Chapter 5 - Midnight at Pier Nine
Rain hammered Baltimore Harbor.
At 11:58 p.m., Vincent walked alone into Pier Nine carrying the brass clock.
Or at least, Paul believed he was alone.
Elena watched through binoculars from a warehouse across the channel.
Marco stood beside her.
“This is insane.”
“Which part?”
“The part where the waitress is helping run an extraction.”
“I prefer server.”
Marco glanced at her.
“You’re joking now?”
“It’s either that or throw up.”
“Fair.”
Inside Pier Nine, Vincent placed the clock on a steel table.
Paul emerged.
Caleb and Sofia were tied nearby.
“You always were arrogant,” Paul said.
“And you always overcooked salmon,” Vincent replied.
Even Elena almost laughed.
Paul didn’t.
“You have no idea what I built.”
“A trafficking network hidden inside stolen shipping identities.”
Paul smiled.
“Thomas told you.”
“He left evidence.”
“Thomas left problems.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“You murdered him.”
Paul shrugged.
“He refused to understand economics.”
Elena’s fingers tightened around the binoculars.
Marco whispered, “Easy.”
Paul opened the clock.
Empty.
His smile vanished.
“What is this?”
Vincent looked at his watch.
“A distraction.”
The lights died.
Marco moved.
So did Elena.
They crossed through a maintenance tunnel Caleb had once shown her.
Gunfire erupted above.
Elena reached the room where Caleb was held.
“Elena?”
She cut his restraints.
“You okay?”
“I’ve had better weeks.”
Sofia smiled despite being tied to a chair.
“You must be Elena.”
Elena blinked.
“How do you know?”
“My son mentioned you.”
“This week?”
“Several times.”
Caleb grinned.
“Interesting.”
“Not now.”
They escaped through the tunnel.
But Vincent didn’t appear.
Minutes passed.
Then Marco’s radio crackled.
Paul had escaped.
And Vincent had been shot.
Elena ran back.
She found him sitting against a steel container, blood soaking his side.
“Vincent.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve done that before.”
She dropped beside him.
“Stop trying to be impressive.”
His mouth twitched.
“Is it working?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
Elena pressed both hands against the wound.
Vincent winced.
“Paul?”
“Gone.”
“The ledger?”
“Safe.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Good.”
His eyes closed.
“Vincent?”
No answer.
“Vincent!”
For the first time since table twelve, Elena was truly terrified.
Not because Baltimore’s most feared man might die.
Because Vincent might.
May you like
And somewhere between the gunshots, secrets, arguments, and impossible danger, the distinction had started to matter.
Far too much.
