Wrench & Blood

The Body in Warehouse 14

The walk to Warehouse 14 took forty minutes.

Adam and Micheal stayed off the main roads. They cut through back alleys, crossed vacant lots, slipped through gaps in fences that Adam knew from years of avoiding trouble. Micheal followed without question. He moved like a shadow—quiet, alert, always watching the corners.

The sun was up now, but Blackhaven's sky was the color of old bruises. Rain threatened but never came. The air smelled like rust and diesel.

"You sure you want to see him?" Micheal asked as they approached the Docks.

"I have to."

"Seen a lot of bodies. They don't look like the people you remember. Bullets change things."

Adam didn't answer. He kept walking.

Warehouse 14 was at the far end of Dockside Road, a hulking concrete box with a corrugated steel roof. Most of the windows were broken. Graffiti covered the walls—Serpent tags, Viper symbols, names of the dead. The padlock on the front door was new. Shiny. Out of place.

"Locked," Micheal said.

Adam pulled a pry bar from inside his jacket. He'd grabbed it from the garage before running. A mechanic's tool, but it worked just as well on doors.

Thirty seconds of leverage, and the lock snapped.

The door groaned open. Inside, darkness and the smell of blood. Old blood, dried blood, the kind that seeped into concrete and never left.

Micheal pulled a flashlight from his coat. The beam cut through the dark.

The warehouse was empty except for pallets, broken crates, and a single wooden chair in the center of the floor. The chair was tipped over. Duct tape hung from its arms.

And on the concrete, face down, was Danny.

Adam's legs stopped working. He stood ten feet away, staring at his brother's body. The back of Danny's head was a mess of dried blood and dark hair. His hands were still bound behind his back. His shoes were missing.

"Two bullets," Micheal said quietly. "Quick. She didn't torture him. That's something."

"That's nothing." Adam's voice came out raw. He forced himself to move. To walk to his brother. To kneel beside him.

Danny's face was turned sideways. His eyes were open. His mouth was slightly parted, like he'd been about to say something.

Adam reached out and closed Danny's eyes. His fingers came away cold and sticky.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have been faster. I should have been there."

Micheal stood behind him, flashlight aimed at the floor. "You couldn't have saved him. She made up her mind days ago. The text was just a courtesy."

"A courtesy?"

"She wanted you to find the body. She wanted you to know she did it. It's a message."

"I got the message." Adam stood up. His knees ached. His hands shook. But his voice was steady. "Now she's going to get mine."

He looked around the warehouse. "Where's the shell casings?"

"What?"

"Two bullets. There should be casings. They're not here."

Micheal swept the flashlight across the floor. Nothing. "She had someone clean up. Standard procedure."

"Then why leave the body?"

Micheal was quiet for a moment. "Because she wanted you to find it. But she didn't want evidence. She's careful."

Adam knelt again. He ran his hands over the concrete, feeling for anything the cleaners missed. His fingers found something near Danny's shoulder—a small piece of metal, no bigger than his thumbnail.

He held it up to the light.

A bullet fragment. Jacket peeled back, lead exposed. It had hit the concrete after passing through Danny's skull.

Adam pocketed it. "Evidence."

"That won't hold up in court. No chain of custody."

"I'm not planning on court."

Micheal studied him. "What are you planning?"

"First, I'm getting my brother out of here. I'm not leaving him on this floor like trash."

"We can't carry a body through the Docks. Cindy's people patrol here."

"Then we find another way."

Adam walked to the back of the warehouse. There was a loading dock with a roll-up door. Beyond it, a narrow alley that led to the water. Blackhaven's shipping canal.

"There," Adam said. "We take him to the canal. I have a boat. An old fishing trawler I use for salvage. We can take him to the morgue on the other side of the city. No questions asked."

"You have a boat?"

"I have a lot of things Cindy doesn't know about."

---

Moving Danny's body took twenty minutes. He was heavier than Adam remembered. Dead weight—literally. Micheal took the shoulders. Adam took the feet. They carried him through the back alley to a rickety dock where Adam's boat was tied up.

The Iron Rose was a rusted twenty-footer with a diesel engine that smoked like a chimney. Adam had bought it for five hundred dollars two years ago, fixed the engine himself, and used it to haul scrap metal. It wasn't pretty, but it ran.

They laid Danny in the bow, covered him with a tarp. Adam started the engine. It coughed, sputtered, then roared to life.

They motored away from the Docks as the rain finally began to fall.

---

The morgue was in Southside, a grim brick building attached to the county hospital. Adam knew the attendant—an old man named Gregor who'd worked the night shift for thirty years and didn't ask questions for cash.

Gregor met them at the loading bay, wiping his hands on a bloodstained apron. His eyes were yellowed, his face a roadmap of wrinkles.

"Who's this?"

"My brother. Gunshot wound. I need him kept cold until I can arrange a funeral."

Gregor looked at the tarp. Then at Adam's face. Then at Micheal, standing in the shadows.

"Five hundred," Gregor said.

Adam handed over the money. No negotiation. Gregor nodded and wheeled Danny's body into the cold room.

Before the door closed, Adam said, "Gregor. Don't tell anyone he's here."

"Who would I tell?" Gregor shrugged. "I don't see anything. I don't know anything."

The door clicked shut.

Adam stood in the rain, staring at the gray brick wall. Micheal was beside him, silent.

"Now what?" Micheal asked.

"Now we find out who else was in that warehouse."

"You heard Gregor. He doesn't know anything."

"Not Gregor. The bullet fragment." Adam pulled it from his pocket. "This came from a specific gun. I know a guy who can trace it."

"Who?"

"Rex Marchetti. Information broker. He runs out of a pawn shop on Fuller Street."

Micheal's expression darkened. "Rex is dangerous. He plays every side. He'll sell you out for the right price."

"Everyone has a price. I just need to find his."

---

The pawn shop was called Marchetti's Emporium. It sat between a check cashing place and a boarded-up church. The windows were barred. The sign was handwritten in gold paint that was peeling off.

Adam pushed the door open. A bell jingled.

Inside, the shop was a maze of glass cases filled with junk—old jewelry, fake watches, rusted tools, confiscated electronics. In the back, behind a counter, sat a fat man in a cheap suit. His hair was thinning. His fingers were thick with gold rings.

Rex Marchetti looked up from his newspaper. His eyes were small, black, and quick.

"We're closed."

"Your sign says open."

"My sign is wrong." Rex folded the newspaper. "What do you want?"

Adam placed the bullet fragment on the counter. "I need to know what gun this came from."

Rex didn't touch it. He looked at it, then at Adam, then at Micheal standing by the door.

"Micheal Vance. I heard you were dead."

"I heard the same about you." Micheal's voice was flat.

"Rumors. Both of us still breathing." Rex picked up the fragment. He held it close to his eyes, turned it over, sniffed it. "9mm. Full metal jacket. Common."

"I need more than common."

"That costs extra."

Adam pulled out the ledger. He didn't open it. He just let Rex see the cover.

Rex's eyes widened. "Where did you get that?"

"My brother Danny. Cindy killed him for it."

"Danny's dead?" Rex's face went pale. "When?"

"Last night. Her men came to my garage. They almost got me too."

Rex set the fragment down slowly. He leaned back in his chair. "You're holding a death warrant, boy. That ledger is the most dangerous object in Blackhaven. Every gang, every cop, every politician on that list will kill you to get it back."

"I know."

"Then why are you here? Why not burn it? Walk away?"

"Because Danny didn't die for nothing."

Rex was quiet for a long moment. Then he laughed. It was a wet, phlegmy sound. "You sound like him. Stupid. Brave. Stupidly brave."

"Can you trace the bullet or not?"

"I can. But it'll cost you."

"How much?"

"Not money." Rex pointed at the ledger. "I want to see the names. All of them. I want to know who's on Cindy's payroll before the blood starts flowing."

"No."

"Then find someone else." Rex pushed the fragment back across the counter.

Adam didn't move. "You want to know why Danny was keeping that ledger? He wasn't planning to sell it. He was planning to give it to the feds. To burn Cindy's whole operation to the ground."

Rex's expression flickered. "The feds? Danny?"

"He was done. He wanted out. He wanted to disappear with enough money to start over. But Cindy found out."

"So now you want to finish what he started."

"Yes."

Rex rubbed his chin. His rings glinted in the fluorescent light. "You're going to die, boy. You and Micheal both. Cindy will tear this city apart to get that book back."

"Then she'll tear it apart. And while she's busy, I'll be dismantling her piece by piece."

Rex stared at him. Then he nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll trace the bullet. But I want a favor in return. Not now. Later. When I call it in, you answer. No questions."

"What kind of favor?"

"The kind that keeps me alive when this is over."

Adam looked at Micheal. Micheal shrugged. "Rex always has an angle. But he's the best."

"Deal," Adam said.

Rex pocketed the fragment. "Give me three days."

"I don't have three days. The Rule of Three gives me seventy-two hours before every gang in Blackhaven turns on me. I need answers in twenty-four."

"Twenty-four is impossible."

"Then make it possible."

Rex sighed. "You're as stubborn as Danny. Fine. Twenty-four hours. Come back tomorrow at midnight."

Adam turned to leave. At the door, Rex called out, "Boy."

"Yeah?"

"Watch your back. Cindy isn't the only one who wants that ledger. The cartel has people in the city. They don't play by the same rules. They'll kill your mother, your dog, your neighbor's cat, just to send a message."

"My mother's dead. I don't have a dog. And my neighbor's cat is an asshole."

Rex laughed again. "I like you, boy. Try not to die."

---

Outside, the rain had stopped. The clouds were breaking apart, letting shafts of weak sunlight through. Blackhaven almost looked clean.

"He's going to betray us," Micheal said as they walked.

"Probably."

"Then why use him?"

"Because he's the only game in town. And because I don't plan on giving him the chance."

Micheal stopped walking. "You're playing a dangerous game, Adam. Rex has survived in this city for twenty years by being smarter than everyone else. He's not going to outsmart himself for you."

"I don't need him to outsmart himself. I just need him to point me toward the trigger."

"The trigger?"

"Whoever pulled the trigger on Danny. Cindy gave the order, but someone else did the job. I find that person, I find a way to make them talk. And when they talk, I find the next link. And the next. Until I have enough to bring Cindy down."

Micheal was quiet for a block. Then he said, "You really think one mechanic can bring down a crime lord?"

"One mechanic with a ledger and a grudge? Yeah. I do."

They walked in silence to the edge of Iron District. Adam's garage was still there, door hanging open, crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze. No cops. Cindy's people had come and gone.

"We need a new safehouse," Micheal said. "She knows about this place."

"I have one. Follow me."

Adam led him two blocks over to an abandoned auto body shop. The windows were boarded. The garage doors were rusted shut. But Adam knew a way in—a basement entrance hidden behind a dumpster.

Inside, the shop was dark and dusty. Old car parts littered the floor. But the back office had a working lock, a cot, and a safe bolted to the floor.

"Danny's place," Adam said. "He bought it years ago, never told anyone. Used it to store his notes before he moved them to the ledger."

"Smart."

"Danny was smart. Just not smart enough."

Adam opened the safe. Inside were stacks of cash—about twenty thousand dollars—three handguns, boxes of ammunition, and a dozen prepaid phones.

"He was preparing for war," Micheal said.

"He was preparing to run. But now we're going to use it to fight."

Adam handed Micheal a gun. A Glock 17, clean and loaded.

"You know how to use this?" Micheal asked.

"Danny taught me. At the range. Said every man in Blackhaven should know how to defend himself."

"He was right." Micheal checked the magazine, racked the slide, and tucked the gun into his waistband. "What's the plan for tonight?"

"We sleep. We eat. And then we go back to Rex at midnight tomorrow. In the meantime, I need to make some calls."

"Who?"

"People Danny trusted. People who might want Cindy gone as much as I do."

"That's a short list."

"Then I'll make it longer."

Adam sat on the cot, the ledger in his lap. He stared at the names. The buyers. The cops. The politicians. All of them complicit in Cindy's machine.

Somewhere in that list was the key to breaking her.

He just had to find it before she found him.