The side door groaned, then violently cracked open. The metal hinges screamed as it was forced wide.
Flashlight beams instantly pierced the darkness, sweeping erratically across the motorcycles, the tire racks, and the battered Honda. There were four men. Two were in police uniforms, holding heavy Maglites. The other two were Richard’s goons in their tailored suits, holding steel batons.
“Spread out. Find the mechanic. Find the car,” one of the cops ordered. His voice was tense, unprofessional. These weren’t honest cops executing a search; these were mercenaries on a payroll, nervous about being in the dark.
I crouched behind the tool cabinet, gripping a heavy torque wrench in my right hand. I didn’t want to permanently injure anyone, but I had to neutralize them before they found the stairs leading up to Claire and Sam.
The first goon walked down the center aisle, his flashlight beam bouncing off the chrome exhaust pipes of a Harley. He stepped directly into the puddle of slick, heavy-weight motor oil that I had intentionally spilled across the concrete three minutes earlier.
His expensive leather shoe lost all traction. He pitched forward with a startled yell, his legs flying out from under him. He hit the concrete hard, dropping his baton.
Before he could even register the pain, I stepped out from the shadows, grabbed the collar of his suit jacket, and dragged him violently behind the tool chest. I pressed my knee into his spine and clamped a zip-tie tight around his wrists before he could shout a warning. I shoved a greasy shop rag into his mouth. One down.
“Hey! Where did you go?” the second goon yelled, swinging his flashlight toward the sound of the scuffle.
He marched toward the center bay. As he passed under the heavy steel gantry crane, Bear made his move.
Bear didn't strike him. He just released the locking pin on the crane’s heavy chain hoist. Thirty pounds of solid steel chain dropped directly onto the goon’s shoulders from above. The man collapsed under the sudden weight, sprawling onto the floor. Bear stepped out of the shadows, hoisted the man up by his lapels, and slammed him against the steel support beam of the crane, knocking the wind completely out of him. Bear zip-tied his hands to the beam in seconds.
The two corrupt cops spun around, their flashlights illuminating Bear as he stepped back into the shadows.
“Police! Freeze!” one of them yelled, pulling his weapon.
“You’re in the wrong shop, boys!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls to disguise my location.
The cop turned toward my voice. As he did, he backed right into the rear bumper of the Honda.
I grabbed the heavy compressed air hose coiled next to the car, aimed the nozzle directly at the cop’s face, and squeezed the trigger. A deafening blast of 150-PSI air slammed into him, knocking his hat off and sending him stumbling backward, blinded by the sudden blast of dust and air pressure.
I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist and twisting it sharply until he dropped the gun. I swept his legs, pinning him to the floor, and wrenched his arms behind his back.
The second cop panicked. He aimed his flashlight toward the stairs leading to the office.
Standing on the top landing was Richard.
He had slipped in through the side door during the chaos. He didn’t care about his men. He didn’t care about the cops. He just wanted the lockbox and his wife.
“Claire!” Richard screamed, pounding his fist against the reinforced steel door of the office. “Open this door right now, or I will kill the boy!”
I abandoned the pinned cop, sprinting across the garage floor toward the metal stairs. Richard heard my footsteps echoing on the metal grating. He spun around, pulling a small, silver handgun from inside his suit jacket.
He pointed it directly at my chest.
“Stop right there, mechanic,” Richard hissed, his face twisted in desperate rage.
I froze halfway up the stairs. The remaining corrupt cop was scrambling to his feet below me. Bear was across the garage. I was out of time.
“You’re not walking out of here, Richard,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “The ledgers are exposed. The insurance policies are out. You’re done.”
“I’m leaving with my property,” Richard spat, gesturing to the door behind him. “Open it, or I shoot you and blow the lock off myself.”
Suddenly, a loud, authoritative voice boomed over a heavy bullhorn from outside the garage.
“State Police! The building is surrounded! Drop your weapons and step out with your hands visible!”