Chapter 6 - THE STORAGE UNIT
Detective Vega told Mom to stay home.
Mom said no.
Vega told Vincent to stay out of police business.
Vincent said nothing.
Which apparently meant no too.
By seven-thirty that night, we were all moving.
I was not.
Vincent’s housekeeper, Mrs. Bell, put me to bed.
I waited until she left.
Then I climbed out.
That was not my smartest decision.
But I was four and a half.
Bad decisions came free.
I followed Marco downstairs.
He never saw me climb into the back of the SUV.
Twenty minutes later, the car stopped.
I peeked through the window.
Rows of storage buildings.
Rain.
Yellow lights.
Marco got out.
Vincent got out.
Mom got out.
I whispered, “Uh-oh.”
Then somebody opened my door.
Vincent stared at me.
For three full seconds, nobody spoke.
Mom nearly screamed.
“Rory!”
“I can explain.”
“No, you cannot!”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Marco.”
“I checked the vehicle.”
“You did not.”
“I checked the front.”
Vincent stared at him.
Marco sighed.
“I accept responsibility.”
Mom grabbed me.
“You are never leaving my sight again.”
I looked at Vincent.
“Am I in trouble?”
“Yes.”
“With who?”
“Everyone.”
Vega’s unmarked car pulled in.
When she saw me, she looked at Vincent.
He pointed at Marco.
Marco said, “That feels unfair.”
Vega rubbed her face.
“Put the child in my car.”
Mom stayed with me.
Vincent and the others approached the storage unit.
From the car, I could see Sterling.
He was loading boxes into a van.
Ron was with him.
Another man stood nearby.
Vega whispered into her radio.
“Wait.”
Officers moved into position.
Sterling opened one box.
Files.
Hundreds of them.
Employee documents.
Then Ron lifted a gas can.
Mom gasped.
“He’s going to burn them.”
Vega grabbed her radio.
“Move.”
Police rushed in.
“Chicago Police!”
Everything exploded.
Ron ran.
Sterling dropped the box.
One officer tackled a third man.
Another chased Ron between the units.
Sterling sprinted toward the van.
Vincent stepped out from behind a row.
Sterling froze.
“No.”
Vincent said nothing.
Sterling looked back.
Police behind him.
Vincent in front.
He chose the van.
He jumped inside and slammed the door.
The engine roared.
Vega shouted.
Sterling drove straight toward Vincent.
Mom screamed.
Vincent dove aside.
The van smashed through a storage gate.
Police cars followed.
Rain blurred the red lights.
Then Ron appeared near our car.
He had escaped the officers.
He saw Mom.
He saw me.
And he smiled.
Mom locked the doors.
Ron ran toward us.
Vega turned too late.
Ron pulled something from his jacket.
Not a gun.
A tire iron.
He slammed it into the driver’s window.
Once.
Twice.
Glass cracked.
Mom pulled me down.
“Don’t look!”
The third hit shattered the window.
Ron reached inside.
Then a hand caught him from behind.
Marco.
He dragged Ron backward.
Ron swung the tire iron.
Marco ducked.
They crashed into another car.
Vega ran toward them with her weapon drawn.
“Drop it!”
Ron raised the iron again.
Vega fired.
The shot echoed through the storage yard.
Ron fell.
Silence.
Mom held me against her chest.
I was shaking.
So was she.
Then Vega’s radio came alive.
“Suspect vehicle crashed on Canal.”
Another voice.
“One occupant fleeing on foot.”
Sterling was still running.
May you like
And he had taken one box with him.
The box marked CARTER.
