Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(13)
“Sorry,” Vero called out to the man. “Garage is closed. If you’re looking for parts, you’ll have to come back in the … morning,” she finished weakly as he stepped clearly into view. A tire iron dangled from his hand. IKE—presumably his name—was tattooed across three of his massive knuckles. Vero and I took a step back as he lumbered closer. A gold championship belt buckle held up his pants, and two gold teeth glimmered from the middle of his scruffy goatee.
“Jesus,” Vero whispered, “he’s like a refrigerator with feet.”
“Cut the crap. You know why I’m here.” Ike’s New Jersey accent left little room for doubt. “Marco sent me. Time to pay up.”
Vero reached slowly into her pocket for her phone.
“Don’t bother trying to call your friend,” Ike growled, tapping the tire iron against his palm. “He’s in the parking lot, taking a long nap in the back of his van. But I promise, he didn’t feel a thing.” Vero’s fists clenched at Ike’s smug grin.
“What a coincidence!” I said, holding her back with one arm and tucking her behind me. “My friend and I were just discussing Marco. See, we don’t have all of his money right now, but we do have a plan to get it. We just need a few days to come up with the rest.”
“Marco doesn’t like to wait.”
“I don’t see that Marco really has a choice.”
“Let me tell you how this is going to go down,” Ike snapped, making Vero and I jump. “Either you give me the money you owe Marco and I leave you to go nurse your friend’s headache. Or you tell me you don’t have the money and the three of us go for a nice long drive so you can explain it to Marco personally.”
I stumbled backward into Vero as Ike strode toward us. She peered over my shoulder as the tire iron came within striking distance.
“What’s it going to be, Ruiz? Do you have the money, or am I taking you back to New Jersey to meet with…” Ike’s threat trailed as he stared at something behind us. I glanced over my shoulder to see what had captured his attention. The shed door creaked, swaying on its hinges in the breeze, revealing a glimpse inside.
Ike ambled around us, using the tire iron to nudge the door open wide. “Well, well. What do we have here?” He smiled, a crooked slash of gold teeth. “Marco doesn’t normally take his payoffs in trade, but this presents some interesting possibilities.”
“I think there’s been a small misunderstanding,” I said cautiously. “We can’t give that car to Marco.”
Ike turned toward us as he adjusted his grip on the tire iron. “Who said anything about giving the car to Marco?”
Vero’s mouth fell open. The car was worth more than Vero owed and Ike knew it. He could probably sell the car, pay off Marco, and pocket the rest for himself. Or he could just as easily keep the car and tell Marco he never found us. Either way, duping his boss would probably be easier to get away with if Vero and I weren’t in the picture.
“Give me the keys,” he demanded.
“I don’t have them,” Vero said. Ike was in front of her in three quick strides. She held up her hands, jutting her chin toward the shed before he could grab her. “They’re in the car,” she blurted.
He shoved her out of his way. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Ike turned and headed for the Aston. Vero tugged my sleeve. She pointed at a loose hubcap beside me. I nodded, reaching for it as she charged after Ike and thrust her foot into his backside, sending him stumbling to one knee. I swung the hubcap hard into the back of his head. The metal reverberated with a gong-like sound, sending a wave of vibration all the way to my teeth.
Ike went still.
Breath held, Vero and I waited for him to teeter and fall over, the way Steven had when she’d hit him with my frying pan. Ike only shook his head. His grip tightened around his tire iron as he pushed himself to his feet with a sneer.
Vero grabbed me by the sleeve as she backpedaled away from him. “Run!” she shouted, taking off at a sprint.
Ike’s fingertips grazed the back of my coat as his feet pounded behind me. I risked a glance over my shoulder as I chased Vero between two stacks of crushed cars.
“You’re going to pay for that! Give me the goddamn keys!” His tire iron swung with every pump of his bulging arms, his thick waist bouncing with his strides. Vero hooked a sharp right, pulling me behind her. Then an abrupt left, desperate to shake him. I had no idea if we were losing ourselves in the maze of the scrapyard or working our way free of it. Vero’s head turned back and forth, frantically searching for something as we rounded the next row. Her gaze paused on the rusted frame of an old clunker mounted on jacks and blocks. A tower of crushed cars was stacked precariously on top of it.
Vero yanked me toward it. “Get under. Hurry!” She dragged me with her to the ground, shimmying under the chassis. I scurried after her as her legs disappeared beneath the frame. Loose gravel dug into my knees as I army-crawled after her. If we could get to the other side of the wall of cars, maybe we could make it back to the gate and find Javi.
A cold hand clamped around my ankle. I yelped, my shirt riding up, the ground scraping like sandpaper over my ribs as Ike yanked me backward by my foot. Vero twisted to see me, the whites of her eyes wide as she groped for my hand. I grasped hers, kicking out wildly with my feet. The toe of my sneaker caught Ike’s face. He barked out a swear, clawing at my ankles as I managed to scramble free of him.