Copyright© 2010 by Michael Wolfam
Mitch's ears were ringing. The cavern had just been rocked by the explosion from Tony's first grenade. "You better be taking care of this, Tony," he muttered under his breath. He switched the Streamlight on for just a second to get his bearings. The entrance to the underground parking area was glowing just ahead. The emergency lighting had started to kick in, and in just a few minutes, he would be safely encased in his armored Mercedes.
The thought of leaving the empire he had worked so hard to build made him sick to his stomach. But perhaps, if he pulled enough strings and blackmailed enough people, he would eventually be able to return. For now though, self preservation came first. He could fix it all later. Car keys in hand, he turned the corner...
... and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Where do you think you're going, mister?" Marcy Driscol stood in the doorway, blocking his path to the Mercedes. In the glow of the emergency lights, he could see the determined look on her face and the single barreled shotgun, which was aimed squarely at his chest.
"Hello, Marcy. So good of you to make it." Mitch reached for the holstered 1911.
"Don't even think about it," she warned.
"We both know that peashooter ain't loaded. But before you die." He paused. "Again. I am curious, how in God's name did you get away?"
"Jack always taught me to keep two spare handcuff keys at all times. Your boys aren't all that interested in thoroughly frisking an old lady. Shame, they might have found these while they were at it." Grannie held up a fistful of thin, red shotgun shell.