“Well, you wanted to understand what I do,” his expression changed to a more serious one, “so you must do one thing for me.”
“Okay.” I was hungry for it. I needed that big break to get any chance to write for a bigger paper. I wanted more creative control and to be taken more seriously.
“Wait here, and I’ll be right back.”
“Pardon?” I glanced around, unsure.
“There are cameras everywhere. I promise you’re safe.” He laughed. “Let me grab the keys and the files, and I will show you something that will interest you in the back of the property.” He raced up the stairs and disappeared inside.
“And why couldn’t I come up?” I muttered and tried to push back the fact that he often put himself first.
I folded my arms, feeling exposed and nervous. I closed my eyes and tried to settle my nerves. I knew he had read my story, and I was a little hurt he left me there alone, but I knew there were probably things that were not for my eyes.
“Please!” I thought I heard a young voice yell from behind a huge container. “Help me.”
I whirled around while goosebumps raced up my arms and around my neck.
“Help!” I heard again.
I glanced up to where Mariano had gone, but the place was pitch black.
In a full-out sprint, I raced across the dockyard, my street instincts kicking in, and tried to follow those cries. The containers were like a maze, and every way I turned I found myself getting more and more lost. My sense of direction was off as I strained to hear that voice again. I found myself at the stairs that led up to the office again and whirled around in a panic. A dockyard was no place for a young person.
“Mariano!” I called up toward the window, but he must not have been able to hear me. A strange noise like a power surge being turned off made it through my wild heartbeat. What was that?
“Where are you?” I called, straining to hear over the wind.
I heard a sound again and ran to look once again behind a container. I froze. A young man was on his knees, elbows out, his hands clasped behind his neck.
“Please,” he sobbed, shaking his head as he looked up at someone holding a gun at his head, “you don’t have to do this.”
I took a step forward, terrified but unsure what to do as the man with the gun looked directly at me then turned back and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The sound vibrated through my chest, and time stood still as I slowly absorbed what I had just witnessed.
I tried to comprehend that a man now lay dead a short distance away from me. My numb hands grabbed for the container to hold myself up as the killer continued to stare directly at me. Then, like a shadow in the night, he slowly faded away between the containers.
“Sienna?” Mariano suddenly was there. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back. I nearly lost my footing as he swung me around the corner of the container. He gave me a shake as though it would help me jolt back to life. “What did you see?”
“That man, someone shot him.” I started to panic and as he pulled me in tight to his body.
“I should never have left you alone.”
“We need to call the police.” My brain started to work again. “The killer was tall, taller than me, but-but…his face was slim, and he wasn’t wearing a mask. I got a good look.”
“Sienna,” he stopped me, “no police.”
“Why?” What did he mean?
“Because,” he awkwardly dried my tears with the palms of his hands, “you don’t call the police on these guys!”
“Why?”
“Because,” he looked over his shoulder, “they’re the mafia.”