CHAPTER 33: CHAPTER 33

Ace’s fingers clamped onto the cold, rough metal of the water tower ladder. Rust flaked off like dirty snow under his grip. Every muscle in his body screamed with tension. The climb had been a nightmare. The bottom part of the ladder was eaten away by rust. Several rungs groaned ominously under his weight, threatening to snap. Higher up, the metal felt stronger, but the height was terrifying. Ace forced himself to climb steadily, one careful step at a time, refusing to look down at the ground far below. Silva’s battered pickup truck was just a speck hidden behind the collapsed shed. Ahead, inside the sprawling, razor-wire fortress of Finley’s scrapyard, Deke’s black sedan had screeched to a dusty halt right in front of the large, windowless metal office building.

Finally, Ace hauled himself onto the rusty, slightly tilted platform at the top of the water tower. He immediately crouched low, making himself as small as possible against the corroded railing. From this high vantage point, he had a perfect, terrifying view down into the heart of the scrapyard, especially the open area right in front of the office. He could see Deke Vance clearly. Deke looked like a man who hadn’t slept. His expensive clothes were wrinkled and dirty, his usually slicked-back hair was wild and greasy, and his eyes darted around constantly like a trapped animal scanning for escape. He clutched a small, sturdy metal box tightly against his chest – the lockbox. This was his desperate hope.

Deke wasn’t alone. A tall, thin, older man with close-cropped grey hair and sharp, watchful eyes stepped out of the office door. He wore stained blue overalls but carried himself with absolute authority. This had to be Old Man Finley. Two large, heavily muscled guards stood nearby, cradling rifles. Their faces were hard, their eyes constantly moving.

Time to listen, Ace thought. He closed his eyes for a second, concentrating. He activated his Audio Enhancement skill. It felt like tuning a powerful radio inside his head. He carefully turned down the volume on the constant background noise of the scrapyard – the distant clang of metal, the sharp barks of the guard dogs patrolling the piles of junk, the steady hum of generators. He focused his mental ear like a laser beam directly on the conversation happening far below between Deke and Finley. Instantly, their voices cut through the distance with shocking clarity, as if Ace were standing right beside them.

"Finley!" Deke’s voice rasped, raw with panic and exhaustion. "I need help."

Finley looked Deke up and down slowly, his expression as cold and unwelcoming as the scrap metal surrounding them. "Vance. You look like trouble just showed up at my door. Trouble I don’t need. Especially not the kind which is tied to Ramos. Rumors are flying faster than crows around here. Bad rumors."

"Finley, this isn’t just bad, it’s a total disaster!" Deke begged, showing Finley the lockbox. "This box is my only way out of this nightmare. I need you to hide it for me – keep it super safe. Or even better: please find someone to buy what’s inside, right now. Find someone who’ll keep quiet about it... someone from another country, somewhere very far away."

Finley didn’t touch the box. He kept his hands safely in his pockets and stared at it, clearly suspicious. "Vance, what’s actually inside that box?" he asked. "And why should I take such a big risk by touching it? You know Ramos gets extremely angry if someone betrays him, and his anger hurts anyone nearby. I have my own business to protect. I can’t afford to make him my enemy."

"Listen, Finley," Deke whispered urgently, leaning in close. Fear was making him take big risks. "I have information. Explosive information. The kind that could ruin powerful people. Important people. The kind who pay huge sums to keep their secrets buried." He tapped the lockbox nervously. "It’s perfect for blackmail, Finley. It has real proof. Proof against city council members, police officers, judges... even wealthy business leaders who’ve done worse things than anything in this junkyard. I have names, dates, recordings, bank records... everything. I’ve spent years carefully gathering it. I thought the safest place to hide it was deep inside your vault! This box..." he shook it slightly, "...is worth a fortune to the right criminal buyer. But if the wrong people – the people it exposes – find it? They’ll kill me and dump my body in the harbor! Help me sell it, Finley. Take your usual large share of the money. Just get me cash, quickly, and maybe arrange a secret boat ride out of town tonight!"

Finley rubbed the rough stubble on his chin, thinking hard. He saw the opportunity – information that could blackmail powerful people was definitely valuable. But this deal came with huge dangers. He’d be working with Deke Vance, who was clearly desperate and backed into a corner. On top of that, a dangerous man named Victor Ramos was actively trying to find Vance.

"What about my usual fee?" Finley finally asked, his voice cold and serious. He paused. "Listen, Vance. Because this job is so incredibly risky, my price just went way up. I get 70% of whatever we make. You get 30%. That’s the deal now."

"Seventy percent for you? Only thirty for me?!" Deke exploded, his face turning red with anger. "That’s completely unfair! It’s outrageous!"

"Think of it as extra pay for the risk," Finley replied flatly, not caring about Deke’s anger. "Your choice, accept it or walk away. But if you walk away, do it right now. This is my property, so I make the rules. No hanging around."

Before Deke could start arguing again, Ace heard something new. Ace had very sharp hearing, and over the usual clangs and hums of the scrapyard, he picked up a different sound. It was a deep, powerful growling noise – much lower and more threatening than the yard’s generators. It was engines. Lots of them. The sound was getting louder and closer. Ace whipped his head around to look down the road leading to the scrapyard’s main gate. Two huge, shiny black SUVs were racing down the dusty road towards the gate.

Their windows were dark, so you couldn’t see inside. They kicked up a massive cloud of dust behind them. They looked expensive, heavy, and extremely dangerous like they meant trouble. Ace knew instantly These were Ramos’s thugs.

Deke must have heard the sounds too. He whipped his head around, his face instantly losing all color, becoming deathly pale. His eyes widened with absolute terror. "They’re here!" he gasped, his voice cracking. "Finley, please! Do this for our past friendship! Hide me! Find a place to put me! Hide the box! I’ll give you forty percent of whatever it is! No, I’ll make it up to fifty percent.

Finley’s face turned cold and stubborn. He stepped back carefully towards his guards for safety. "It’s too late, Vance," he said firmly. "Way too late. You caused big problems for me. The deal is canceled. Get off my land right now." He gave a quick signal to his guards. The two large men didn’t point their guns straight at Deke, but they held them tighter and moved the barrels slightly towards him. The meaning was obvious: "Leave now, or we will make you leave."

Deke watched the large SUVs speeding towards the gate; they were almost there. He looked at the heavy lockbox he was gripping tightly in his hands, then back at Finley’s cold, unfriendly face and the guards showing no emotion. He was stuck. There was nowhere to run.

For a split second, fear froze him. He felt crushed by the hopelessness of his situation. Then, pure survival instinct kicked in.

He couldn’t run towards the gate where the SUVs were arriving. He couldn’t run back to his car either. Both ways were blocked by Ramos and his men.

Instead, Deke made a sudden, wild move. He spun around and ran into the messy, crowded scrapyard. He squeezed quickly between two enormous piles of flattened cars and disappeared into the dark pathways of bent metal – like a rat darting into a hole. He still held the lockbox tightly under his arm.

Finley watched him disappear, his expression unreadable. He barked orders to his guards, his voice sharp and clear even to Ace high above. "Lock it down! Seal the gates! No one gets in, no one gets out! And find that idiot Vance before Ramos’s boys tear my whole operation apart lookin’ for him!" The guards sprang into action, shouting commands into radios. Sirens began to wail within the scrapyard compound. The huge main gates started grinding slowly shut. The two black SUVs screeched to a halt just outside the closing gates. Men dressed in plain, dark clothes quickly got out. They moved with swift, practiced efficiency.

From the front SUV stepped Marcus. He was Ramos’s main enforcer – a man known for his quiet, brutal effectiveness. His cold eyes swept over the scrapyard, taking everything in.

Ace remained frozen on the precarious water tower platform. His heart hammered against his ribs like a frantic drum. He had the crucial information he’d risked everything for.

The System countdown pulsed relentlessly in the corner of Ace’s vision, a cold, blue reminder: 9 Days, 6 Hours, 25 Minutes. He had succeeded in finding Deke’s ultimate pressure point – the blackmail lockbox. But Deke himself was now cornered like a rat inside a fortress crawling with armed men loyal to Finley and surrounded by Ramos’s thugs demanding entry. Getting to Deke, or getting his hands on that box, seemed utterly impossible from this rusty perch.

A wave of frustration and fear washed over Ace. He was so close! He had the key to neutralizing Deke permanently within his grasp, figuratively speaking. But physically, he was trapped high above a deadly game of cat and mouse unfolding below. The penalty for failure – losing 20% of his strength and coordination forever felt like a physical chill spreading through his limbs. He wouldn’t just be weaker; he’d be slower, clumsier, less able to defend himself or escape danger. He’d be permanently diminished.

He scanned the chaotic scene below. Ramos’s men, led by the imposing Marcus, were arguing fiercely with Finley’s guards at the main gate, gesturing towards the yard where Deke had vanished. Finley himself stood near the office door, arms crossed, watching the standoff with a calculating expression. Meanwhile, Finley’s guards were spreading out into the junkyard. The junkyard was like a confusing maze made of huge piles of scrap metal. Even though it was daytime, the guards had their flashlights on. They were shining them into the dark, narrow gaps and shadows between the towering piles of metal junk. Guard dogs were barking loudly and pulling hard on their leashes, excited by the activity and probably trying to follow a scent.

Think, Ace! he urged himself. He couldn’t stay up here. He needed to get down, get inside that scrapyard, and find Deke or that box before Ramos’s men forced their way in or Finley’s guards found him. But how? Climbing down the ladder would take time and everyone would see him. Jumping was suicide. The gates were sealed.

Ace quickly scanned the edges of the scrapyard, then looked back towards Silva’s hidden truck. He started to think of a plan. It was risky and dangerous, needing Silva and Evelyn’s information. But doing nothing meant he would fail. And failing here would ruin him forever.

He took a deep breath of the oily, metal-smelling air. He wasn’t giving up. Things were now more dangerous than ever.

He knew he had to move immediately. Quietly and carefully, Ace began climbing down the old, rusty ladder. His thoughts were moving even faster than his hands. Time was running out and the battlefield below was about to erupt.