“No,” I scream. “Stop it! Leave us alone!”
A second and third man appear from the back, holding similar weapons. Scarface smirks at me.
“It’s nothing personal,” he says. “We got an order. Hit this place, and don’t leave anyone inside alive. Looks like you’re the last two.” He shrugs.
“Wait!” I hold up a hand. “What do you want? Is it money? There’s a safe in the office in the back. I know what the code is.”
I don’t know either of these things. But if I can get them away from Jammy, away from this part of the lounge, then Jammy can get away. The gunmen will probably kill me once they realize I don’t know anything, but hopefully Jammy will be long gone by then.
“You know where the safe is?” Scarface asks, lifting a brow before glancing at his partners. “Why would you know that?”
“Perk of fucking the boss,” I say, willing my voice to steady itself.
“Ah, we killed him,” the second shooter, wearing a red bowtie, says. “Sorry about that.”
Marcel, dead. He was scum, and I loathed him, but death isn’t something I’d wish on anyone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jammy slowly sliding away toward the door.
Keep them distracted, I think urgently.
“You did me a favor,” I say. “Never liked him much anyway.”
“I can see why he picked you.” Scarface leers at me. “So, there’s a safe in the boss’s office, and he told you the code, huh?
“Yes,” I insist. “If you would just put the guns away, I could show you.”
Jammy slides farther away, then slowly, slowly gets to their feet.
“I have the code,” I repeat, making sure all eyes are on me.
“Why would he give it to you?” the third gunman, wearing shades, asks.
“I can be convincing,” I reply. “Besides, he was into someone for a lot of money. Said that if anything ever happened to him, he’d need someone he trusted to have access to the safe to get everything inside out. Money, jewels. Shit that would mean a lot to someone.”
Jammy’s backing down the hallway, one silent, cautious step at a time. Almost to the door.
“I don’t give a shit about any of that,” I continue. “I just want to go home. You can have it all.”
“Really?” Scarface rubs his chin, glancing again at his partners. Their faces are unreadable. He glances back at me. “That sounds like a pretty good deal.”
I suppress the urge to exhale in relief. Jammy will be safe.
“There’s just one little problem,” Shades says.
I blink. “Problem? What problem?”
“Before we killed him, we made your boss open up that safe in his office,” says Bowtie. “Wasn’t shit inside, like we thought.”
“There’s another safe,” I blurt. “He’s got a dummy one. That’s not the real place where he keeps the money.”
“Hmm.” Scarface shakes his head. “I think you’re lying.”
“No,” I insist, my voice rising several octaves and cracking. “I’m not lying. I—”
“I think you’re trying to draw us away so your friend can get away,” Scarface continues, and then before I can say another word, he points, and Bowtie turns and points his rifle down the corridor.
Jammy screams and turns to run the rest of the way down the hall, arms outstretched, inches from the door.