He reached the door of the trailer. The padlock was a solidlooking Yale with a

key entry instead of a combo. The metal clasp it was inserted through was

stainless steel and about a half inch thick.

 

It was designed, of course, so that all of the screw points on the two plates

were covered when the door was closed and the lock engaged. But the designers

had not counted on someone with Rogers’s strength. He gripped the clasp and

slowly pulled it and the support screws right out of the wood.

 

He quietly went inside the trailer and shone his light around. He saw the box

and hefted it in one hand.

 

He stepped outside of the trailer. “What do you think you’re doing?” Rogers

stopped. Next he heard the click of a gun hammer being drawn back.

 

Using his peripheral vision, he could see Donohue standing next to the side of

the trailer, gun in hand, a paper napkin stuck to the crotch of his pants. “You

can just put that down right now, asshole.” Rogers set the box down. Out of

sight of Donohue, he slipped the knife from its holder. “Good, now I can shoot

your ass and you won’t drop the box and damage that gun, dickhead.” Rogers

pivoted on one foot, swung his arm back and around, and slammed the knife into

Donohue. It went right through the center of the big man’s chest and stuck into

the wooden wall of the trailer, pinning him there like a moth to a corkboard.