Chapter 12 - Vault of the Iron Heads
The heavy leather-bound notebook sailed through the air like a brick, clearing the top of the chain-link fence with inches to spare before disappearing into the overgrown weeds of the municipal impound lot next door.
Marcus cursed loudly, abandoning his smooth composure as he lunged toward the fence, grabbing the wire mesh with both hands and shaking it violently. "You stupid little bitch!" he roared, his voice losing its calm veneer.
Jack didn't hesitate. He grabbed Vance and Bo by the shoulders, shouting over the commotion. "Move! Through the gate! Now!"
They bolted toward the side alley leading around to the impound lot’s main entrance, leaving the sheriff and Marcus behind in the dim amber light. Sheriff Miller raised his shotgun, opening his mouth to yell a command, but he lowered the barrel slowly, realizing the situation had completely spiraled out of his control.
They reached the rusted chain-link gate of the impound lot just as Marcus rounded the corner fifty yards behind them, sprinting with terrifying speed. Bo threw his entire weight against the rusted padlock chain, snapping the links with a brutal wrench of his thick arms. The gate swung wide open with a metallic shriek.
"In! Go, go, go!" Jack urged, shoving Maeve through the gap before slipping inside himself.
Vance kicked the gate shut behind them, throwing a heavy emergency chain around the posts and jamming a wrench through the links to lock it temporarily. They scrambled through rows of abandoned, crushed automobiles, their boots crunching on broken glass and rusted car parts under the pale moonlight.
Maeve scanned the overgrown weeds desperately, searching for the dark leather cover of her father’s journal. "There! By the crushed squad car!" she cried, pointing toward a tangle of thorny brambles.
She ran forward and dropped to her knees, reaching deep into the briars. Her fingers brushed against the familiar scuffed cowhide. She pulled the notebook free, clutching it tightly to her chest, just as the sound of heavy metal shearing echoed behind them.
Marcus had brought a set of heavy-duty hydraulic cutters from his car. He snapped the chain-link gate wide open in seconds, stepping into the impound lot with his hunting knife gleaming in the pale moonlight.
"You can run through a junkyard all night, kid," Marcus's voice echoed through the labyrinth of rusted metal, carrying an eerie, mocking cadence. "But this whole property belongs to the county. And the county answers to me."
Jack pulled a heavy steel pipe from the bumper of an old abandoned pickup truck. He planted his feet firmly in the gravel, gesturing for Bo and Vance to flank him on either side.
"We make our stand right here," Jack said quietly, his eyes fixed on the shadows approaching between the rows of dead cars. "We finish what Arthur started."
Maeve clutched the journal to her chest, her eyes widening as she noticed something strange half-buried beneath the very squad car she had just crouched beside. The vehicle's floorboard had rusted completely away, revealing a hidden compartment welded directly into the chassis.
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She shone her phone flashlight into the dark cavity. Inside sat a heavy, military-grade metal lockbox, stamped with the exact insignia of the Iron Heads motorcycle club.
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