XX

Dylan and Samuel arrived at the warehouse. On the way, Samuel made a few calls.

"He wants to talk," Samuel said. A voice shouted on the other end of the phone.

"He's trying to make it right. He didn't know he shot your son." Another shout echoed through the phone.

"OK, we'll be at the warehouse where you pick up your guns." Samuel hung up the phone.

He turned towards Dylan. "All right, it's set up. Boris Vasiliev is coming."

Dylan and Samuel got out of the car and walked to a wooden sliding door. Samuel grabbed a brown leather strap and pulled, and the wood slid to the side. The warehouse opened. Inside, a labyrinth of boxes and crates greeted the two.

"My great-grandfather built hundreds of these warehouses all over the city. They are about a hundred years old but holding up pretty well." Samuel slid the door shut as the two walked farther inside.

"What's in the boxes?"

"Stuff from his trade. He was a bootlegger. I use the stuff to play a shell game. I move legal things from warehouse to warehouse while I keep illegal things under each of them."

"Under?" Dylan raised an eyebrow.

"Live through today. I might tell you."

Dylan walked past a set of stacked red barrels. A smell came from the barrels. "Is that gas?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," Samuel said.

The two walked to the center. "Stay here." Samuel turned and walked to the back.

When Samuel returned, he carried two boxes of forty-five caliber ammunition. "Arm up, then hide your weapons. They are going to search you."

Dylan took the ammunition and loaded his pistols. "How long till they show?"

"Won't be long. Minutes."

"Not going to help, are you?"

"With the fighting?"

"Yeah, you're not going to help me out with the fighting."

Samuel laughed for a second. "No, I'm getting my money and leaving."

Dylan nodded. He loaded the magazines and cocked the slides back on his pistols. He placed them between a set of boxes.

"Do me a favor?" Samuel asked.

"Yeah," Dylan said.

"Can you wait to start shooting until after I leave? Also, kill everyone. The Vasiliev is a big family. I would rather not have any of them looking for me."

Dylan nodded.

The wooden door to the warehouse tore open. Thirty men flowed into the warehouse and spread out. None glanced at Samuel or Dylan.

"Bring him in here already. I got business elsewhere."

"Interesting choice of words." A voice called out to Samuel. The voice spoke in a thick Russian accent as its owner moved toward the two. He gave Dylan an icy stare. "However, did you get him?"

Samuel scowled and shook his head. "He came to me. I made a deal with your father. What are you doing here?"

The man walked forward. His thick black hair slicked back, and his thin beard trimmed. He dressed well: a dark blue navy overcoat with a gray jacket, vest, pants, a white button-down shirt, and a black tie. A black walking stick clicked on the ground. "I heard you killed eight men at once."

Dylan remembered a figure standing outside Liza's brownstone after it blew. He couldn't focus at the time, but the outline and colors seemed to match up. "You're the guy that blew up Liza Marie's house and sent me to the hospital."

He smiled. "Andrew Vasiliev. I figured I'd get the girl. I didn't know she was already dead. Guess I have you to thank for that." He turned to Samuel. "My father demanded to come, but I... I couldn't let him. He would have made his pain last for months, but I can't let him live that long."

He reached into his overcoat, pulled a pistol, and pointed it at Dylan's forehead. Samuel pulled Dylan towards him as Andrew pulled the trigger. The bullet fired out of the gun and grazed Dylan's cheek.

Andrew turned towards Samuel. "You son of a bitch. You betrayed us."

Dylan reached into his jacket and pulled a knife. Andrew swung around to reshoot the mercenary, and Dylan cut into Andrew's hand. Andrew's hand opened, and the gun dropped to the ground. Dylan pushed him back.

Andrew hit the concrete floor. He shouted in Russian and struggled to stand. His men gathered behind him and pulled their guns. Bullets flew. Dylan grabbed Andrew's gun from the floor and fired a few rounds. The bullets ripped through the air. Samuel grabbed Dylan and pulled him behind a couple of boxes.

"So, you are going to help," Dylan said over the gunfire. He threw the empty gun away.

"I don't set up executions. Where are your guns at?"

The bullets tore through the defenses they were using. Dylan gestured across the warehouse. A bullet ripped through the box next to Samuel's head, spraying him with liquid. 

Samuel tasted some of the liquid. He turned to Dylan. "You able to take these guys?"

The gunshots slowed. Dylan nodded. "With a distraction."

Samuel grabbed hold of one of the boxes and pulled at the wood. He pulled out a bottle with a clear liquid inside. He opened it. The smell of old whiskey filled Dylan's nostrils.

"Give me a piece of your shirt." Samuel held out his hand.

"Not that easy." Dylan grabbed an area of his shirt and attempted to cut through it with his knife. The fabric stretched but held.

Samuel rolled his eyes, tore a strip of fabric from his shirt, and shoved it into the bottle.

"Samuel, you're outmatched, outgunned, and no one is coming to save you. Bring Dylan out, and I'll let you leave."

Samuel reached into his jacket sleeve and pulled a lighter out. "I'm going to need you to run out there."

"What?"

"You need a distraction to take these guys. I need a smaller one to get you a larger one. " Samuel drove his shoulder into Dylan's chest and pushed him from behind the box.

Dylan stumbled out and stood his hands up.

Andrew grabbed one of the guns from his men and stood in front of Dylan. He smacked the gun across the side of Dylan's head. Dylan hit the ground.

After a moment, Dylan stood on his knees in front of Andrew. He spat at his feet. "Just get it over with, you Russian piece of shit."

Samuel turned the bottle of whiskey over, soaking the fabric in the flammable liquid. He lit one end of the material on fire and stood. "Hey, Andrew." The Russian turned to face Samuel. Samuel threw the bottle. It smashed against a wall and rained the whiskey on top of a few red barrels.

The flaming liquid bled into the barrels. Only a second passed, and the barrels exploded spitting fire in every direction.

The soldiers all turned, and Andrew rotated back to Dylan. Dylan lunged up and slammed the palm of his hand into Andrew's mouth. Andrew fell back. Dylan stepped forward and bashed the Russian's skull into the ground.

One of the soldiers shouted and pointed at Dylan. Dylan reached into his jacket and threw a knife. The knife cut through the air and hit the soldier in the throat.

The fire spread everywhere, and the Russians ran from the flames. Dylan ran to his guns as bullets attempted to follow. He grabbed his guns and returned fire. Sixteen Russians fell before anyone knew what was happening. Dylan thought to reload but stopped. The smoke thickened.

Only the outlines of people remained. Dylan drew two of his knives and walked into the smoke. He sneaked up to each of the Russians, running one of his blades across each of their throats.

Andrew woke minutes after the battle began. He coughed as he crawled, unable to see more than a few inches in front of him. His hands touched a pool of liquid and pulled back, seeing blood on his fingers. He crawled in the other direction and found a pair of leather boots. Dylan stood above him.

Dylan drove his boot into Andrew's skull. As he dragged Andrew out of the warehouse, Samuel clapped.

"Very nice," Samuel said.

"How did you know that would work?" Dylan threw Andrew in front of Samuel.

Samuel shrugged. "The red barrels had oil in them."

"Hope you didn't lose anything too expensive."

"Don't worry. As I said, the important stuff is under the warehouses. Besides, I still got the cash." Samuel pulled out an envelope. "Was in his car. Looks like more than ten grand."

"I'm guessing the fire department will be coming."

"One of the few things no one wants spreading. Fire."

"Well, let's head somewhere to wake him up. You got any rope?"

Samuel smiled and nodded.