Crystal stood stock-still, his piercing gaze fixed intently on Daniel's receding figure. His rugged features, etched by the morning sun, remained impassive as he watched Daniel disappear into the distance. The worn denim of his jeans seemed to fade into the dusty backdrop as he stood there, his broad shoulders squared and unyielding.
As the last glimpse of Daniel vanished from view, Crystal's chest rose and fell with a deep, measured breath. His calloused hands hung loose at his sides, and for an instant, his eyes seemed to cloud over, as if the weight of his thoughts threatened to overwhelm him.
With a quiet resolve, Crystal turned to face the junkyard, its sprawling expanse of twisted metal and rusting hulks stretching out before him like a barren, industrial landscape. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of decay and neglect, and Crystal's jaw set in a firm line as he steeled himself for what lay ahead.
Derry is the proprietor of the only functioning junkyard in town, a distinction that kept him perpetually busy.
The junkyard had been a family legacy, passed down from his late father, who had inherited it from his own father. Roots ran deep in Hudson Valley, and Derry's family was as much a part of the landscape as the river that flowed through it.
In Nyack, where everyone knew everyone - or so the local saying went - Derry's face was as familiar as the streets themselves. His junkyard was a fixture, a place where locals brought their battered cars and discarded appliances to be salvaged or scrapped. And Derry, with his quick smile and easy manner, was always there to greet them, a fixture as much as the junkyard itself.
Crystal's eyes clouded over as he stood before the junkyard, his mind wrestling with the weight of his decision. Derry had been a loyal friend, a lifeline during the toughest of times. He had come through for Crystal and Daniel time and again, offering a helping hand or a sympathetic ear. And now, Crystal was about to repay that kindness with betrayal.
The thought twisted in his gut like a knife.
"If I had any other means to get it, I wouldn't do this," he muttered to himself, a feeble attempt to justify his actions. But the words rang hollow, and he knew it.
Crystal stood there for a long, tense moment, frozen by indecision. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to rob his friend?
With a quiet resolve, he took a deep breath and slipped on the ski mask, the fabric stretching taut over his face. The world seemed to narrow to a single point, and Crystal steeled himself for what was to come.
The junkyard sprawled across several acres, a vast expanse of twisted metal and rusting hulks. Cars of every make and model were packed tightly together, their doors dented, their windshields shattered. Two car compactors, their hydraulic arms rising and falling with a deafening screech, worked in tandem, crushing the discarded vehicles into tiny cubes of scrap metal.
Despite its size, the junkyard was a one-man operation, with Derry at its helm. He was a fixture, a constant presence amidst the chaos of twisted metal and rusting machinery. And yet, despite his humble surroundings, Derry was a man of means. He wasn't wealthy in the classical sense, with mansions and yachts, but he had a steady stream of income, a veritable goldmine of scrap metal and salvage.
Crystal's eyes narrowed as he gazed out at the junkyard, his mind working overtime. Derry might not be a millionaire, but he was stacked, with a small fortune hidden away in his ramshackle office. And Crystal was ready to relieve him of some of that burden.
Crystal slipped around to the back of the junkyard, his eyes scanning the fence line.
Yesterday, he and Derry had worked together to patch up a hole in the weathered metal, but Crystal knew the repair was still vulnerable. With a swift kick, he crushed the weakened section, the metal buckling beneath his boot. The sound echoed through the stillness, a harsh clang that seemed to hang in the air.
Crystal navigated through the crowded junkyard, weaving between two battered sedans as he made his way towards a black van sitting alone at the back. The van's tinted windows seemed to absorb the sunlight, giving it an air of secrecy. Crystal's heart quickened as he reached the driver's side door and pulled it open. He leaned in, his hands moving swiftly and surely as he popped open the dashboard.
A small compartment within the dash yielded its secret: a pistol, nestled in a bed of worn velvet. Crystal's fingers closed around the grip, a sense of reassurance washing over him. He had purchased the gun from a pawn shop two months ago, hiding it in the junkyard when he came over to help Derry patch the fence. Now, his gut was telling him to take the pistol, to be prepared for anything.
Crystal's eyes locked onto the pistol in his hands, a Glock 17 with a worn finish. He turned it over, his fingers tracing the familiar contours. A quick check of the cartridge revealed that it was still fully loaded, the bullets nestled snugly in their chamber.
Satisfied, Crystal carefully tucked the pistol into the waistband of his jeans, the cold metal pressing against his skin. He adjusted his clothing to conceal the gun, his movements practiced and deliberate.
Crystal moved stealthily through the junkyard, using the van as cover as he made his way towards the back of Derry's office. He kept a sharp ear out for the car compactors, hoping they would roar to life and provide a noise shield for his approach. The compactors' cacophony would be the perfect cover for his movements, allowing him to slip unnoticed into Derry's office.
Crystal's heart quickened with anticipation as he crept closer, his eyes fixed on the office door.
The car compactors sprang to life, their deafening roar echoing through the junkyard. Crystal seized the opportunity, darting behind a towering stack of scrap metal. He held his breath, his eyes scanning the route ahead.
A shadow emerged from the gloom, its owner walking purposefully along the path Crystal had been following. Crystal froze, his muscles tensed, as the shadow drew closer. But just a few steps away, the figure suddenly veered off course, disappearing from view.
A jaunty whistling tune floated through the air, and Crystal's tension eased. The shadow, he realized, belonged to Derry, and he had just left the office. Crystal waited a few more seconds, his ears straining to pinpoint Derry's location.
Satisfied that the coast was clear, Crystal crept forward, his eyes locked on the office's back door. He climbed the creaky stairs, his footsteps masked by the compactors' din. With a swift, practiced motion, he picked the lock, the mechanism yielding to his skilled touch.
The final twist of the wire elicited a soft clicking sound, signaling that the lock had yielded to Crystal's skilled manipulation. He pushed the door open slowly, wincing slightly as the hinges creaked in protest. Crystal froze, his ears straining to detect any response to the sound, but the only reply was the continued roar of the car compactors outside.
Satisfied that he remained undetected, Crystal slipped inside, shutting the door behind him with equal care.
"We're in," he whispered to himself, a thrill of excitement coursing through his veins.
As he stood there, his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light within the office. The space was surprisingly well-appointed, considering its location in the midst of a junkyard. A battered desk dominated the room, its surface cluttered with papers, invoices, and scattered tools. Filing cabinets lined one wall, their drawers labeled in Derry's haphazard scrawl. Crystal's gaze roved over the space, his mind racing with the possibilities.
The office was surprisingly spacious, its expansive floor plan a stark contrast to the cramped, cluttered surroundings of the junkyard. The decor was minimalist, with bare walls and a lack of personal touches. A laptop sat atop a cluttered desk, surrounded by piles of documents, invoices, and scattered papers. A black armchair stood sentinel in front of the desk, its leather upholstery worn and cracked.
At the opposite end of the room, a black sofa seemed to beckon, its plush cushions inviting. Crystal's gaze lingered on the sofa, memories flooding back. He had slept on that sofa occasionally, seeking refuge from the world outside. It was, he recalled, the most comfortable place he had ever slept – a strange irony, given the junkyard's rough-and-tumble surroundings.
Crystal moved swiftly and purposefully, his eyes locked on the spot where he knew the safe was hidden. Derry had thought he was being clever, concealing the safe behind a child's artwork, but Crystal had discovered the secret months ago. The painting, a colorful mess of crayon marks and finger-painted smudges, had been created by Derry's 6-year-old daughter for his birthday. Crystal remembered the day vividly – the laughter, the cake, the proud smile on Derry's face as he hugged his little girl.
With a gentle touch, Crystal lifted the painting off the wall, revealing the safe behind it. He placed the artwork on the floor, careful not to damage it, and turned his attention to the safe. His fingers moved with confidence as he entered the combination: "44645." He repeated the numbers under his breath, his eyes fixed on the keypad. The safe's electronic lock beeped softly as he entered the final digit, and Crystal felt a surge of satisfaction. He had been certain of the code, and now, with a soft click, the safe swung open.
Crystal's eyes widened as he gazed into the safe, his heart racing with excitement. The treasure he had come to collect lay before him, a staggering pile of cash that seemed to glow in the dim light. Bundles of crisp, new bills were stacked haphazardly, filling the safe to capacity. It was a small fortune, far too much money to be kept in a junkyard.
Without hesitation, Crystal opened the bag he had brought and began filling it with the cash. His movements were swift and efficient, his mind focused solely on the task at hand. He was so engrossed in his work that he failed to notice the office door swinging open.
"Hold it right there!" a voice barked, the sound echoing through the room like a crack of thunder.
Crystal's head jerked up, his eyes locking onto the figure standing in the doorway. Derry's face was twisted in a mixture of shock and anger, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. In his hands, he grasped a shotgun, its barrel trained squarely on Crystal's chest.
For a moment, the two men froze, locked in a silent standoff. Derry's eyes narrowed, his finger tightening on the trigger. Crystal, still clutching the bag of cash, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his mind racing with the realization that he had been caught.
"Your hands where I can see them," Derry growled, his voice low and menacing. He cocked the shotgun, the sound echoing through the room like a death knell.
Crystal stood frozen, his mind racing with the weight of his predicament. He knew he had to act, but his hands seemed rooted to his sides. He could feel the gun nestled in his jeans, a tempting but unthinkable option. He couldn't bring himself to point a gun at Derry's face, despite the shotgun trained on him.
For what felt like an eternity, Crystal hesitated, his eyes locked on Derry's. He could see the fear and anger warring for dominance in his friend's eyes, and his heart went out to him.
How did it come to this?.
"Your hands behind your head!" Derry barked, the shotgun still trained on Crystal.
Crystal slowly complied, his movements deliberate and calculated. He placed his hands behind his head, his fingers intertwining as he awaited the next command.
"On your knees!" Derry growled, his eyes blazing with a mix of fear and adrenaline.
Crystal sank to his knees, his hands still clasped behind his head. His mind racing, he searched for a way out of the precarious situation. He knew he couldn't stay there for long, not with Derry's finger hovering over the trigger.
Derry cautiously approached Crystal, the shotgun still trained on him. He reached out slowly, his hand closing around Crystal's arm like a vice. As he reached for the second arm, Crystal saw his chance.
In a lightning-fast move, Crystal grasped Derry's arm, using his momentum to propel him backward. Derry stumbled, his feet tangling beneath him, and he fell onto the sofa behind him.
But Derry's fall was awkward, and his back hit the sofa with a thud. The impact caused his finger to convulse on the trigger, and the shotgun discharged with a deafening roar. The bullet whizzed past Crystal's ear, missing him by mere inches.
Crystal launched himself at Derry, sending them both crashing to the floor in a tangled heap. The shotgun, still clutched in Derry's hands, was now the focal point of their desperate struggle.
Crystal's hands closed around the barrel, his fingers locking onto the metal as he tried to pry the gun from Derry's grasp. But Derry, fueled by adrenaline and a fierce determination to protect himself, refused to let go.
The two men wrestled, their bodies twisting and turning as they fought for control of the shotgun. Derry's face was contorted in a mixture of fear and rage, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. He had no idea that the person he was fighting was his friend, and his only thought was to stop the intruder at all costs.
Crystal, on the other hand, was torn between his desire to disarm Derry and his fear of hurting his friend. He knew he had to end the struggle quickly, before someone got seriously injured. But as he looked into Derry's eyes, he saw only a fierce determination, and his heart sank.
Crystal's fist connected with Derry's face, sending him crashing to the ground for the third time. Derry's head spun from the impact, his vision blurring as he struggled to regain his balance. He stumbled, his hands grasping wildly for support.
In his daze, Derry's eyes landed on a glint of metal on the floor - a knife, partially hidden beneath the couch. With a surge of adrenaline, he seized the knife and charged at Crystal, stabbing him in the stomach with a fierce cry.
Crystal's groan of pain was followed by a swift and brutal reaction. He launched himself at Derry, their foreheads colliding in a sickening crunch. Derry's nose shattered beneath the impact, sending him tumbling to the ground for the fourth time.
As Derry lay there, his face a mask of blood and pain, Crystal stumbled backward, clutching his wounded stomach. His eyes locked onto Derry's, a mix of shock, pain, and regret etched on his face.
Crystal's gaze fell upon the knife, and his mind flashed back to the moment he had removed it from the bag, placing it on the desk to make room for the cash. It must have fallen during their scuffle. A bitter irony, that Derry had used his own knife against him.
Crystal's hands pressed against his stomach, trying to stem the flow of blood. It was a slow trickle, but he could feel his strength ebbing away, his vision beginning to blur. He knew he was losing blood, and if he didn't get help soon, he might not survive.
Derry, sensing his chance, rushed to grab the shotgun. He cocked it, took aim, and fired. The bullet whizzed past Crystal's ear, missing him once again.
But Crystal didn't miss. With a swift, precise motion, he drew his gun and fired, his aim true.
Crystal's eyes widened in horror as he realized what he had done. Derry's body slumped to the ground, blood gushing from the wound in his throat.
"No!" Crystal cried out, his voice filled with anguish.
He ripped off his mask, revealing his face, and rushed to Derry's side. He gently lifted his friend into his arms, cradling him like a child.
"Come on, Derry!" he pleaded, his voice shaking with emotion.
"Come on, Derry, it's me, Christian! Hang in there, buddy!"
Crystal's eyes locked onto Derry's, searching for any sign of recognition, any glimmer of life. But Derry's eyes were glazing over, his face pale and slack. Crystal's heart was racing, his mind screaming for him to do something, anything, to save his friend.
"I'm sorry," Crystal whispered, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face. "I'm really, really sorry," he sobbed, his body shaking with grief.
Derry's eyes locked onto Crystal's, and he tried to speak, but the words were lost in a gurgle of blood. His mouth and throat were filling with the crimson liquid, choking off his airway. Crystal could see the desperation in his eyes, the struggle to breathe, to speak.
As the life drained from Derry's body, Crystal felt his own heart shattering into a million pieces. He held his friend closer, rocking him back and forth as if trying to comfort a child.
"Stay with me, Derry," Crystal begged, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Stay with me!" He shook Derry gently, as if trying to rouse him from a deep sleep. "Derry!" he cried out, his voice echoing off the walls. "Derry!"