Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

Dallas steps past Alder March’s body and into the service spine. Damp concrete presses close, and the scraping ahead is getting louder, ugly with metal-on-metal urgency.

The corridor bends to a second hatch half torn from its frame. A fresh smear of blood marks the wall beside it, and chalk arrows point toward the wedding foundation below.

Dallas closes the distance. The hatch rattles once, then stops, like someone inside has heard him coming and is deciding whether to run or shoot.

A knife of silence follows. Murderbone plants himself near Dallas’s boot, low and ready, while the hatch seam leaks a thin line of tunnel light.

Dallas lowers the muzzle just enough to show the card between two fingers. March’s body stays where it is, but the ledger weight of him changes the air.

The hatch seam goes still. The scraping stops. For one long second, only the wet hum of the tunnel and Murderbone’s breathing fill the gap.

Dallas angles the card toward the crack. Rourke’s hand appears first, then his face in the slit, sweat-dark and wide-eyed, drawn by greed and fear in equal measure.

The hatch shifts inward. Rourke eases it open a handspan, enough to expose his shoulder and the glint of a tool in his grip. He is coming out, but he is not surrendering cleanly.

Dallas lets the silence stretch, card still pinched in view. The tunnel breathes damp and cold behind March’s body.

Rourke’s shoulders shift. The hatch opens wider, scraping concrete, and his tool hand comes out first.

He edges up to the threshold, greedy eyes on the bank card, while Murderbone stays coiled at Dallas’s heel.

Rourke swallows, then extends one hand for the card, the other still braced on the opening. Dallas has him at the lip of the hatch, but the way out is not surrendered yet.

Dallas flicks the fake ID low and flat. It skims the damp concrete where the card should land. Rourke’s eyes drop for half a beat.

His cutter hand loosens. The tool clatters free, and Murderbone snaps forward with a low growl, sealing the space before Rourke can recover.

Dallas keeps the revolver low, but his other hand is already on the hatch edge. Rourke’s bluff is broken, and the tunnel behind him exhales cold air over the chalk arrows.

Rourke freezes at the lip of the hatch, empty-handed, glaring at the ID he bent to read too late. Dallas is at the threshold now, with the way behind Rourke still open and the scrape deeper in the tunnel drawing closer.

Dallas fires once. Rourke jerks backward, the cutter forgotten, and drops hard against the hatch rim. Blood darkens the concrete under the chalk arrows.

Murderbone surges over the gap, chest low, blocking the opening as the tunnel exhales that same cold scrape from deeper in.

Dallas steps past the body without looking down, revolver still steady, and takes the hatch lip in one smooth move.

A greasy draft rises through the open hatch, carrying damp concrete, stale dust, and the sharp metallic stink of disturbed wiring.

At the bottom, a narrow service run opens into darkness, chalk arrows leading farther in, and a second bundle of wire glints beside a kicked-open panel.

Murderbone keeps pace at Dallas's heel, ears locked forward, while the tunnel answers with one more slow scrape from the black ahead.

Dallas drops into the service run, revolver leveled, and the darkness gives way to a low concrete passage lined with chalk arrows. His boots land beside a second hatch frame, its bolts half-stripped and its edge smeared with fresh grime.

The scraping stops. Ahead, a thin rectangle of light leaks through cracked boards around a door panel, and a torn service tag hangs from a pipe, spinning once in the draft.

Murderbone stays at the opening above, watching the rear while Dallas advances alone into the narrow run. The tunnel floor shows dragged scuffs leading straight to the lit panel.

Dallas reaches the second hatch threshold and finds it already ajar, propped with a bent wedge of metal. Inside, a hand-held work lamp throws hard shadows over coiled wire and a boot print in wet dust.

A man inside sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of Dallas, then freezes behind the lamp. He is not hidden anymore.