Salvation (30 page)

“No, and what you’re doing sounds
dangerous! Maybe you should stop and call the police.”

“And say what? Besides, I’m pretty sure
Vincent’s in the middle of something illegal. I just need to catch up to him
and warn him about the men that are following him.”

A car honked at me and I let out a
little yell as I bobbed and weaved, narrowly missing the car’s fender. Dmitri
exclaimed, “Trevor, if you’re in traffic, get out of the road!”

“Can’t. Sidewalk’s too crowded,
everyone’s headed to a baseball game tonight. Since it’s so congested I might
be able to catch Vincent, as long as the traffic doesn’t start moving.” I wove
around a bus and said, “Oh hey, I just spotted the BMW up ahead, that’s what
the men tailing Vincent are driving. I’m going to take a look at the plate, can
you write it down for me?”

“Yeah, but don’t get too close. They
might see you!”

“They won’t recognize me,” I said. “They
never got a look at me the night they were chasing us.”

“When were they chasing you?”

“One night when Vincent picked me up
after work. It turned into a high-speed car chase all over the city.”

“I was right all along! Once you’re
safe, you’re getting such a lecture about getting involved with Vincent
Dombruso!”

“Fine. Get ready to write that plate
down.” I got close enough to make out the letters and said, “It’s a vanity
plate. G-R-N-Z-L-6.”

“Shit.”

“Do you know who that car belongs to?”

“Bobby Grenzell. He’s the second-biggest
heroin trafficker in the city.”

“Who’s the first?”

“Vincent Dombruso.”

I slowed my pace for a moment, feeling
like I’d just been punched in the face. “You’re kidding.”

“Okay, I don’t actually know that for a
fact,” Dmitri said. “If I did, I would have told you a long time ago. But
that’s the rumor.”

“I don’t believe it. Vincent knows
better than anyone how damaging heroin is, he wouldn’t be involved in selling
or distributing it.”

“I’m just repeating what I’ve heard,
from more than one source. Like I said, it
is
just a rumor, and I don’t
usually pass those along. But it seems like you should have as much information
as possible, given what you’re doing right now.”

A thought occurred to me and I dropped
back a bit, ducking behind a minivan. The kids in the back seat waved at me and
made faces. “I just realized those men might recognize me after all,” I said.
“They must have been staking out Vincent’s apartment, since that’s where they
started following him. Maybe they’ve seen me coming and going from there.”

“Listen to me. There’s only one reason I
can think of that Bobby Grenzell would be following Vincent. He’s probably
tired of that number two spot, and maybe he’s decided to wipe out the
competition. If that’s the case, then you could be right in the middle of a
major turf war, and it’s going to get bloody.”

“All the more reason to catch up to
Vincent and warn him.”

“No! Trevor, you need to stop and call
the police, let them handle it. Sure, that might end up with Vincent getting
arrested, but at least he’ll still be alive. Grenzell’s not the negotiating
type, he’ll probably go in shooting.”

That was so horrifying that my brain
latched on to a minor detail instead of the overwhelming bigger picture. “Why
would a drug lord have a personalized license plate? Then the police would know
right where to find him.”

“The police
always
know right
where to find him. Grenzell owns a high-profile auto dealership in town. He’s
really arrogant and thinks law enforcement is too stupid to tie him to the
heroin trade.”

“Well, he sounds awesome,” I murmured.
“Crap, the BMW is turning off the Embarcadero. I hope they don’t speed up.”
Traffic on the side street was almost as jammed as the main thoroughfare,
though. I tried to blend in on the somewhat less crowded sidewalk, keeping
Grenzell’s car in sight.

“Jamie and I are on our way down there,”
Dmitri told me. “If they reach their destination, don’t confront Grenzell or
his men.”

“Why are you on your way?”

“Because you shouldn’t be doing this
alone,” he said. “What street are you on now?”

“Townsend.”

“Stay on the phone, Trevor, and let me
know when they turn again.”

“Okay.” It was a few minutes before I
announced, “They’re turning left on 4th.” After another pause I said, “We’re
crossing a canal now. I really hope they arrive soon, my heart’s about to
explode.”

There was a lot less foot traffic now
that we were past the stadium, so I hung back a good half-block. I’d been lucky
so far, it didn’t appear that I’d been spotted. When they reached the water’s
edge, Grenzell and his men parked and got out of the car. I slowed to a walk,
gasping for breath and mopping my forehead with my arm, and watched as they
crossed the street and approached a small, abandoned-looking factory. They
tried the door, then appeared to pick the lock before slipping inside. I
spotted Rooster’s truck parked to the left of the building.

I recited the address, then told Dmitri,
“I’m going inside. I’ll need to be quiet, so I’m shutting off my phone.
Obviously if you get here, don’t come barreling inside. It might not be safe.”
I could hear him protesting before I turned off the phone and slipped it in the
pocket of my jeans.

I tried the door when I reached the
factory. Grenzell had left it unlocked, so I slipped inside as quietly as I
could. There were raised voices directly ahead of me, through a door past the
reception area. The doorway was flanked with staircases to either side. I
randomly took the staircase to my left. There was a door at the top with a
window in it. I peeked through the window and didn’t see anyone, so I pushed
the door open slowly and crept through, then eased it back into place behind
me.

The second-story gallery encircled the
open factory floor below. I could hear the conversation clearly now, a heated
argument was going on. I stayed in a low crouch, hidden behind the half-wall
that ringed the gallery, and scurried over to a wide pillar. Only then did I
straighten up and peer cautiously over the railing, using the pillar as cover.

Eight men stood in the center of the
factory floor, including Vincent, Rooster and a tall, African American guy in a
baseball cap. Shockingly, Bo Millen, my cousin’s moronic baby daddy, was with
them. What on earth was he doing here?

Two men in dark suits stood between that
group and the newcomers, looking extremely agitated. The man I assumed was
Grenzell and the big, gold chain-wearing guy who’d been in the passenger seat
of the BMW were arguing with Vincent and Rooster. But where was their driver?

I spotted the guy with the buzz cut and
face tatt a moment later. He was maybe twenty-five feet from me on the opposite
side of the second-floor gallery, gun drawn, trying to stay out of sight by
hanging back against the wall. That wasn’t good.

I ducked down and searched for something
to use as a weapon. There were a few boxes lining the wall, and I lifted a flap
to reveal a bunch of small cans without labels. They looked like tuna or cat
food, or something along those lines. Okay, not the most helpful thing ever.

The situation downstairs was still
escalating, their voices increasing in volume. I peered over the half-wall
again. Bo Millen had gotten into the yelling match, and it appeared that
Vincent was trying to talk him down. Bo was wearing a big leather jacket, and
reached inside it. As soon as he did that, everyone on the factory floor drew
their guns, and Grenzell shot Bo Millen in the shoulder. Bo yelped and dropped
to his knees as he pulled his hand out of his jacket. He was holding a big
blade. Oh man. He was literally dumb enough to bring a knife to a gun fight.

There was a lot of yelling and general
chaos going on down below. The guy with the facial tattoo raised his gun and
lined up his shot. I couldn’t quite tell if Vincent or Rooster was in his line
of sight, and I was pretty sure they didn’t know he was up in the gallery.

Reacting quickly, I scooped up an
armload of cans and started pitching them wildly at Tatt Face. Just as he was
about to fire, a lucky shot caught him right in the jaw. He cried out as his
bullet zinged off in a random direction. He looked across the factory and saw
me opposite him, his face contorting into a scowl as he raised his gun again
and pointed it at me.

I froze in terror. A shot rang out and I
didn’t even have time to react. But in the next moment, Tatt Face was tumbling
over the railing. I suddenly realized that he’d been shot by someone on the
ground floor. When I peeked over the railing, Vincent and I locked eyes. He
looked stunned to see me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw
Grenzell swinging around and pointing his gun at Vincent. I reacted without
thinking, pelting Grenzell with the cans I was holding, then reaching for more
and throwing those at him, too. He yelled and fired a couple wild shots up at
the gallery. I ducked behind the big pillar, pulled the box over to me and
gathered up another armload of cans.

Just then, the door to the factory was
kicked open. A dozen men in riot gear flooded into the warehouse, yelling,
“S.F.P.D.! Drop your weapons!” I stood up and peered over the half-wall.
Vincent and all the men still standing were dropping their weapons, then
raising their hands above their heads.

I was trying to decide what to do when a
uniformed police officer appeared on the gallery, pointed a huge gun at me, and
yelled, “Police! Drop your weapon!” I dropped the cans and stuck my hands in
the air. The officer approached me, looked at the floor, and then at me again
with a puzzled expression. “What the hell is that? Cat food?”

“I think so.”

He spun me around and frisked me, then
snapped a pair of handcuffs on me as he recited my rights. He then led me
downstairs and out of the factory with a firm grip on my shoulder. Vincent was
being led out in cuffs as well, and as he fell into step beside me he
exclaimed, “What are you doing here, Trevor?”

“I saw Grenzell and his men following
you, so I came to warn you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, Vincent.”

He smiled at me and said, “I love you
too, Trevor.”

“That’s so touching I could cry,”
dead-panned the officer that had arrested me. “You two are a regular Bonnie and
Clyde. Or, you know, Donnie and Clyde.”

“Were you throwing cat food at Grenzell
and his men?” Vincent asked.

“That or smallish cans of tuna.” He
chuckled at that and shook his head in disbelief as he was led away from me.

“Trevor!” I looked to my right. Dmitri
and Jamie were jogging up to the building. A uniformed officer held his hands
out, keeping them back. “Are you okay?” Jamie yelled.

“I’m fine,” I yelled back. “Don’t tell
me, let me guess. You two called the police, right?”

“It was Jamie’s idea,” Dmitri yelled.
“We were both worried about you!”

“And the swat team?”

“I guess that happened because we told
them Grenzell and Dombruso were involved,” Dmitri said. I was almost out of ear
shot, and he yelled, “We’ll call a lawyer and meet you at the police station!”
Jamie apparently recognized one of the officers and went over and started
talking to her. Since he was a former cop, it wasn’t too surprising that he’d
know some of these people.

I was loaded into the back of one of a
dozen police cars that were parked haphazardly around the old factory. When my
arresting officer, whose name tag said B. Bowen, got behind the wheel, I asked
him, “What exactly am I being charged with? It’s not illegal to throw cat food.”

“Throwing things at people does in fact
constitute assault, but aside from that I have no idea what you’ll be charged
with. We’ll take your statement at the station, and after that it’s my
captain’s job to sort out what the hell was going down back there.”

There was a lot of general mayhem at the
police station. Grenzell was raising a big stink, demanding a lawyer and
verbally abusing everyone in a twenty-foot radius. Vincent and I were brought
into the station at the same time, but again taken in opposite directions. I
was left alone in a small interrogation room for at least an hour, my hands
cuffed to a metal table that was bolted to the chipped linoleum floor.

Finally, the door swung open. I was
surprised to see Rooster standing there, and even more surprised that he had a
badge hanging around his neck. “So, is it Officer Rooster?” I asked, leaning
back in my chair.

He smirked at me as he took a seat
across the table. “Funny. It’s Prashad. D.E.A. Do you want to explain to me
what the fuck you were doing in the middle of the sting operation that I’ve
been setting up for the last
two fucking years
?”

“Wow, I didn’t see that coming,” I
murmured.

“What were you doing there, Dean?” he
snapped.

“I came to warn you and Vincent, because
I saw Bobby Grenzell and two of his men following you. They got there before me
though, since I was on foot.”