Danny eyed the front door with bitter frustration. It was only a few feet away, but there was no way to open it and get down the stairs without being seen. The athletic mobster would gun them down in the alley before they could reach the SUV. Alone and in peak condition, Danny might have been able to make a dash for it, but Jason would stand no chance. And between the blood loss, the sleep deprivation, and the noxious fumes, Danny could barely blink without passing out from exertion.
Downstairs, the Russian’s footsteps squished against a sheet of cardboard soaked in the reeking slurry.
Danny’s eyes went wide. He suddenly gasped.
“Are you alright?” Jason asked in hushed tones.
“Jason! What are the formulas for kerosene and acetone?” Danny whispered.
Jason blinked at him.
“I need a bon
