No. 220

“What do you want me to do? Chew through it?”

“Have you got any better ideas?”

“No,” admitted Pete Conway as he examined the heavy steel door.

“So your plan was to show up, and then figure out a way past?” questioned Harvey Yearling.

“We didn’t have a lot of time beforehand, did we?” Pete tossed back.

“Nope.”

Conway spat on the ground, his mind racing, trying to work his way around the problem. He traced the outline of the door with his finger. “I think—.”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Yearling shoved him aside and then walked out through the rainy parking lot to the car.

Pete’s phone rang and he answered it.

It was Harvey from inside the vehicle. “I’m waiting here, where it’s warm, until you sort this out. It’s your problem, anyway, not mine.”

He hung up abruptly.

Conway sighed and cracked his knuckles. It was going to be a long night. If he didn’t get through that door, it was going to be a very long week.