GHOSTS OF THE VAULT

BLOOD ON THE PAVEMENT

Chapter Fourteen: Blood on the Pavement

A careless mistake on a dark night spills blood across Granville, marking the beginning of the gang’s downfall.

The night was slick with rain, the kind that turned Granville’s cobblestones into black mirrors. Neon signs bled their colors across puddles; cigarette smoke curled from alleys where men in shadows whispered bad business. It was the kind of night when trouble didn’t hide — it strutted.

Detective Alan Cross waited.

He stood in the shadow of a lamppost, trench coat collar turned up, eyes fixed on the warehouse district. For weeks, he had pieced together scraps: whispers in bars, nervous looks in alleys, one drunken slip from a trembling Eddie. Tonight, he wasn’t guessing anymore. He knew the ghosts were close.

His hand hovered near the revolver under his coat.

---

Inside the gang’s hideout, tension boiled.

Rico slammed his fist on a crate. “I told you! That kid’s mouth is loose. He’s going to sink us!”

Eddie’s voice cracked. “I never said names—never! Just a few words, that’s all.”

Slade’s stare was enough to freeze him. Calm, but deadly.

“A few words is all it takes, Eddie. A single c***k, and water floods the hull.”

Carver muttered, “Maybe we should plug the leak before it drowns us.”

Rico grinned, wolf-like. “Yeah. Plug him permanent.”

Eddie’s face drained of color. “No… you can’t—”

But the decision wasn’t his to make.

---

Cross didn’t see the argument, but he felt its ripple when the warehouse doors burst open. Rico stormed into the street with Eddie by the collar, dragging him like a rag doll. Eddie pleaded, stammering, “I didn’t talk, I swear, I didn’t—”

“Shut up!” Rico shoved him hard against the brick wall, pulling a revolver free.

Cross moved, swift and silent, staying in shadow. His heart rate didn’t change. He had seen this dance before — fear, betrayal, desperation. The only question was who would fall first.

Rain trickled down the back of his neck as he crouched closer.

Rico pressed the barrel to Eddie’s temple. “One less mouth. One less problem.”

Eddie’s eyes were wide, drowning in terror. “Slade wouldn’t want this! He wouldn’t—”

The shot cracked like thunder.

Blood sprayed across the pavement, hot against the cold rain. Eddie crumpled, lifeless, a ghost who would haunt no more.

Cross clenched his jaw, watching. He didn’t move, didn’t reveal himself — not yet. Patience was his weapon, colder than Rico’s bullet.

Rico spat on the body, then dragged it toward the riverbank with Carver’s help. Their laughter echoed off the walls, savage, unhinged.

Cross finally stepped from the shadows when they were gone. He looked down at the body, his cigarette trembling ever so slightly between his fingers.

“Blood on the pavement,” he whispered. “The first c***k always bleeds.”

He covered the corpse with his coat, then turned away. The hunt wasn’t over. It had just sharpened.