Chapter 5 - The Thorn in the Dark
Inside the dark, shadowed corner of the greenhouse, Maggie kept her hand pressed firmly over Vincent’s bleeding side while Marco quietly checked his sidearm.
“I have four rounds left,” Marco whispered, his voice dark. “They have rifles.”
Vincent pulled a small, concealed silver pistol from his ankle holster, pressing it into Maggie’s hands. His grip was weak, but his eyes were blazing with fierce, protective fury.
“Take this,” Vincent whispered weakly. “When Marco opens fire... you run through the back service door.”
“I’m not leaving you, Vincent,” Maggie whispered back, her voice fiercely stubborn.
“Maggie, listen to me—”
“No!” Maggie hissed. “You don't get to die in a greenhouse! You have terrible taste in wild orchids, and your mother will blame me!”
She looked around the shadow-drenched structure. The old greenhouse was filled with heavy hanging metal racks, rusty iron pipes, and ancient industrial water valves that hadn't been touched in decades.
Maggie’s eyes settled on a massive, overhead main water pipe hanging directly above the central walkway where Jimmy and his three men were advancing. The main pressure valve was located right next to her planter wall.
She knew this plumbing system—her father had worked on similar greenhouse irrigation setups thirty years ago.
“Marco,” Maggie whispered, pointing to the rusty iron wheel valve on the wall. “If I turn this valve, the pressure from the main municipal line will blow the fractured rust joints over their heads. When the water hits, shoot the lights.”
Marco looked at her, a crazy, respect-filled grin breaking across his bloody face. “You’re terrifying, Miss Sullivan.”
“I’m a florist,” she corrected.
Maggie grabbed the heavy iron wheel valve, using all her strength to twist it counter-clockwise. The rusted iron groaned, screeching loud enough to echo across the room.
“Over there!” Jimmy shouted, pointing his rifle toward their corner. “Kill them!”
CREEEAAAK—BOOM!
The ancient overhead pipe exploded under massive hydraulic pressure. Thousands of gallons of freezing, high-pressure water and rusted iron shrapnel rained down on Jimmy’s men, blinding them, knocking two of them off their feet.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Marco stood up from behind the planter, firing four precise shots into the dark. Two of Jimmy’s mercenaries dropped instantly.
Jimmy scrambled backward through the torrent of water, coughing, wiping blood and rust from his eyes, reaching for his dropped rifle.
Before he could touch it, Maggie stepped out from the shadows, holding Vincent’s heavy silver pistol with both hands, aiming it straight at Jimmy’s head.
Jimmy froze, staring up at the woman standing in the rain and water, her canvas jacket soaked, her eyes burning like fiery amber.
“Who the hell are you?” Jimmy gasped.
“Maggie Sullivan,” she said, her voice cutting through the sound of rushing water like a steel blade. “And you’re trespassing on my greenhouse.”
Vincent stumbled out from behind the planter, supported by Marco. He stepped beside Maggie, reaching out to place his hand over hers on the gun frame.
Jimmy looked at Vincent, then at the blood on the floor, then at the dead mercenaries around him. He realized his play was over.
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“It’s over, Jimmy,” Vincent said softly, his voice cold enough to freeze the water on the floor. “Marco, call the precinct. Tell them we found the men responsible for the dock hijacking.”
Jimmy fell back against the concrete, defeated, as the distant sound of police sirens began to echo through the rain-soaked night.
