The Junk Drawer

06. Interference - Target Enemy: Gustavio Lachowski

06. INTERFERENCE — TARGET ENEMY: GUSTAVIO LACHOWSKI

COVINA, WASHINGTON

0800 HOURS

CALIFORNIA STATE BANK

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It was so sudden that I barely even had time to react. With a snap of his fingers, it was as if the goons at Lachowski's sides jumped from their frozen spots. The two started for my direction in a flurry of movements so stealthily that all I could do was sit there pathetically and watch with widened eyes as they reached out two burly pairs of arms to grab me.

Yet before I could feel the pressure of hands enclosing around my body, there was a rough pulling of my wrist, and soon as I was being propelled to the side just as the two goons landed in the spot I had been in moments ago.

"Oh, my God." I gasped out, my brain still unable to process what had happened. It seemed to be stuck in its perpetual state of slow motion, even though everything around me was happening in real time.

"Grab Albert's wrist and when I tell you to hold your breath, you do it with no questions asked. Understood?" Ronan rushed out easily, his eyes never leaving the dazed goons who were slowly picking themselves off the ground.

"I— What?" I blubbered. Right now, the only thoughts I could muster were what the hell and this badass just saved me from being trampled on.

"I said no questions." Ronan released his hold on my wrist and started to reach for something hidden in his boot. Swallowing, I dug the yellow box in my hands deep into the depths of my pockets, eyeing the scene warily. A few meters away, Lachowski's henchmen were already on their feet, sneers plastered onto their faces.

"Ronan." I warned, scooting as far back as I could before my back hit the wall with an unsatisfying thump. Looking around panicked, I located Albert's hand, clutching it tightly when I realized the old man was just as terrified as I was. He squeezed back weakly; I could hear small wheezes emanating from his ragged chest.

"Hold your breath." Ronan smirked, his teeth sharp and dangerous —much like he was. Albert and I did as we were told, and with a swing of the wrist, a small grey capsule was launched in the enemy's direction. It rolled around with no steady path, until it slowed and came to a standstill right at Lachowski's feet.

The Russian looked down at the cylinder, his own psychotic grin forming. Glancing back in our direction, he shook his head as if he were amused. "You naughty boy."

And then the room exploded.

Well, it wasn't as dramatic as I made it out to be. There were no sparks that sizzled as it collided with the oxygen in the air. No great explosion filled with fire that licked the ceilings of the tiny room, glistening with angry hues of orange and red. There was barely even noise except for the faint sizzle of gas being released, the grey smoke crawling stealthily past the floors and creeping upwards towards the ceiling. It engulfed the goons, who began to gag and sputter from the chemicals of the gas. Lachowski remained indifferent. And as the musky fog began to curl around the material of his shirt, quickly making its way to his head, he let out a sardonic chuckle that sent shivers down my spine.

Eyes watering, I pinched the bridge of my nose with my hand, trying to keep in the precious oxygen my lungs needed while it desperately tried to escape. The movement made the handcuffs connecting me to Ronan jingle, instantaneously telling him where I was.

I felt his hand enclose around my waist —soft but urgent— and I tightened my own grip around Albert's before the boy discreetly pulled us out of the room. He motioned for us to continue holding our breaths until we made it to the end of the corridor. The white-washed walls of the basement level mixed with the silver gleam of the vaults had my head swimming, eyes still watering from the smoke gas.