Marcus Shaw didn't take the bait, just nodded, thinking: Looks like he's the boss. Two against one, I might have a chance.
Just then, a young guy in a loud floral shirt appeared behind the lean man and said, "No tail. Little Two's keeping watch at the door."
Marcus Shaw quickly sidestepped to keep his distance from the three, shaking the money bag. "Let me see them first."
Patch said, "Hand over your phone. Kick it over."
Marcus Shaw hesitated. The big guy barked, "Cut the crap, stop dragging it out."
So he pulled out his phone, tossed it on the ground, and kicked it toward Patch.
To his dismay, the guy lifted his foot and stomped down hard, crushing the phone to pieces.
Marcus Shaw was about to lash out when the lean man said, "And that red backpack—got money in it? If not, throw it away too."
Marcus Shaw slipped off the backpack and tossed it into a large concrete pipe.
Marcus Shaw asked, "You work for Dominic Hale?"
The lean man paused. "Who?"
Marcus Shaw said nothing.
The lean man added, "The black bag—got money in it? Doesn't look like it."
Marcus Shaw unzipped it and held it open for them to see.
Patch shuffled forward, peering into the travel bag. Once his eyes landed on the contents, they seemed glued there, neck craned for a good long while before he belatedly called back to the lean man, "Close enough. Close enough."
The lean man looked satisfied, his eyes bright, almost smiling. The big guy and Patch closed in simultaneously. Marcus Shaw stumbled back a few steps, the way he'd come behind him.
"I said, let me see them first."
The two stopped and looked to their boss together.
The lean man considered, then flicked a glance. The big guy walked to the commercial van, yanked open the door, and hauled out two people.
Marcus Shaw strained to see. His father's hat was gone, glasses askew, tie half-done. Nora's eyes were swollen, her braid wrapped around her neck, one foot bare—like a revolutionary from the old days.
Both had their mouths sealed with black duct tape, hands bound behind their backs.
Marcus Shaw shouted, "Did they hurt you?"
His father's eyes were glazed, his body so weak that if the big guy weren't gripping him from behind, he would have collapsed on the spot.
Nora's eyes were wide with terror. She kept shaking her head, muffled sounds escaping her taped mouth—impossible to understand.
In his urgency, Marcus Shaw dropped his guard. Patch darted over and snatched the money bag.
By the time Marcus Shaw reacted and lunged after it, the money was already in the lean man's hands.
Above them, moths swarmed around the white lamp shade, clanging against it. In the beams of light, scales drifted down like tiny snowflakes.
The lean man riffled through the bag, examined it, and said, "This little? Enough? Wasn't he supposed to be rich?"
"The deal was one million."
The lean man grinned and tossed the money into the van. "One million each. Who'd have thought I'd kidnap one, and another would deliver himself? Buy one, get one free—how could I refuse?"
Before Marcus Shaw could think, he lunged to grab someone.
Patch was quick—arrowing forward, he grabbed Marcus Shaw with both hands and yanked him back.
Marcus Shaw nearly lost his balance, steadied himself, and raised both arms to guard his chest. But the blow came from nowhere—a solid punch to his stomach.
Marcus Shaw cursed and crouched low, sweeping a kick. Patch jumped to dodge. But as soon as Marcus Shaw's right foot landed, his left leg shot up in a side kick that caught Patch's shoulder, making him howl and clutch his right side.
Then the big guy charged—shoulder up, massive fist swinging, a gust of cold wind grazing Marcus Shaw's face.
Marcus Shaw broke into a cold sweat. He bent his knees, ducked, rolled behind his opponent, and sprang up—one arm raised in defense, the other hand thrust forward, fingers together, driving straight at the big man's throat.
The big guy wasn't slow. He twisted left, right hand flipping outward to grab Marcus Shaw's wrist. He yanked Marcus Shaw's arm, stepped forward with his left foot, twisted his body off the ground, and drove his left elbow in a sweeping arc toward Marcus Shaw's neck.
Marcus Shaw couldn't dodge in time. His ears rang, vision swimming, the pain making him grimace.
The big guy pressed his advantage, grabbing Marcus Shaw's left shoulder. But Marcus Shaw used the momentum to spin, quick as a monkey, and circled behind him again.
The big man started to turn—and felt something cold pressed against his throat.
Marcus Shaw roared, "Let them go, or I'll kill him!"
The big man froze. Patch stood rooted in place.
But the lean man just laughed and said coolly, "Think you're the only one with a knife?" He produced a sheathed dagger from his pocket, drew it quickly, exposing a blade—about four inches long, gleaming like a needle, stabbing the eyes with its cold light.
Marcus Shaw yelled, "Don't you dare!"
The lean man examined the blade from different angles, smiling. "What wouldn't I dare?" He pressed the knife against Nora's cheek and scraped it back and forth. She was too terrified to breathe.
Marcus Shaw bellowed, "Touch her and I'll—"
His grip faltered for just an instant. The big guy seized his wrist and twisted. The knife clattered to the ground. Then the big man clamped onto Marcus Shaw's right arm, planted his foot, twisted—and Marcus Shaw screamed, clutching his arm as he hit the ground, locked in agony.
Seeing Marcus Shaw's arm dislocated, his face drenched in sweat, Patch perked up. He scooped up a handful of sand and flung it into Marcus Shaw's eyes.
Blinded, Marcus Shaw felt himself swamped by terror. Kicks landed—stomach, back, buttocks, side—each one blooming with new pain.
Then one kick connected hard, and he felt his ribs split like they'd been struck with an axe, a thunderbolt of pain boring straight into his core.
Marcus Shaw howled, curling tighter, hoping to smother the pain—only fueling the fire, his side burning like a brand. It wasn't until the lean man called them off that Patch reluctantly stepped back, still looking aggrieved, and spat on Marcus Shaw.
Then suddenly, a voice rang out, swearing loudly: "Fuck your blood mother—big balls, touching anyone you please, anyone you please!"
Marcus Shaw wiped his face, spat out grit, and squinted through the grit in his eyes. He saw Viktor Dunn materialize from nowhere, holding the kidnapper boss at gunpoint, ordering Patch to release the captives now.
The dagger was gone—probably taken and discarded by Vik.
Just as he guessed, Viktor Dunn called out, "Your men outside have been dealt with. Our backup is on the way. Be smart, squat down, and don't make me repeat myself."
But the big guy didn't comply. He grabbed hold of Nora and Arthur. Both thrashed and kicked. Arthur, suddenly energized, even landed a kick on the big man's shin.
Enraged, the big man scooped up Marcus Shaw's fallen knife and drove it into Arthur's thigh. Blood gushed instantly, soaking into his light gray trousers.
Marcus Shaw cried out, scrambling forward on hands and knees—but took another kick from Patch that reignited waves of agony.
In the depths of despair, a gunshot cracked the air. Marcus Shaw looked up to see the lean man clutching his knee, crumpled on the ground.
Viktor Dunn said, "Make one more move, and the next one's in your head."
The lean man ground out through clenched teeth, "Let them go! Let them go now!"
The big guy finally released his grip on Nora and Arthur.
Viktor Dunn shouted, "Run! There's a car outside!"
Nora steadied Arthur, but looked back anxiously at Marcus Shaw.
Drenched in sweat, Marcus Shaw said, "Go, just go. I've got Dad."
The two hobbled into the darkness. Once their silhouettes were swallowed by the night, the big guy hauled Marcus Shaw up again, demanding Viktor Dunn release his boss.
The standoff was deadlocked—until Patch, thinking no one was watching, grabbed a brick and swung it at Viktor Dunn's head.
Viktor Dunn twisted aside, but it broke his focus. A blade stabbed into his gut, and his gun clattered to the ground.
The lean man scrambled free and kicked out at the gun.
Marcus Shaw, blood pounding in his skull, ground his teeth, stamped his heel down hard on the big guy's foot, and broke free—rushing toward Vik.
The lean man scooped up the gun and panicked, raising it to shoot at the oncoming Marcus Shaw.
At that critical instant, Viktor Dunn threw himself forward. The gun fired. He crumpled.
Then Lucas Lutz and the others arrived, every one of them aiming a weapon and shouting. The three kidnappers surrendered.
Blood poured from Viktor Dunn's back.
Marcus Shaw, as if suddenly healed, ran to the concrete pipe, grabbed the red backpack, and pulled out the hemostatic spray.
He sprayed and sprayed, but the canister was almost empty, and the bleeding wouldn't stop.
Lucas Lutz said, "That stuff is only good for surface wounds."
Marcus Shaw finally broke down in sobs, cradling Vik, screaming, "Doctor! Doctor!"
Lucas Lutz said, "They're treating your father outside."
But Marcus Shaw's eardrums felt like they'd burst. He couldn't hear a thing.
---
In the ambulance, Marcus Shaw gripped Viktor Dunn's hand tightly.
Viktor Dunn's lips were white, his face drenched in sweat. Seeing Marcus Shaw crying, he somehow managed a smile: "Marc, bet you didn't expect this, huh? The girl I've been seeing lately—she really likes me... I even said I'd take her to a movie tomorrow. If, just if, I can't make it... tell her for me, don't let her wait around like a fool..."
"Who the hell says you can't make it? You're definitely going! When you two get married, I'm buying the wedding feast!"
Vik smiled wide—but then coughed up a mouthful of blood. And said, "Guess it's a bit iffy, huh."
Marcus Shaw, sobbing uncontrollably, grabbed cotton balls and kept dabbing—but there seemed to be more blood each time, impossible to wipe away.
Vik mumbled, "I suddenly really want some grilled cold noodles... haven't had them in ages."
Marcus Shaw remembered how Danny used to say the same thing. Looking at the face before him, he realized that stripped of the police uniform, Vik was just a kid. His heart turned soft as dough, as if someone had torn away a chunk.
"When you're better, I'll buy them for you. All you can eat, for the rest of your life... I've already lost Danny. I can't lose you too..." Marcus Shaw wanted to say more, but no sound would come.
After a while, he felt Vik's hand give his a squeeze, and heard him whisper: "Brother, that bullet—I've paid you back."