Chapter 7: The Prodigal Son
Chapter 7: The Prodigal Son
Eleanor pulled the battered sedan into the cavernous, rotting structure of the abandoned Blackwood Shipyard. The massive corrugated iron roof groaned under the assault of the storm. The place smelled strongly of oxidized rust, dried salt, and decaying wood. She had chosen this specific location for a very good reason; she and her late husband used to own it as a front for her agency years ago. She knew every rusted catwalk, every structural blind spot, and every shadow in the three-acre facility.
As she popped the trunk and began pulling heavy logging chains and spare gasoline cans from the decrepit maintenance shed, her personal iPhone vibrated in her pocket. The caller ID flashed: David.
"Mom! Mom, please tell me you’re okay!" he cried, his voice pitching high with panic.
"I am highly disappointed in you, David," Eleanor said flatly, trapping the phone between her ear and shoulder as she effortlessly hoisted a fifty-pound, five-gallon jerry can of marine diesel.
"Mom, the cartel... they’re at the house! I went to check on the stash and the front door is off its hinges! You have to hide!"
"They already found the house, David. And do you know why? Because your sister decided I was a free, 24/7 babysitting service and arrived two days early. Your illicit cargo is currently with me, and your family is being held hostage."
May you like
"You have the drives?! Mom, you have to give them to me. I can fix this. I know a guy. I'm on my way up the coast now, I tracked your phone!"
"You will do no such thing," Eleanor snapped, her patience finally evaporating. "You ruined Christmas. I will handle this. Stay away, or so help me God, I will ground you." She hung up, powered the phone completely off to disable the GPS, and turned her undivided attention back to the lethal playground she was rapidly constructing.
