The Faceless 5. The Silence in Death’s Wings

The ricketing had grown louder and, even in these badly lit streets, Ricard was sure he was not hitting that many potholes or stones. Maybe some of the cargo was loose and adding to the noise? Or maybe the truck was even more of a piece of crap than he originally took it for.

‘It sure sounds like typical Marticiano miserliness,’ Ricard could not help feel a wave of amused resentment at the thought of this band of rather shitty crooks and their delusions of grandeur. ‘They are about to make a big score; quite possibly the biggest they will ever be able to pull off… and the bastards get stingy on a set of wheels!”

Whatever, he stopped mumbling to himself and dismissed his misgivings. If anything breaks or becomes unusable back there, it is not my fault. I’m sure their hidden spotters will attest I was not speeding.

Something bumped against the truck’s wall on the right side. A quick glance through the side-view mirror revealed nothing on that side. ‘Damned brats!’ Ricard Llorent kept both of his hands on the wheel and grimaced. ‘You’re not supposed to be out at this hour.’

He really wanted them to be naughty, bored children throwing stones to spook drivers. He prefered vandalism to the other option. Either way, he was not stopping. Not now that he was so close to the drop point and the two duffel bags full of money.

Ves a la merda,’ Ricard swallowed hard and stepped on the gas to make the truck go a little faster. ‘I’m not stopping to see what that was. Not until I’m at the warehouse, so... que et fotin, cabróns.’

Finally, he managed to drive the truck clear of an alley that was too narrow and turned around the corner to see the lone warehouse at the far end of a wider cul-de-sac. He flashed the truck’s light once, as instructed and received two back in response. It came from a place somewhere in the distance that he could not exactly pinpoint. Still, he was sure it was a point farther away than he had imagined. Then his eyes went to the warehouse and he spotted them; two duffels bags on the floor near a motorcycle with a sidecar parked in front of the old sliding doors in the dilapidated warehouse.

‘Cabróns!’ Ricard lost his temper and hit the steering whee