And I would.
But first, I needed these men to understand what they’d woken up.
We moved like a unit across the lot, the gravel crunching under our boots.
The air smelled like old cigarettes, hot asphalt, and fried food from somewhere nearby.
We reached the stairs.
Metal steps.Thin railing.A handprint of grime where a thousand people had grabbed it to drag themselves up.
Wrecker went first.I followed closely, with Cole behind me, and then Pipe and Junior bringing up the rear.
The stairs clanged under our weight.
Second floor.
The hallway, if you could call it that, was just a narrow outdoor walkway lined with doors and cheap plastic chairs.A couple broken ashtrays.A soda can tipped on its side with a dried brown stain beneath it.
Room numbers marched past: 210.211.212.
Two-fourteen sat near the end.
Perfect.
Wrecker held up a fist.
We fanned out without needing to be told.Junior took the front.Pipe to one side.Wrecker close behind Junior.Cole and I on the other side.
I could hear the TV inside.
Some late-night infomercial voice selling happiness for three easy payments.
I pictured the three men inside.
Laughing.Drinking.Maybe packing their bags.Maybe congratulating themselves on getting away.
My blood went cold.
Junior cracked his knuckles, rolled his head, then glanced back at us.“You ready?”
Nobody answered.We didn’t need to.
He leaned in and banged his fist against the door.
Right at the bottom.
Cole blinked.“Did you just knock at the bottom of the door?”
Junior nodded like this was a normal question with an obvious answer.“You think you need to raise your hand to knock?Makes the same noise no matter where you hit the door.”
Cole stared at him for a beat, then muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
A shuffle sounded inside.
A chain rattled.
“Who is it?”a voice called.