me’ written on the side of it.” I stop walking and turn my head toward Alex. Alex stops walking, as well.

“Then I pity the poor bastard who does steals it,” we start walking again. The police chief is likely looking for signs of the truck based on the license plate. So, if someone does steal it, then they’ll have a target on their back.

I approach the door to the lobby. The door is wooden and aged. It has rectangular detailing as if it were a door found in someone’s house. I open the door, and Alex and I enter the lobby. The inside features dirty, stained carpet. There is a lounge area in the corner featuring chairs with holes in them. Next to the door is a desk that makes a large L-shape. I approach the desk, Alex following.

“Good afternoon,” greets the receptionist, sitting at the desk with a smile, “are you checking in?”

“Yeah,” I answer as I pull my wallet out of my back pocket. I take out my ID and hand it to the receptionist.

“Thanks,” the receptionist says as he grabs my ID. Holding it in front of him, he begins typing at his computer. “Name: Ander Aligato…” he mutters as he types. That’s it. The clock is now ticking. It’s only a matter of time before Tremoli finds out where I’m at. “How many nights are you staying?” The receptionist hands my ID back to me. I put the ID in my wallet and back in my pocket.

“Just one,” I respond. I rest my hand on one of the hundred-dollar bills in my pocket.

“Need a pitstop on the father-daughter road trip?” The receptionist asks. Do I really look old enough to be Alex’s dad? Geez.

“Yep,” I put my elbow on the desk and lean on it. “How much do you charge a night?”

“37 bucks a person,” the receptionist says as he holds out his hand, palm up. That sounds about right.

“Sorry, I’ve only got hundreds on me,” I state as I pull out one of the hundred-dollar bills from my pocket and place it in the receptionist's hand. The receptionist shoots me an odd, judgmental look. The receptionist clenches the bill in his hand and presses a few buttons on the cash register to his right. The door to the register opens with a loud clang!

The receptionist looks at the register with a worried expression. I catch a glimpse of the inside of the register. It may as well be empty. The receptionist puts on a smile before turning back toward me.

“Do you want change?” He asks, almost praying for a specific answer.

“No, no, keep it,” I state. The receptionist beams as he goes to the other side of the desk and toward a cubby. He grabs a key out of the cubby and walks back over to me.

“You’ll be in room 10,” the receptionist states. I take the key from him and give the receptionist a nod as thanks. I leave the lobby, Alex following. I hand the keys to Alex.

“Here,” I say as Alex takes the keys, “find the room while I get the money.” Alex nods before taking off, looking for room 10.

I walk toward the green pickup truck, which is still running. I open the back door and grab the bag of money. I wrap the strap of the bag around my shoulder. I close the door of the truck and turn toward the motel. I see Alex unlocking a door right next to the lobby, on the left side. She opens the door and enters the room, closing the door behind her.

I approach room 10. Rusted plates with the room number are nailed to the door. The bottom nail on the 1 is missing. I open the door to the room, closing and locking it behind me. Inside is a shabby room no better than my old apartment. The floor is made of wood, covered in dust. There’s a sink next to a door, likely leading to the bathroom. The sink is rusted and has a small chunk of bar soap next to it. There are two beds have white sheets and pillows with a few gray stains on them.

“Better than what I had at the foundry,” Alex jokes, chuckling stalely afterward. Alex falls onto the bed furthest from the door.

“Uh, how long were you there?” I ask, itching the back of my neck. I set the bag of money next to the sink. Alex pauses for a moment.

“A couple of months, I think,” Alex answers.

“Oh,” I respond, “well, I’m sorry that you went through that.” I sit in the unoccupied bed. “At least you’ll be far away this time tomorrow.” Alex lets out a soft laugh.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Alex responds with uncertainty, “with what we both know about what we’re facing, I think that you’re giving your hopes up a bit. I mean, what are we even going to do with that around your waist?” Alex points at my belt, with my pistol on it.

“That doesn’t matter, right now,” I retort, “we’ll deal with that when we get there.”

“It’s not that simple,” Alex argues. I get out of bed and approach the door. “There are eyes and ears everywhere. They’re bound to find out where we’re going. Likely before we’re even there!”

“Not if we’re fast enough!” I say, hysterically. I unlock the door, throw it open, and slam it behind me as I leave the motel room. The outside seems to match the gloominess of the motel. The wind is faster than before. The sky is a grayish blue as the sun starts to set. My breath is harsh and fast. This has to go well. It simply has to. It’s all I’ve been fighting for.

Suddenly, I feel a pressure in my right pocket that I haven’t paid attention to since the factory. I still have my phone. I reach into my pocket and yank my phone out. I’m greeted by a default picture of a plant on the screen. Shit. They can track us.

I find a corner of the wall, right next to the motel room. I take my phone, screen facing the wall, and slam it into the corner. I look at the phone. There’s a giant crack in the center of the screen. I can’t make out the background, but it still turns on. I slam the phone on the corner of the wall again. I do it so many times, I lose count. Eventually, I stop. I look at the phone. I can see the insides of the phone. The screen doesn’t turn on.

As one last safety measure, I chuck the phone into the woods nearby. I see the phone land in a faraway bush. I turn toward the door to the motel room and run toward it. I burst into the room. Alex jolts out of her bed at my sudden appearance.

“Do you have a phone on you?” I ask, urgently.

“No, I don’t have a phone,” Alex replies, patting her pockets.

“Good, good,” I state, pacing around the room for a moment. I lay my eyes on the bag of money. I charge over to it and wrap it around my shoulder. “We need to go, now!” I exclaim.

“What, why?” Alex asks, a hint of panic in her voice.

“I had my phone in my pocket,” I explain, “I think it’s being tracked. We have to go,” I repeat.

“Wait, hold on a minute,” Alex puts up her hand. I put my hand on the doorknob. “I think we need to stick to the plan,” Alex objects.

“Why should we!?” I ask, panicked.

“Who's to say that they’re even tracking us?” Alex argues.

“Tremoli has the police in his pocket,” I state, as if that’s all the evidence I need. Alex, to my surprise, isn’t taken aback by the information at all.

“Everybody knows that,” Alex scoffs, “I’m just saying that we should stick to the plan as long as we can. The longer we’re hidden in plain sight, the better. We can fight or sneak our way out if we have to.” Alex may have a point. I take my hand off of the door. I set the bag of money down next to me. Then I remember the argument Alex and I had a couple of minutes ago.

“You just said that they might find out where we’re going before we even get there!” I bring up.

“True, I am having doubts of my own,” Alex explains, “but, at the end of the day, I feel that you are right that going to a run-down place like this in a fairly close city bought us a night.” Alex lies back down in her bed. I continue to stand by the door, pondering. Eventually, I leave the door and approach my bed.

“Y’know,” I say as I lie down in my bed, my tone light and joking, “you should learn to practice what you preach.”

“I could say the same to you,” Alex retorts, copying my tone.

As I lie there, I can’t help but take Alex’s comment too seriously. I know it’s the wrong thing to think, but I can’t help but compare how things would be different if I had practiced the “no loose ends” rule that I had preached for so long. I roll over on my side, facing away from Alex. No, this was the right thing to do. Everything is going to turn out fine. It all just has to.

Elsewhere, Night, Tremoli’s Apartment:

Tremoli stands outside a nice-looking house. The house sports a tan color. It’s located in a friendly-looking neighborhood. Tremoli stands in front of the clean white door to the house. Tremoli wears all black. He wears a jacket, jeans, and dress shoes.

Tremoli pulls out keys out of his jacket pocket and puts them in the lock above the doorknob. He twists the key and turns the doorknob. Tremoli swings the door open. Inside is a cozy house. There is a living room with a rug and a flatscreen TV. Paintings and decorative plants are scattered around.

Tremoli enters the house, closing the door behind him. He locks the door and walks to the other side of the room, toward a set of stairs. Tremoli walks up the stairs, entering the kitchen. A vibration comes from Tremoli’s pocket, from his phone. Tremoli takes the phone out of his pocket and answers it.

“Hello?” Tremoli asks as he holds the phone to his ear.

“It’s Grambelle,” Police Chief Hank Grambelle answers. Tremoli’s expression turns to a hopeful one.

“Have you found Ander?”

“Not exactly,” Grambelle reveals, “I was tracking Ander’s phone before I left the office. I took a look at the tracker just a moment ago, when I got home, and the tracker hadn’t moved from the last time. Ander must’ve destroyed his phone before I could find where he is,” Grambelle explains.

“Do you have a general area of where he could be?” Tremoli follows up.

“When I lost the tracker, he was on the highway near Fransten,” Grambelle responds. Tremoli pinches his nose with his index finger and thumb.

“Okay, okay, check places to stay around that area and see if he’s checked in anywhere,” Tremoli orders.

“Alright, I should have some results by the morning,” Grambelle promises.

“Try to be faster than that,” Tremoli says, “we need Ander and the woman A.S.A.P.” Tremoli hangs up the phone. Tremoli sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8C52VseORt

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THE NEXT MORNING, NENDOME MOTEL, ROOM 10:

I awake in the motel bed. I didn’t have an alarm, as I destroyed my phone. But, after everything that happened yesterday, waking up before the sun was an inevitability. I turn to my other side and see Alex asleep in bed. Then it hits me. We have to go. I jump out of bed and walk over to Alex. I shake her awake.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Alex asks, groggily.

“It’s time to get to the airport,” I respond, walking away from Alex’s bed. I walk back to my side of the bed. The only piece of clothing I took off last night was my shoes. I grab my shoes, lying next to my bed, and sit down. I put my shoes on and tie them. They’re brown boots with thin laces. Alex gets up and puts on her own shoes.

I stand up and throw the bag of money over my shoulder. I wait for Alex to get on her shoes, black and white sneakers. Alex stands up.

“Ready?” I ask, putting my hand on the knob.

“Yeah,” Alex answers. I turn the doorknob and swing the door open. I leave the motel room, Alex following. I look at the parking lot and, miraculously, Tremoli’s green truck is still there. The truck is still vibrating from being on.

“Well, that’s lucky,” Alex jokes. Or amazingly unlucky, who knows? We approach the truck. I open the back door as Alex gets in the passenger seat. I place the bag of money in the back seat and shut the door. I open the driver's side door and enter the car. The car is warm after being on all night. Alex and I buckle our respective seat belts.

“Are you sure we got everything?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think it was just the bag of money,” Alex responds, uncertainty in her voice. I ponder for a moment. Yeah, all we had was the money. I put the car in reverse and back out of the parking space. I press on the brakes and put the car in drive. I drive the truck out of the Nendome Motel.

My heartbeat quickens a bit. This is it, I’m almost there. Then my heart skips a beat, do I have my passport? I feel my pockets with one hand, continuing to drive with the other. I don’t have it on me. I sigh and grunt loudly. Alex shows a concerned expression my way.

“What is it?” Alex’s voice matches her face in worry.

“I left my passport at my apartment,” I groan. This just keeps getting worse. Alex’s face changes to one filled with dread.

“Now what do we do?” Alex asks, “What if they’re guarding your apartment?”

“I’m going to check out my apartment, fight my way in if I have to,” I think out loud, “I can drop you off at the airport before, if you want.” Alex thinks for a minute while I drive.

“No,” Alex decides, “no, I think it would be safer if I stay with you, for now.” Alex decides. I nod my head in response. The car goes silent for the rest of the ride. There’s not much to talk about. Nothing light-hearted, at least.

Meanwhile, Tremoli’s House:

Tremoli sits in a chair at his kitchen island. He holds a breakfast burrito up to his mouth and takes a bite out of it. Much like the night before, Tremoli feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Tremoli takes his phone out and answers the call.

“Hello?” Tremoli holds the phone to his ear as he sets his burrito down.

“I know where they are,” the voice on the other end, Police Chief Grambelle, reveals, “or at least where they were.”

“Where are they?” Tremoli asks with urgency.

“I found that Mr. Aligato checked into the Nendome Motel last night,” Grambelle explains.

“The motel in Fransten?” Tremoli clarifies.

“Correct,” Grambelle answers, “chances are, they probably left this morning.”

“Be that as it may, check the motel anyway,” Tremoli orders, “I’ll send other people to the airports in Fransten and here.” Tremoli hangs up the phone. He unlocks it and opens his phone app. He opens up the keypad and presses in a phone number. Tremoli puts the phone back up to his ear as the phone buzzes. Eventually, the phone is picked up.

“Hello?” Lamori greets on the other side.

“Lamori, I think I know where Ander Aligato is going to be,” Tremoli skips to the point.

“Really?” Lamori sounds intrigued.

“He might be going to the international airport in town,” Tremoli explains, “remember, I want Ander alive. You can do whatever you want with the woman you had hostage. Just ensure that she doesn’t spill the beans to anybody.”

“And my cut?” Lamori asks.

“As I said, you can expect one third of the money in the bag that Ander has,” Tremoli says as he gets up and picks up his plate, “but that will be negotiated once Ander is caught and the woman is dealt with.” Tremoli hangs up the phone as he approaches a trash can, dumps the remains of his breakfast burrito in it, and places his plate in the sink.

Tremoli dials another phone number on his phone and holds it to his ear as it’s dialing. Tremoli walks down the stairs and toward the front door.

“Hello?” Mulligan says on the other line, sounding as if he just woke up. Tremoli unlocks the front door and opens it.

“Mulligan, I need you at the factory immediately,” Tremoli hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket. Tremoli walks through the doorway, closing the front door behind him. In the driveway sits his black car, retaining the bullet holes from the factory. Tremoli walks down a set of stairs toward the driveway. Tremoli approaches the car. Tremoli grabs the car keys from his pocket and unlocks the car doors.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTwIcXQRtks

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LATER, THE HIGHWAY:

I see a green highway sign reading Meralton fly by as I drive under it. The windows of the truck are rolled down, the wind blowing in and out of the truck. The radio is on, playing 80s rock. I get into the right lane as the exit off the highway approaches. Near the exit is the city’s downtown area, featuring medium-sized skyscrapers.

I cannot believe that I have to come back here. All just for a passport, nonetheless. I’m not sure who I should be angry at. Tremoli for his brutality. Stacy for her stubbornness. Alex for getting kidnapped by the Portillos. Or me for letting her go. I’m not quite sure why I spared her. Lord knows I’ve been obedient to the “no loose ends” rule in the past. I look at Alex for a moment, loathingly. Her freedom is the reason I’m in this mess. She rests her head on her fist as she stares out the window. Her hair is a mess from the wind, but she doesn’t seem to care. I turn back to the road.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEKGjqwD64p

I take the exit off the highway. I go up a ramp until I come across a red stoplight. The morning sun is bright enough to the point that the stop lights have very little glow to them. I stop at the stoplight and look to my left to see if anyone is coming. As there is no one immediately coming, I turn right and start driving through downtown.

“You seem grumpy,” Alex states. I look over to see her with her head off her fist, looking at me. “Or, grumpier than normal.”

“What is there not to be grumpy about?” I ask, rhetorically.

“Well, think about it,” Alex starts, as if I haven’t been thinking excessively, “Tremoli at this point probably thinks we’re still in Fransten. So now, if we go to the airport here, we can get away without Tremoli noticing.” She says enthusiastically. I guess I never did think about things in that sense. I give Alex a reassuring grunt and continue to drive.

Minutes later, my apartment is just a block away. However, I pull into a nearby parking lot. I don’t want to attract much attention, especially if Tremoli has my apartment guarded by someone. I park in an empty spot, put the car in park, and unlock the doors.

“This might take a while,” I tell Alex, “my apartment is about a block away.” Alex gives me a thumbs up. I open the truck door and get out of it, closing the door behind me. I start walking down the sidewalk. I try to hide my face every time a car passes, just in case. Every step closer I get to my apartment, the faster my heart gets. I’m half expecting the apartment complex to be swarmed by the police. Yet, they can’t know about the passport, can they?

I turn a corner and see my apartment building. Luckily, there are no police or gang members around. I take an involuntary sigh of relief. I cross the street, toward the apartment. I climb up the stairs. My legs are killing me, as they seem to be 24/7, as I climb the stairs. I reach the third floor and head off for my apartment. I reach my door and grab my keys out of my pocket. I slip the keys into the knob and twist them. I take the keys out and put them into the top lock. I turn it and open the door. I take the keys out and place them in my pocket.

My apartment hasn’t changed a bit. Natural lighting from the kitchen window and front door illuminates the apartment. I walk into the apartment, closing the door behind me. I slowly walk around the apartment. Every corner I peek or turn, my nerves increase. I can’t tell what’s worse: being attacked or having the possibility of being attacked at any moment. Eventually, I walk into the bedroom. I barely even remember what the room looks like; it’s been so long since I’ve been there. In the top left corner is my closet. The bedroom is small. It only fits my twin-sized bed, placed in the top right corner. Next to the bed is a nightstand with a lamp on it, as well as my passport.

I rush over to the nightstand and grab my passport. I put the passport in my pocket and head out of my bedroom. On my way out, I take one last look at my bedroom. This is my last time in this apartment. This is the last day of this life. I shouldn’t miss it at all; I should feel overjoyed. Nonetheless, this has a weird, bittersweet feeling to it. I exit the bedroom and walk down the hall. I turn to my left, around the corner, and gasp. Someone is opening my door. The door swings open, revealing Tremoli standing there, smiling. He enters the apartment, shutting the door behind him. It feels like my breath has been forcefully sucked out of my body.

“Hello, Ander,” Tremoli greets, smugly.

“How‒How did you find me?” The feeling of shock is far too overwhelming; I can barely speak. I back up a bit. Tremoli gets closer.

“How have you been?” Tremoli asks, “I hope you found some comfortability at Nendome.” I don’t respond. I saw something like this coming, yet I still can’t believe it. The silence is deafening. I can barely think.

“Don’t have any friends with you, do you?” I ask, trying desperately to skew the conversation in my favor.

“No, no, I just came from the factory,” Tremoli answers. “I was talking with someone who told me that you were interested in international travel for your retirement. That means you need a passport, which you probably didn’t have on you yesterday. And, wouldn’t you know it, here you are.” Tremoli explains. Mulligan ratted out on me? He was the only one who knew about Central America. I can’t believe it.

Suddenly, it hits me. Tremoli is here, alone. I eye Tremoli up and down, quick. He’s not armed. I am, however. I pull out my gun and point it at Tremoli.

“Let me go,” I demand. Tremoli, however, snickers before getting closer.

“Do it, then,” Tremoli eggs me on, “do it and watch the underworld collapse. I am the only one who keeps crime organized in this city. This city would fall to ashes without me,” Tremoli argues.

“What’s that got to do with me?” I ask, “I’ll be long gone by then.”

“Not for too long,” Tremoli retorts, “without me, the police force would have no reason to pull their punches.” Tremoli gets right in my face, “They will demolish you.” Tremoli’s voice is the most sinister it’s ever been. I can feel the hair on my neck rising. “So, just put the gun down.” There’s nothing to be done. I slowly return my gun to my side.

“Now,” Tremoli continues, “we can negotiate your return, as well as the return of my truck.” Tremoli puts his hand on my shoulder. I instantly feel like how I did when I was under Tremoli. But I also feel a sense of dread. Dread that I will have to return to that life. “Your friend will have to be disposed of, of course,” Tremoli continues, “hopefully, she hasn’t taken the money and run. If so, then you’ll have to track her down.”

No. No, I refuse for myself to turn back into Tremoli’s puppet. Without thinking, I pistol-whip Tremoli in the face. Tremoli grunts as he falls to the ground. I run toward the door. I throw it open and lock the bottom lock before slamming the door behind me to slow Tremoli down. I run away from my apartment and toward the stairs. I fly down the stairs.

I arrive at the end of the stairs and sprint back toward the parking lot. My legs burn, but I don’t care. Before I know it, I’m running up to Tremoli’s green truck. I pull on the driver’s door, but it’s locked. Alex must’ve locked it after I left. I pound on the door. I hear a click from the truck and try to open the door again. This time, the door flies open. Alex, seeing my face, exhausted and panicked, looks concerned.

I climb into the truck without saying a word. I close the door and put the car in reverse. I back out of the parking space and put the car in drive. I drive out of the lot and speed down the street. I look into the rear-view mirror and swear I see Tremoli round the corner on the sidewalk.

“What’s going on? Is everything alright!?” Alex asks. I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say or what to do. So, I just keep driving. It feels like the entire world has gone out of focus, and all that’s left are the thoughts in my head.

I thought Mulligan was on my side. Did he really give us a warning shot? Is anywhere safe, or does Tremoli have eyes and ears everywhere? Should I really give up and turn myself and Alex in? No, she doesn’t deserve to die. Should I let her get away and feign her death? How long would I have to live under Tremoli’s reign after that? Probably the rest of my life. There’s still time to get away. I can’t give up.

Before I even know it, we’ve arrived at our destination.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbyZlXK4pyC

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NOON, THE MERALTIN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT:

The airport is huge. Its design is white and modern. Roaring airplanes take off or land every once in a while. The parking lot is large, and almost every spot is filled. It takes me nearly five minutes before I find an available handicap spot. I park in the handicap spot. I don’t really care if the truck gets towed. I’d probably prefer it, anyway. I get out of the truck, only just now realizing I never put my seatbelt on. Alex unbuckles her seatbelt and exits the truck. I grab the

Alex and I approach the airport. As we get closer to the airport, Alex looks at me with a bit of a confused expression.

“So, how are we going to sneak that past security?” She asks in a whisper, pointing at the bag of money. I look to my left and see a dark alleyway. Visible in the alleyway is a security guard for the airport holding a cigarette. The guard wears a sky-blue polo and black dress pants. I smile at Alex and point at the guard. “Ah,” she says, understanding the plan.

I walk up to the airport. But rather than entering the doors, I turn to the left and start walking towards the guard in the alleyway. Alex follows behind me. The guard realizes he’s being pursued and drops his cigarette. The guard hovers his hand over his pistol.

“There’s no need for that,” I say, smugly, keeping my voice low enough that only Alex and the guard can hear me. “I’m not here to do any harm, look.” I unzip the bag and show the guard the piles of cash. “I just need to take this and disappear. Nobody is going to, or needs to, get hurt.” The guard beams at the money for a moment before his expression resets to a serious, confrontational one.

“I’m going to have to turn you in,” the guard says, stoically, as he grabs handcuffs from his belt. I turn to Alex, and she looks concerned. I turn back toward the guard, who’s getting closer, and pull out one of the bundles of cash.

“This is a hundred thousand dollars, laundered,” I state, blatantly, “I will give this to you right now if you take us into the airport and past security.” The guard, hesitantly, tries to grab the money. “But,” I continue as I swipe it away from him, “if you take this money and then turn us in, Mr…” I look at the guard’s nametag, “Goodwyn, my accomplice and I will throw you under the bus so hard you’ll have a broken bone before you’re even run over. Got that?” The guard, Goodwyn, looks fearful.

“Got it,” Goodwyn answers. I hand him back the cash, and Goodwyn takes it fast. I zip the bag of money up. Goodwyn stuffs the cash in his pocket and starts walking along the wall of the airport. Alex and I follow him. Alex walks next to me, looking at me with an impressed expression.

That did not feel good. Stooping back to the lows of bribing people. Once again, it feels like I’m still just as I was under Tremoli’s control. But, nonetheless, we’re getting to the airport and bypassing security. Goodwyn leads me and Alex to a smooth black side door into the airport.

“Now, nobody’s likely to care what’s in that bag,” Goodwyn says, “but I’m sure my coworkers are going to notice that.” Goodwyn points at my gun. I had forgotten all about that. I grab the holster and unclip it from my belt.

Should I get rid of this? If I do, then that’s my main source of protection, gone. I stare at my gun for a moment. Goodwyn and Alex look at me judgmentally. You know what? It doesn’t matter, I won’t need it after today. I drop the holster containing my gun at my side.

“Took you long enough,” Goodwyn mutters as he turns toward the door and takes out his badge. I glower at Goodwyn. Goodwyn swipes his card on a card reader next to the door. The door unlocks with a click. Goodwyn opens the door and enters it, holding it open for me and Alex. The door closes itself as we walk through a dimly lit hallway. The walls are painted tan with a dark brown horizontal stripe running along the middle.

I feel my heart start to pound in my chest. This is all or nothing, in an airport that Tremoli is sure to know I’m at, without my weapon. This is just peachy. I walk a little funnier than I normally do. I’m not used to not having my gun on me.

As we travel through the hallway, we cross paths with two people, also guards, going off of their uniform. The guard in front puts up her hand to stop us.

“What are you doing with these two?” She asks Goodwyn, pointing at Alex and me.

“Well, I just caught them out by Gate F having an intense verbal argument.” Goodwyn fibs, “I didn’t want it to get out of hand, so I brought them back here. Just so that they could cool down.”

“Charles, Gate F is closer to another faculty room,” The guard in front points out, “why not go there?”

“Uh, yeah, I wasn’t thinking straight, Sam,” Goodwyn reasons, “this is just the place I was in beforehand, so it’s the first place I thought of.” The guard in front, Sam, narrows her eyes. Sam gets closer to Goodwyn. Sam smells Goodwyn. Goodwyn tenses up.

“Have you been smoking on your shift?” Sam asks, aggressively, “Again!?” Sam grabs Goodwyn by the shoulder. “My office, now!” Goodwyn walks off and comes across a fork in the road. Goodwyn turns left and is soon followed by Sam.

“You two can go,” Sam says as she approaches the corner, “Williamson and Crouch will show you the way.” Sam turns left, just as Goodwyn.

“It’s just down that way and to the right.” One of the other guards instructs. I read his nametag, he’s Williamson.

“What time does your plane leave?” The other guard, presumingly Crocuh, asks.

“In about two hours,” I lie.

“Good, makes this just a little roadbump,” Crouch says, reassuringly. Alex and I start to walk down the hallway.

“Well, good luck on your travels!” Crouch wishes. Alex looks back and smiles at Crouch, who’s walking with Williamson in the opposite direction. I ignore Crouch’s well-wishes. Crouch and Williamson start muttering gossip about Goodwyn. Alex and I approach the fork in the road, but turn right instead of left. Indeed, at the end of the hall is a door similar to the one outside. However, there doesn’t seem to be a keycard reader.

I approach the door and pull the handle. I open the door and walk through the doorway. The airport is loud, and a crowd walks through the hall. Every now and then, someone on an intercom utters something incomprehensible. The airport is mainly colored white. I hold the door open for Alex. I let go of the door after Alex enters the airport. The door closes itself.

“Nicely done,” Alex compliments, as we start to walk against the crowd.

“Yeah, I don’t want to romanticize that,” I respond, coldly, “but here we are.”

“Do you happen to know where the terminal is?” Alex asks, “So that we can get tickets.”

“No, but there should hopefully be a map around here somewhere.” Alex and I have to practically shout to hear each other. Eventually, in the middle of the floor, is a map resting on a panel. Alex and I walk up to it.

“Which gate are we closest to?” Alex asks, staring at the map. I look around and see a sign reading “Gate D”.

“We’re by Gate D,” I tell Alex, looking at the map. Alex eventually points at the map. I look at where she is pointing and see a blue box with a computer monitor on it. I look at the key of the map and find the same symbol with a label “Terminal” next to it.

“So we have to keep on going this way, and we’ll eventually find it, next to Gate A,” Alex says, continuing to walk down the big hall. I follow Alex down the hallway. We pass multiple gates on our way. First Gate C, then B, and finally A. After passing Gate A, I see a store titled “Cindy's Carry-Ons” with a friendly look to it. I look back in front of me, Alex and I approach a giant terminal with an even bigger line. I sigh as Alex starts approaching the line.

Suddenly, it dawns on me that the end of my time with Alex is coming to an end. I have more than enough money to last me ten lifetimes, Alex has nothing. I catch up to Alex and grab her shoulder. I redirect her to a less crowded part of the hall, next to a faculty room.

“What is it?” Alex asks in a whisper. I unzip the bag of money just enough to put my hand in it. I grab a bundle of cash and take out a hundred-dollar bill.

“Take this,” I order, “there’s a luggage shop just across the hall, we can get you a suitcase so that I can give you some of this.” I gesture to the bag of money before zipping it back up. I hand the hundred-dollar bill to Alex.

“I can’t do that,” Alex objects, “I can build up a living on my own.”

“It’s all laundered, already,” I assure Alex, “and trust me, life on the streets is not how you want to build yourself up.” I usher her across the hall, toward Cindy's Carry-Ons. Alex opens the door into the store, and I enter behind her. Inside, as advertised, is a ton of suitcases, duffel bags, and any other sort of carry-on one could need. To the left of the entrance are two people by cash registers wearing orange polos and dress pants. The registers rest on a long desk made of marble next to computer monitors.

“Hello, welcome to Cindy's Carry-Ons!” One of the employees calls out. Alex waves at the employees. Not taking any time at all, Alex grabs a maroon rolling suitcase. I check the price tag of the suitcase, as if I don’t have the funds to pay for it. The tag reads “$79.99”. I walk over to one of the cash registers. Alex follows, dragging the suitcase behind her.

“You two sure found that quick,” One of the employees states in a light-hearted tone.

“Yeah, we just needed something quick,” I explain, “we needed to get this one a new bag after she lost her old one.” Alex puts on a smile of embarrassment as she hands the suitcase to the employee. I start to tap on the marble desk with my fingers.

“What about all of her stuff?” The employee asks, now in a concerned tone. I tap on the desk louder and faster.

“I managed to cram it in with my stuff,” I answer, patting the bag of money. The employee scans the suitcase. “Our plane doesn’t leave for another half hour, so we have some time to get it all switched over.”

“Good deal,” The employee says, looking at a computer monitor. “That’ll be 79.99.”

“Sorry, I’ve only got hundreds,” I hand the employee the hundred-dollar bill. She takes it and her coworker, and she gives me a similar look as the receptionist at the Nendome Motel. “You can keep the change.”

“Thanks,” The employee says as she opens the register, puts the hundred-dollar bill in the register, and closes it. “I’m gonna need a name for the purchase.”

“Uh, Ander Aligato,” I respond.

“Do you have a valid phone number?” The employee asks. I think back to me smashing my phone to oblivion. I shake my head.

“Not currently, sorry,” I answer.

“Alright then, Ander, have a nice day!” The employee wishes, pushing the suitcase toward me.

“Thanks, you too.” I grab the suitcase and hand it to Alex. Alex drags it behind her as we exit Cindy’s Carry-Ons.

“Alright, now what?” Alex asks, having to raise her voice again for it to carry over the crowd. I look around and find a family bathroom to our left, pretty much right next to the store. I point to the bathroom and start walking toward it. I look at the bathroom door handle. Above it is a green square. I open the door and enter the bathroom, holding it open for Alex. Alex closes the door behind her.

The bathroom is dirty. The sink sports more than a few odd smudges on it. Toilet paper is strewn about the bathroom. The toilet paper roll is empty, with only scraps that refused to come off the roll. I flip the lock on the door handle.

“What?” Alex questions. I unzip the bag of money.

“Give me that,” I say, pointing at Alex’s suitcase. She hands it over to me. I take it and set it on the floor. I unzip it and flip the top half open, revealing the empty insides of the suitcase. I grab a handful of the money from my bag and drop it in Alex’s suitcase.

“What are you doing?” Alex asks.

“Giving you more cash than you’ll need for the rest of your life,” I say as I grab two more bundles of money and throw them into the suitcase.

“I don’t need all of that, Ander,” Alex objects, in an agitated voice. I ignore her. I look into the bag of money. Or, it would be full of money if it weren’t filled with two reams of paper underneath a plane of cash. My heart is suddenly filled with dread. Alex steps closer to look into the bag.

“No,” my voice is shaky as I mutter to myself, “Tremoli never wanted to count it, what is he planning?” I look under the reams of paper. This has to be a joke, right? Just as a severance package.

“What?” Alex sounds confused and a little scared herself, “Why did Tremoli do this?” I ignore her, again. I stand up and stumble backwards. My vision starts to get blurry. My ears start ringing. I’ve fallen deep into my own thoughts.

Tremoli never trusted me, did he? He never planned to let me go freely, did he? I was never valued by him. He wanted me to retire silently, if I retired at all, without having to give up nearly as much as I was asking for.

“Ander? Ander!?” Alex snaps her fingers in front of me, literally snapping me back into reality. I look around, as if I’ve forgotten where I am.

“Sorry, sorry,” I apologize, my voice returning to normal, “Tremoli just went back on a deal, is all. It doesn’t matter now.” I crouch back down to the bags. I zip up the suitcase and my duffel bag. “Let’s just go.” I pick up my duffel bag and hoist it over my shoulder. Alex picks her suitcase up by the handle. I walk over to the bathroom door and unlock it. I throw open the door and exit the bathroom, Alex following.

The crowd is more deafening than ever. I don’t know if it's from the actual volume or exaggerated by my bewilderment. Alex and I start walking with the crowd, toward the terminal. The line at the terminal has not shrunk any smaller. If anything, it’s grown larger. Just then, as I think that there’s no way this can get any worse, I see five people all wearing identical purple leather jackets. The Portillos are here, and they’re walking right toward us.

I stop in my tracks, instantly. I hold out my arm to stop Alex. I look over at Alex, and she notices the Portillo members, as well, judging by her shocked expression. Alex and I look at each other before turning around and walking against the crowd, agitated by our standing still.

However, walking toward us on the other side are security guards. Goodwyn stands next to Sam, Williamson, and Crouch. Goodwyn notices us and points in our direction. I turn my head around. The Portillos are hurrying their pace. I continue walking against the crowd with Alex, toward the security guards. They sport confused yet relieved expressions on their faces.

“Stop right there!” Sam calls out. Me and Alex turn to the right, going into the crowd. The guards start sneaking through the crowd, as well. Before they reach us, I slam into a passing citizen. He falls over into another person. The crowd begins to collapse in on itself like dominoes. Somebody falls into Sam, who falls to the ground.

Alex and I sprint down the hallway. I look behind me. Alex is keeping up with me, the Portillos are starting to run, and Sam starts to get up. Williamson and Crouch notice the Portillos chasing after us and behind to apprehend them. Williamson tackles a Portillo member. I look back in front of me. I look at the gates as we retrace our steps. First Gate B, then Gate C. Before I know it, we’ve returned to Gate D.

I spot my eyes on the faculty room that Alex and I entered from. I run up to the black door. I bang on the door as hard as I can.

“We need help out here, now! Please, somebody, they’re after us!” I scream at the door. I turn to my right, and three Portillos chase after us. They’re followed by Sam and Goodwyn. I step to the side of the door and hide behind the hinges. The door swings open, and another airport guard exits from the room.

I punch the guard square in the face with immense force. The guard falls to the ground, grabbing his nose. Blood starts to pour out of it. I grab the door before it closes. I turn to Alex.

“Let’s go, now!” I order before charging into the faculty room. Judging by the footsteps, Alex is right behind me. Our footsteps echo through the faculty room. However, the sound of more steps follows suit. I look behind me. The Portillos are right on our tail. I run as fast as I can, ignoring the pain in my legs and my side. My heart pounds in my chest, but I don’t care.

I reach the fork in the road and turn left. I see the door out of the airport closing in. I burst through the door and reach outside. Alex follows, hiding behind me. She seems to be thinking the same thing I am. I look around and see my gun on the ground. The Portillos burst through the door. I grab my gun from the ground and point it at the Portillos. The Portillos stop in their tracks; they’re not armed.

I shoot one of the Portillos in the chest. I shoot the other two in the same spot. They all fall to the ground. I shoot them again, ensuring their dead. Blood pours from their chests. I turn to Alex. She looks shocked and sickly. I grab her by the arm and pull her as I start to run away.

“Forget about it, we need to get to the truck!” I say. Alex pulls her arm away and starts to run with me. She continues to pull the suitcase with her.

“Stop, stop right now!” I hear behind me, presumably one of the guards. I don’t turn around, I just keep running. Eventually, I see the green truck in the distance, still in the handicap spot. Thank God it hasn’t been towed or stolen. I bolt toward the truck. I round the truck, its engine still running.

I throw open the driver’s door and get in the seat. I toss the bag of money in the back seat. Alex gets in the passenger seat and throws her suitcase in the back, as well. I close the driver’s door and put the car in reverse. I reverse out of the parking spot, hitting the curb. I see the guards chasing after the truck in the distance through the rearview mirror. I put the car in drive and slam on the gas.

This could not have gone any worse.107Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM3qnKL8n74

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