Chapter 12 - The Iron Locker
The chaos in the library became their cover. With alarms blaring and patrons scrambling for emergency exits, Clara hauled Leo and Toby out through the rear loading dock. She didn't head back to the motel. She flagged down an off-duty delivery van driver, offering the gold wedding band off her finger for a straight ride down to the Industrial Wharf. The driver didn't ask questions; he took the gold and stepped on the gas.
The wharf was a desolate maze of rusted shipping containers, decaying piers, and salt-crusted warehouses beside the grey, churning river. Rain had begun to fall in heavy, deliberate drops, slicking the tarmac.
Clara unzipped the outer pouch of Leo's suitcase. Hidden deep inside the lining, wrapped in a piece of blue velvet, was a heavy brass key stamped with the number 19.
""Stay behind this crate,"" Clara instructed Leo, kneeling in the rain so she was level with his eyes. ""Hold Toby’s hand. If anyone other than me approaches this corner, I want you to run straight toward that diner on the corner and tell the cook to call 911. Do you understand me, Leo?""
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Leo nodded, his chin trembling, but his hazel eyes held steady. ""I won't let go of Toby, Mom. I promise.""
Clara turned toward the corrugated steel shed marked Dockside Storage. She stepped inside the cavernous, damp building, the smell of grease and wet iron hanging thick in the air. She found Locker 19 at the far end of the corridor. Her hands shook as she inserted the brass key into the padlock. The lock clicked open. She swung the heavy steel door outward, expecting stacks of cash and documents. Instead, the small room contained only a single metal folding chair—and sitting on it, bound to the metal frame with heavy zip-ties, was Marcus.
