Chapter 6 - THE RETREAT
“Give me the gun, Nora,” Arthur panted, his breath coming in jagged, painful gasps as he held Sal down with his good arm.
Norah didn't lower the weapon. Her hands were shaking so hard the sight wavered against Sal’s chest, but her finger stayed hooked firmly around the trigger.
“Nora,” Arthur repeated, softer this time. “Give it to me.”
She slowly lowered the revolver into his outstretched hand. Arthur took it, racked the slide back to ensure a round was chambered, and pressed the cold barrel directly against Sal’s forehead.
“Where is Jimmy?” Arthur demanded, his voice flat and terrifying.
Sal swallowed hard, his hands raised in surrender. “He’s upstairs... clearing the main security office.”
Arthur didn't hesitate. He swung the heavy grip of the revolver down against Sal’s temple. Sal went limp instantly, collapsing onto the ruined rug.
Arthur pulled himself up using the edge of the overturned desk, his face turning an ashen shade of grey as he clutched his bleeding shoulder.
“You came back,” Arthur whispered, looking at her in disbelief through the haze of gunsmoke.
“You’re an idiot,” Norah sobbed, wiping mud from her forehead with the back of her wet sleeve. “I had to come back. You left your blood on my rug.”
A dark, genuine laugh escaped Arthur’s chest before he winced in agony, pressing his hand tighter against his bullet wound. “We need to move. Jimmy will hear the silence down here and come checking.”
He bent down, picked up a spare magazine from the fallen guard’s belt, and checked the hallway.
The basement corridor was quiet, but heavy footsteps were approaching from the main staircase at the far end.
“Follow me,” Arthur muttered.
Instead of heading for the main stairs or the boiler hatch, Arthur led her down a narrow side corridor used for food storage. At the far end was an old, industrial dumbwaiter used to haul heavy laundry sacks up to the kitchen on the first floor.
Arthur pulled open the wooden door, revealing a heavy steel cage pulled by thick steel cables.
“Get in,” he said.
“In that?” Norah looked at the cramped, dusty shaft. “Where does it go?”
“The butler’s pantry on the second floor,” Arthur said, shoving her gently inside. “It bypasses the main security cameras.”
He squeezed his broad frame into the small cage beside her. They were pressed impossibly close together—his cold, damp coat crushing against her flannel shirt, the smell of gunpowder, expensive cologne, and copper fillling the tiny space.
Arthur reached out with his uninjured hand and pulled the heavy manual rope mechanism.
The steel cables groaned, and the dumbwaiter began to rise slowly into the pitch-black vertical shaft.
Above them, they could hear doors slamming and men shouting as Jimmy’s crew realized the basement had compromised.
Inside the dark shaft, Arthur leaned his forehead against Norah’s shoulder, his breathing heavy and shallow.
“You should have kept running, Nora,” he murmured into the dark.
“I tried,” she whispered back, her hand involuntarily reaching up to steady him, her fingers curling around the back of his wet wool coat. “You’re very difficult to leave behind, Mr. Costello.”
“Arthur,” he corrected her softly in the darkness. “My name is Arthur.”
The dumbwaiter jolted to a sudden halt at the second-floor access door.
Arthur pulled his pistol, his posture locking back into lethal readiness. He slowly unlatched the small wooden door, peering into the dim light of the butler’s pantry.
The second floor was empty. The hit crew was concentrated on the basement and the main floor security gates.
“The east wing has a private garage,” Arthur whispered, stepping out of the cage and pulling her out behind him. “I keep a vintage Alfa Romeo in there. No GPS tracking, no electronic locks.”
They slipped through the carpeted hallways of the second floor like ghosts.
As they reached the heavy oak doors of the private garage, a floorboard creaked behind them.
Norah turned her head.
Jimmy "The Hammer" Luca stood at the end of the hallway, holding a suppressed submachine gun.
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“Arthur,” Jimmy said, his voice laced with genuine regret. “Don't make this harder than it has to be.”
Arthur didn't speak. He stepped in front of Norah, covering her entirely with his body, and brought his revolver up.
