Page 130 of Dark Breaker

I survey the room. I realize the ceiling is made of those removable tiles that some people like to put up in offices. What do you call that again when you have a secondary ceiling hung below the main structural ceiling? Oh yeah: a “dropped” ceiling.

Well, I don’t really care much about what it’s called. All I know is I need to get the heck up there!

I glance nervously past the office window but still see no sign of the dude. So I pocket the letter opener, clamber onto the desk, and reach up to the closest ceiling tile. I shove it aside. I don’t know if the metal support grid up there is even going to hold my weight, or if I’ll be able to pull myself up, but here goes nothing.

I wrap my fingers around one of the supports and the thin edge presses painfully into my fingers. I’m not strong enough to pull myself up from a standing position, so I jump off the desk and use my momentum to haul myself upward. I kick my feet at the empty air below me, struggling to pull myself inside the rest of the way, and then I’ve finally done it. I just hope the goon didn’t return and see my feet dangling down from the ceiling or something. I guess I’ll know shortly if he comes rushing inside…

But everything remains quiet.

The crawlspace is cramped, and I scrape my head against the concrete ceiling. There are pipes and electrical conduits running through here.

I replace the tile below me so that I’m left in darkness. Air vents in the dropped ceiling allow light to seep inside every ten feet or so. The crawlspace is only about ten feet in width, spanning the area above the offices between the building’s wall and the main storage area of the warehouse. I try to visualize the layout of the offices beneath me, and orient myself toward Fabio’s location—assuming of course they haven’t moved him.

I advance. I feel the surface in front of me with my fingers, and try to restrict my weight to the metal grid that supports the tiles. Using the air vents as landmarks, I count the number of rooms I’m passing over, retracing my path to the hallway that led me here.

I reach a wall, which about matches up with my count.

I remove a tile underneath me, revealing an empty office. I peek out. There’s a window, and past it I can see the warehouse storage area. No goons in sight.

I let myself down into the office, lowering myself onto the desk. I jump to the floor, then sneak to the entrance and peer past.

I see men gathered well away to my left, talking to the goon who was guarding me. No doubt they’re discussing where I could have gone. They’ll be spreading out to look for me shortly.

To my right there’s an unguarded entryway: it’s the hallway that leads to Fabio and my brothers.

The goons disperse. Some start moving into the adjacent offices to look for me, while others spread out across the warehouse aisles. I wait until there are only two goons in view, both with their backs to me, and then I slip outside.

I head toward the hallway and peer tentatively past the edge. It’s empty.

I hurry onward, leaving behind the main warehouse area.

Doorways branch off on either side of me. I ignore the closed doors, but cautiously peer into the open ones before hurrying past them.

I hear footsteps coming from around a bend ahead and quickly duck into one of the open rooms. I wait out of view next to the doorway, and listen as the goon moves past. He’s talking softly on his walkie-talkie. Can’t hear what he’s saying.

When he’s gone I exhale in relief.

I feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck, and realize I didn’t check that this room was clear before ducking inside.

I quickly turn around and I’m relieved when I find it empty. Well, empty of people I mean. It’s a gangster’s paradise, and I don’t mean the Coolio song. The racks on either side are stuffed to the brim with weapons and other implements of war: rifles, handguns, grenades, RPGs, bullet-proof vests. You name it, it’s here.

I grab a handgun and one of the magazines located in a box on the shelve directly underneath, and try to repeat what I saw Fabio do when he loaded the automatic pistol for me in his penthouse suite: I slide the magazine underneath the grip and shove it upward. Hm, it doesn’t want to stay connected.

I fiddle with it until I realize I have to align the grooves of the magazine with the rail lining the inside of the grip, and then I shove upward again. This time it slides home with an audible click. I release the magazine and it remains locked in place.

There’s something else I’m supposed to do, but I can’t remember. I’m sure it’ll come to me. I grab a grenade and shove it into my jumpsuit pocket. I have a nice, almost manly bulge in my pants now.

Keeping the handgun pointed at the floor as Fabio taught me, I gaze out the entrance and check in both directions. The hall is clear.

I sneak forward and approach the bend ahead. I slowly peer past but see no one. I continue on until I reach another bend.

I peek around the corner: one of the Jackal’s goons is standing right there next to me, guarding. I duck, but I catch a glimpse of his head turning toward me before I’m out of view, and I know he saw me.

Shit!

I raise the handgun and back away from the bend, knowing he’s going to pop around it any second now.

He emerges. His rifle is aimed at me.