Free House Reckoning by Mike Lawson

for years. There were aisles between the crates wide enough for a forklift and the center aisle going back to the office was the widest aisle, wide enough for a semi with a flatbed trailer.
    The warehouse had one other feature that Gino had considered when he was planning the job. There was a big steel I-beam that spanned the width of the warehouse and attached to the I-beam was a chain fall—a hand-operated, electric crane—that was used to pick up heavy items and load them onto trucks. The I-beam had wheels on it that ran in rails so the I-beam could be moved back and forth along the length of the warehouse and the chain fall could be moved back and forth across the I-beam. A catwalk ran around the perimeter of the warehouse at the same height as the I-beam. The catwalk was needed to be able to get at the chain fall—to grease it, and perform any other maintenance required—and the catwalk also had a lot of crap stored on it: coils of rope and tarps and cargo nets the warehouse guys didn’t use very often.
    Gino had thought about lying down on the catwalk, under a tarp, and when Quinn walked down the aisle, he’d shoot him from there, figuring Quinn would have no reason to look up. He finally rejected that idea since he’d be shooting downward at a moving target—a tough shot for any shooter—and he’d be at least thirty feet away from Quinn when he pulled the trigger.
    He finally decided to hide behind some black fifty-five-gallon drums. There were four drums per pallet, and three pallets stacked on top of each other. If Gino stood behind the barrels, Quinn wouldn’t be able to see him as he walked down the center aisle, and when Quinn passed him, Gino would step out and shoot him in the back.
    Shooting Quinn in the back didn’t bother Gino. This wasn’t a duel or some fast-draw gunfight in a western movie. This was a murder, plain and simple, and DeMarco wasn’t going to take any chances. He’d give Quinn as much of a chance as Quinn had given Jerry Kennedy.
    Now, with all the lights on in the warehouse, he needed to reevaluate his hiding place. He figured it would still be okay—that Quinn wouldn’t be able to see him standing behind the barrels until he walked past him, and by then it would be too late. If he felt too exposed with all the lights on, however, then he’d just forget about killing Quinn tonight and come up with a different plan.
    Gino started down the center aisle toward the office to evaluate his hiding place. He was about halfway there when he heard a noise behind him, a shoe scraping the concrete floor of the warehouse. He spun around, pulling his gun out of his holster as he did.
    There was a man standing there—he must have been crouched down behind a pallet stacked with bags of coffee. Gino had smelled the coffee as he walked past the pallet. The man was dressed just like Gino—work boots, jeans, and a hard hat so he, too, would blend in with the longshoremen on the pier. With all the lights on in the warehouse, DeMarco could see the man’s face. It was Quinn, the cop who had killed Jerry Kennedy.
    Everything that happened next happened in just a few seconds—but it was enough time for DeMarco to think: Carmine set me up.
    The cop had been planning to shoot him in the back, but when Gino spun around at the sound of a shoe scraping the floor, the cop’s first bullet missed him. The cop’s second shot didn’t. The second bullet hit Gino in the chest. Gino fired back immediately and saw the cop stagger.
    Gino was going to shoot the cop again—but he couldn’t.. The cop’s second shot had hit something vital, and Gino’s vision was already blurring and his finger didn’t have the strength to pull the trigger. He knew he was dying.
    The cop fired two more times as Gino stood there, both bullets again hitting him in the chest. Gino felt himself falling. He never felt himself hit the floor. As he was falling, he thought: Oh, God, Maureen, I’m sorry.
    Quinn looked down at