Part 9

That was it.

Brick was cold, tired and hungry. His broken nose was throbbing with almost unbearable pain. And a man had just winked at him for the second time in one day. He had had enough.

Knowing that Sylvio and Harley would be more concerned with getting as far away from the Russian helicopter as possible, he didn’t bother to be subtle as he rolled onto his back. Never very flexible, he brought his knees up to his chest as far as he could and forced his zip-tied hands over his feet and to the front of his body, nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. Then, with a determination that can only be accomplished through the power of spite, he chewed through the zip ties.

His hands finally free, Brick turned around on his knees and saw Sylvio and Harley arguing through the back window of the cab of the truck. He spit, cracked his knuckles, and then in one swift motion punched through the glass and pulled out the parking brake, bringing the big truck to a screeching halt and sending him flying into the cab.

Both Sylvio and Harley were thrown forward with the jolt and sat there, stunned. When they finally realized what had happened, Brick was facing them, covered in broken glass, his back against the radio, his legs sticking out of the gaping hole in the back window, and his nose dripping fresh blood. But he had a gun in each hand, one pointed at each of their faces. They both instinctively reached for their empty leg holsters at the same time.

“Now listen to me very carefully,” said Brick, his voice level and his hands perfectly steady. “First off, Happy Thanksgiving. Secondly, I want that gold. No more distractions. No more running around. I just want what I came here for. You can either help me, or I can kill you both right here.”

Sylvio grinned. “Just tell us what you want us to do.”