Deadly Silence (complete) Chapter 166

There were two guards standing just outside the building as Jacques pulled up. He slowed as he drove by, giving one a nod as the van entered the garage. They didn’t give him more than a passing glance.

It didn’t last long.

As Jacques parked the van, he noticed a figure in the side view mirror, gun drawn, sneaking up to his door. “Well that’s just fucking great,” he muttered, drawing his own weapon and disengaging the safety.

When the figure was about to reach the door, Jacques swung it open, clipping the guy’s arms and causing a shot to go off. There went the element of surprise he’d hoped to maintain for at least a little while.

The men in the back of the van were suddenly outside, one of them subduing the guy who’d tried to sneak up on Jacques, while another pistol whipped him unconscious.

Jacques raised a brow at this, wondering why they hadn’t just kill him, but didn’t care enough to ask. Gilbert was out and looking around, his limp barely noticeable. “Let’s go,” he ordered his son. “You’re on point.”

*Fucking hell. Of course I’m on point…* He didn’t try and get out of the assignment; Jacques was the only one who’d been there before, which meant him leading the way was the obvious choice. Even if he’d only been thirty or so feet into the place.

Grabbing his jacket from the van, he threw it on again — even if it wasn’t bullet proof, any protective gear felt like a good idea. Holding his gun at the ready, Jacques led the way to the corridor, approaching from the side. The moment he peaked around the corner bullets flew at him. Ducking back, he let out a breath. Of course the others wouldn’t be far.

“How many?” His father asked from behind.

Closing his eyes, Jacques tried to remember what he’d seen. “At least three, maybe four, but somethings wrong with one of them.” One of them had been hunched over for some reason.

“Wrong how?”

“Didn’t get a good enough look.”

The hail of bullets stopped and Jacques took this as a sign to get moving. He stepped into the corridor, gun raised as he fired off a handful of shots towards the fleeing figures. Two moved into a side room, another was racing to the doors at the end of the corridor. The fourth person was nowhere to be seen.

“Two in the room three doors down,” he told the men bringing up the rear.

“You and you,” Gilbert said, pointing to the men he meant. “Stay behind and keep our six.”

“Dead or alive?” One of them asked.

“Dealer’s choice, but if they end up making more trouble, it’s on you.”

“Dead it is,” the same one replied with a smirk. “C’mon, Levy.”

Levy nodded and followed the other guy back the way they came.

The second Jacques saw a flash of someone from the side room, he began firing again, preventing those inside from retaliating.

As they neared the room in question, Gilbert used hand signals to instruct two of his men to step up. They positioned themselves just outside the room, where they exchanged a nod before barging in. More bullets flew, cries of pain, then one of their men stepped out. “Miles got hit in the leg, but he’ll live.”

Jacques glanced into the room on his way by, surprised by the mess within; it looked like the ceiling had caved in. There were two dead bodies beside the worst of the mess, and the guy who’d ridden shotgun with him, Miles, was already bandaging his leg with the shirt he’d been wearing.

“This was as far as I got,” Jacques told his old man when they passed the last room, which was now empty. “From here, it’s all new.”

“Horace, you’re on point going forward. Jacques, watch our six,” Gilbert said in response.

Glad to be given a new job, Jacques moved to the back of the group while the one who’d gone into the room with Miles took the lead.

On the other side of the double doors at the end of the corridor was the factory’s production floor. The machines had to be half a century old, coloured with rust and oxidization. Everything looked like it was falling apart, and it gave Jacques the creeps. It was the kind of place where zombies would pop out in movies or video games.

Thankfully, zombies didn’t exist in the real world, nor was any other living — or undead — thing found on the production floor. They moved through the doors on the opposite side and took a moment to decide which way to go. This corridor ran along the length of the previous room, meaning they had two options: left, down the corridor, or right, up the stairs. The dust on the floor had been disturbed in either direction, which meant both ways would need to be investigated.

“Jacques, with me,” Gilbert spoke after he took a few seconds to look in both directions. “Horace, Delray, go left.”

Stairs were always tricky when trying to avoid being shot at, because anyone at the top always had the advantage. This time was no different. Gilbert approached them cautiously, taking his time up the steps until someone began shooting from above. Ducking down, the old man showed no signs of being bothered by this development. Instead he checked how many bullets were left in his magazine.

The nonchalant attitude the old man had in the heat of a gun fight made Jacques glad they were paired together. Even if he freaked out, or wasn’t able to keep a cool head, Gilbert would stay calm and collect.

When there was a break in the hail of bullets, Gilbert went on the move. Firing his own gun, he marched up the stairs like it was just another day. A cry came from above as Jacques brought up the rear. By the time he reached the landing, the shooter was nothing more than a corpse, while the old man was already making his way through what had been a lunchroom.

There were three doors they needed to investigate, but only one of them showed signs of heavy traffic.

This corridor was much like the first, except that all the doors were now on the left. They cleared the first room they came upon, but stopped at the second. “…what the hell…?” Jacques muttered as he looked in and saw a body on the ground. This had to be the guy from the exchange — the Curator. He wore the same black suit, and a kabuki mask lay abandoned on the floor near the door. “That’s the guy from the trade.”

“The one you said might be the Curator?” Gilbert inquired as he moved into the room, crouching next to the body. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet, making it relatively easy for the old man to flip the body over. Jacques saw his father stiffen after doing this, and wondered what he’d seen to cause the reaction.

Taking a closer look, Jacques noted the bullet holes in the body’s chest before taking in the dishevelled blond hair, and the still open, blue eyes that had begun to glaze over in death. The guy was rather forgettable in appearance. Then again, the Curator hadn’t really left much of an impression while alive; it seems death hadn’t changed anything.

“Are you sure this was the man from the ransom exchange?”

“Yeah,” he nodded after taking a second to think about it. “I’m sure of it. Why?”

Gilbert stood up, his mouth in a grim line. “Because that’s Detective Paul Oglivie.”