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1

THE INSIDE of the warehouse was pitch black. It was like entering another part of the world.

"Hey Clay," my partner whispered "I can't see my nose."

Cameron was a joker. He would make jokes from even the darkest situation. Excuse the pun.

We entered cautiously. The air inside here was still and dry. Like the air of a museum I visited some days ago.

Being partners for 5 years, we knew each other's weaknesses. Cameron had a blind spot on his left eye, so I always stayed by his left.

We had just taken a few steps when I heard a shuffle above and felt the air stir. I pushed Cameron with my right hand and leapt towards the left as bright lights flooded the warehouse. It illuminated everywhere. It was the type of lights you would find in a football stadium.

The warehouse was massive. About a hundred feet long and a hundred and fifty high. There was a balcony, about eighty feet high that ran round the whole length of the warehouse. Kind of dividing it into two almost equal halves. Upper and lower. There may be a couple of backdoor or offices or holding pens behind it because the whole balcony by our sides were filled with trigger-hungry men. Their submachine guns were trained down on us.

Luckily, Cameron had enough sense to roll behind a large machine. I, on the other hand was not so lucky. The only thing protecting me was a large wooden crate.

Thinking fast, I reached into a strap in my long sable coat and took a canister. Cameron got what I wanted to do and did the same.

We both pulled the pin and dropped the can. A thick grey fog covered the whole place around us. The men, not liking one bit of our little show, opened fire.

The mixed sounds of more than 50 SMGs blasted the air.

We remained calm. Waiting for the reload moment. I could pick out the sound of an Uzi, a calico, an MP5 and a Beretta model 38. These people were loaded for a bear.

After some time, Most of the guns started clicking shut. Mag empty. That was our cue. I added an extended clip to my H&K MP7. We moved out. Placing well-aimed shots. A couple of bullets per person. Taking out the ones still blasting before the ones reloading. It felt like a scene from James Bond.

Then I saw it. It was our lucky day. Oil containers placed at some strategic places. Probably to fuel some type of machine. I don't know. I don't care. I placed a shot there. The bullet hit home.

The container exploded and sent six men tumbling down over the rail. Cameron saw what I did and followed suit. Shooting the container and taking care of more than 4 men per shot. It saves bullet. I smiled.

It was all going smoothly until a black Volvo sedan drove in from behind us. The guy on the passenger seat, a black guy with half chipped tooth. He looked like a big guy from the way his arms were long and they bulged with muscles.

He placed an AK47 on the windowsill of the car and sprayed bullets. I ducked just in time to hear a whizz pass my ear and feel a draft of hot air.

I saw three bullets cut into Cameron and watched him go down. The black guy, obviously thought we were both hit because he guffawed loudly. The driver horned twice. Another black pickup truck drove into the warehouse before stopping at a door at the front end. The big black guy stepped out of the Volvo. Big was an understatement. He was gigantic. Maybe six feet seven inches. And he looked three-twenty, three-thirty pounds. He was no featherweight.

He stepped out with an easy elastic grace of an athlete. He opened the door and stepped aside for two men to escort a blind folded white girl out of a room and inside the pickup truck. That was our mission. He slammed the door and slapped the behind of the truck. The truck drove away. He entered the Volvo. Said something to the driver. The both laughed before the Volvo screeched out too.