"Enlighten me," Mr. Hayes said through angrily-gritted teeth.
"Ha," John laughed. "I don’t have the time, or the inclination to tell you a damn thing. But I will tell you this: most of the officials within fifty miles of here are sitting happy right under my thumb." He slowed down his words until they came out in a crawl. "You...can’t...touch me."
"I don’t care if you ate bagels with the f**king Pope this morning. You’re not getting that restaurant, no matter who you think is on your side. Not everybody is a corrupt windbag like you, John. You can’t have them all up your sleeve."
The old man looked as if Hayes’ comment actually hurt his feelings.
"Now Paul," he said. "I didn’t think that I would have to remind you about everything that I have done for you and your company."
"And you don’t have to."
John leaned back in his chair and it squealed loudly beneath him. The abrasive sound echoed through the nearly-empty warehouse. It was loud enough for Tracy, who had secretly followed her lover there despite his demands for her to stay behind, to hear from outside.
She paused where she was and crouched behind a massive cooling unit. It was just close enough for her to hear their conversation.
"Well I feel like you need to be reminded of something...maybe how to pick your battles?"
Mr. Hayes opened his hands and let his fingers spread out over the cold wood.
"What are you implying, sir?"
The last word practically dripped with disdain.
John Tice finally rose up from his chair and leaned onto the desk, mimicking Mr. Hayes’ position.
"I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you that you and your pauper girlfriend are going to move the restaurant and hand over the deed to that building."
Outside, Tracy nodded her head slowly. Things were making more sense with every moment that passed.
Mr. Hayes’ voice wafted through the high windows and asked the same question that Tracy was thinking, "Why?’
John laughed loudly and sat back down in his chair.
"Come on, Paul. You know as well as I do that every profitable empire has one hand or two in the black market. Yours was no different."
"That was a long time ago, John. It doesn’t mean anything now."
"I think it does."
Tracy, still hiding behind the bulky piece of equipment, agreed with him for once.
"That still doesn’t explain why you want that building back."
"That building?" John fiddled with his onyx cufflinks and continued, "There's not much I can say about that building, other than the fact that it holds your precious Tracy's dreams. After the two of you seduced my beautiful daughter and ruined her life. I would think that you would understand and give me the benefit of the doubt."
"After your kid tried to poison me?" The rising agitation was showing through in Mr. Hayes’ voice. "Why would I give you the benefit of anything? I already let you go once; you and your crazy daughter. Clearly that was a mistake."
But before she could hear any more, a different sound made her ears perk up. It was a crunching, like shoes on the gravel driveway. In fact, that was exactly what it was.
From somewhere beyond where she could see, a man in all black approached the warehouse. Both of his hands were tucked into the front pockets of his leather jacket. The dark garment had been zipped all the way up to the man’s clearly boxy chin.
Tracy froze, though the acrid sting of vomit was again rising inside of her.
"Fuck," she mouthed silently.
It’s him.
The peripheral of Tracy’s vision faded to black as she locked eyes on her supernatural stalker. She couldn’t hear Mr. Hayes’ voice any more. All that came through was a fast, powerful pounding as the blood coursed through the vessels in her head at break-neck speeds. Her heart felt like it was going to bore a hole right through her chest and her knees went weak, forcing her to put both hands onto the ground to keep from falling.
The man crunched his way toward the building. He would cast a wary glance over his shoulder every once in a while, but otherwise seemed relatively calm. Tracy, on the other hand, was experiencing a whole new level of fear. Her skin tingled and her mouth went dry. She knew damn well what he was there for.
He walked past where Tracy hid and continued beyond the edge of the building. Tracy closed her eyes and swallowed before forcing herself to follow. She crept along the wall, being careful to step of patches of gravel that already looked worn down into the ground. Those would be the most quiet.
When she reached the end of the wall, she carefully peaked around the corner. The man was only a few steps away from the front door and his left hand was no longer in his pocket. Instead, his stubby fingers gripped a pistol close to his side.
Tracy started to panic. She didn’t have a plan.
The faintest shadow of a whimper escaped through the bile in her throat, but it was just enough to change everything.
The man turned on his heels, prompting Tracy to double back a few feet and press herself against the building’s rough stucco exterior. The little bits of it poked outward, scraping her back easily as she pressed every ounce of her body weight against it. There was nowhere to run; nowhere that she could get to in time. It was, in reality, only a matter of seconds.
In the blink of an eye, Tracy’s need for flight gave way to the resolve to fight. There was no more time left to consider how or why.
It had to be done. He had her cornered.
The tip of the man’s elbow was the first thing that crossed into Tracy’s sights. Then she closed her eyes, screamed at the top of her lungs and charged.
What happened next was a blur. She lunged toward him, aiming low and colliding with his knees, sending him down onto the ground with her. The man was visibly surprised, but quickly began to fight back against a barrage of thrashing limbs. Tracy couldn’t see the gun during any of it. All that she saw was white- blinding white.
The weapon’s cold metal grazed her thigh for a moment and everything slowed down to a crawl. Her vision snapped back on in time for her to look down and see the blood-red handle waiting to greet her.
Tracy looked back up to find the man scrambling to his feet. He was almost there and had his finger already curled around the trigger. By the time that she opened her mouth to scream, he was standing and raising the gun to meet her horrified stare.
Behind him, Paul Hayes appeared, grabbing the shoulder of the man’s leather jacket with both hands and yanking him backward.