Chapter 8 - The Envelope And The Alley
My breath caught in my throat as Costlow's fingers brushed against the rigid spine hidden inside his jacket lining. He pulled out a small, heavy leather-bound ledger, its spine split and stained with dried condensation from the night we left. Slipping his thumb under the worn leather flap, he peeled back a strip of duct tape to reveal a tiny, matte-black USB drive tucked securely into the fold.
"This is what they're hunting for," Costlow whispered, his voice tight. "Every offshore account, every bribe ledger, every name on the payroll from here to the capital. My uncle didn't just want me out of the way; he needed the books back before the federal grand jury subpoenas dropped next Monday."
Miller's eyes bulged as he stared at the little plastic drive. "Jesus Christ, Leo. If Marcus finds out you still have that, he won't just kill you—he'll take apart everyone who ever shook your hand." Miller shoved the manila envelope into Costlow's chest. "Here. Two fake driver's licenses, four hundred dollars in cash, and the keys to a rusted-out Ford station wagon parked three blocks down on Elm Street. Get out of the state. Don't call me again. Ever."
Before Costlow could answer, the sharp, distinct sound of a car door slamming echoed from the mouth of the alley. Twin beams of white headlights cut through the gloom, sweeping across the brick wall of the parish hall.
"They're here," Miller choked out, panic seizing his face. Without another word, he spun around, tripped over a low concrete curb, scrambled to his feet, and bolted into the darkness between the church and the rectory.
"Run," Costlow grabbed my wrist, his grip iron-tight but steady.
We didn't head toward Elm Street; the headlights were blocking that path. Instead, we dove into the narrow space between the dumpster and the church wall, our footsteps crunching quietly on gravel. Behind us, heavy boots hit the pavement, shouting back and forth in harsh, clipped tones. I pressed my back against the cold brick, my heart hammering so loudly I was certain the men in the alley could hear it echoing off the walls.
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Costlow pulled me further into the recess of a recessed cellar door, shielding my body with his own. He raised his right hand, holding the heavy folding knife open against his thigh, his eyes locked on the corner of the brick wall where a silhouette was beginning to emerge.
"Stay behind me," he mouthed silently, his chest rising and falling in shallow, controlled breaths.
