Chapter 19: The Parking Lot

Troy pulled on his jeans and a shirt and took the stairs three at a time.

Molly had called after him from the door, and he had told her to lock it.

He wanted the fight in the lot, away from her.

The night air was cold.

Six men in dark overcoats were fanned out in front of the two black cars.

They were not the loan sharks.

They stood evenly and kept their hands loose, and he knew the type, because Greta had trained them.

The one in the middle was gray at the temples, and he did all the talking.

"Mr. Falk. Celia's father would like to see you."

"At this hour?"

"He's waiting up. We'll drive you."

"No."

"I'd rather you came quietly." The man sounded tired. "I've got orders about your face. Nothing about your legs."

"Tell him to call me."

"He doesn't ask twice. He sent us."

"Then go home," Troy said.

The gray-haired man nodded once.

Two men moved at the same time.

The first came in on the left with a short black baton, and swung it at Troy's knee.

Troy caught it in his hand.

The man pulled, and the baton did not come.

Troy squeezed, and the steel bent in his fist.

The man let go and stared at it.

"That's not possible," he said.

"Your boss kept this locked up for ten years," Troy said.

He put his palm on the man's chest and shoved.

The man flew backward three yards and landed on the asphalt.

The second man fired a stun gun.

Two barbs hit Troy in the chest, and the line went tight.

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