Columbus (22 page)

Maybe I should try to placate him, reassure him about his sister. Maybe I should voice my concerns, let him know about the fear I saw gripping her back in Paris. Maybe I should say a lot of things, but I can’t seem to muster the energy.

“All right, then, three days.”

“I’ll be here.”

The circle in Siena contains a single tower that sticks up from its center like a middle finger. I stand at the top of it, staring out over the town and the neighboring Tuscan countryside. I feel at once both exposed and safe, a paradox that is somehow comforting. This is the place I reside, straddling the line between vulnerability and security. It is the world I have lived in for as long as I can remember. If my fate is to spend the rest of my life hunted, I won’t do it in the shadows: I’ll stand at the top of the tower and dare the bastards to come.

And I’ll do it alone.

The wind picks up and chases gray clouds across a gray sky. The horizon seems close and blurred at the edges, claustrophobic. Only a smattering of pedestrians are on the sidewalks below, grouped in twos and threes. The wind provides the only sound, a low whistle like a dirge.

More than anything, the aftermath of this mission has made one truth clear: the next time I see Risina will have to be the last. She deserves better than me, better than what I can give her.

A knock at the door and Archibald enters, flashing his broadest smile, though this one’s not part of his act. He’s genuinely happy with himself.

“What’d I tell you, Columbus?”

“What’d you tell me?”

“I said to let me take care of it. So I took care of it.”

“Come on. Get to it.”

“All right, all right. Here’s the straight word. The killer I told ya ’bout what calls himself Svoboda? He’s still after you, and he’s not gonna stop till he’s dead or you’re dead.”

That sounds like nothing to smile about, but before I can say anything, Archibald keeps going. “Something to do with the kill fee being promised already and no one wanting to deal with the ramifications of canceling on the motherfucker. But . . . and here’s the big but . . . come to find out a lot of people are glad Cole-Frett is ten toes up and six feet under.

“Power vacuums don’t take long to fill, no matter what language you speak. The name you gave me, the one who was loyal to him? Feller?”

Archibald draws his finger across his throat. “Dead. Found bobbing up and down in the river they got there with his wrists cut and bled out. Authorities called it a suicide, but you and I know better than that. These boys want to wipe their hands clean of all things Cole-Frett. They sure don’t want to pay no more kill fees. As far as they’re concerned, you did them a favor. What’s done is done and bygones be bygones and let’s sweep it all under the rug. They got enough to deal with concerning the dead cop. If Svoboda winds up plugged, more power to ya is the message they gave me.”

I nod, digesting the information. “So then Svoboda and that’s it?”

“You get him before he gets you, slate’s clean.”

“So let’s get him.”

“How you want to handle it?”

“Turn the boat around and meet him head-on.”

Archibald smirks and points his finger at me. “I like the way you think.”

“You gotta dig deep, Archibald. I want the file to end all files on this guy. I want to know anything and everything about him.”

“Ain’t gonna be a walk in the park. I’m pretty good in the States, but over here’s like walkin’ around with my hands tied behind my back.”

“Do whatever you can, and do it quickly.”

“All right, Columbus. Where you want me to be?”

I say it without thinking. “Rome. Piazza Navona. One week.”

He looks at me long and hard, but I keep my face unreadable. If he knows I have a girl there, he’s keeping the information to himself.

Finally, he nods. “I’ll be there.”

When I approach my motorcycle, Ruby is waiting for me. “I haven’t left yet.”

“I noticed.”

She looks like she has something she wants to get off her chest. She rubs her fingers over her knuckles, then takes a long breath.

“I got about twenty minutes before I head to Florence. Listen, I just thought I’d—”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I do, though. I do. So let me do this.” She looks down at her feet and toes the pavement rubble. There’s no hint of pretense in her voice, only earnestness. “It’s that . . . when you told me before that you were thinking about getting out of the game, I know you meant it.”

“Nahhh. Like I said, I was just yammering. Forget I brought it up.”

“No, you weren’t. You saw something in me that told you it was okay to drop all the barricades we build around ourselves. You showed me your real face.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. . . . ”

“It’s why I trusted you enough to tell you about me, my first time. I like the bond we share, Columbus. It’s a hell of a lonely job.”

I nod, knowing she has more.

“So, who is she?”

My throat starts to constrict and I cough into my fist, just . . . what? Attempting to hide from the truth? Am I that conspicuous? That easy to read?

“What d’you mean?”

“There’s a girl out there who has you thinking of ditching this life, checking out of this world.”

Something inside me that I thought was further from the surface rears its head. “Yeah, there’s someone . . . ”

“Well, then, here’s what I’m trying to say, so I’ll just say it. This girl wherever she is, whoever she is. . . . ”

“I know. I know. You don’t have to tell me. I need to. . . . ”

“You need to go to her and leave this game and never look back.”

I guess surprise registers on my face, because Ruby pounces on it like a cat.

“I told you I read your file. I’ve read a lot of files on a lot of hired killers. And the one thing they all have in common is that they have nothing and nobody and no reason to leave this gig. Every one of them is alone. They’re all like condemned prisoners waiting for the executioner to lead them to the noose. I’m included in that. I thought that made me better, somehow above it, like I was a wolf standing on a mountain looking down at the sheep. But you know what I finally figured out? The people, the civilians . . . they’re the ones with the power. They’re living, man. Really living. We’re just the ghosts they pass in the street.”

Her voice is filled with emotion, raw and electric, like a lightning storm.

“So you go to her, Columbus. You got a chance to shake off these chains and live. If you don’t take it, you’re a fool.”

It takes a moment for me to realize she’s finished. My ears ring, her words chasing away the fog. The fear I pinpointed in her is equally rooted in me, but only now do I realize the depth of it. It’s not a fear of dying anonymously, of dying painfully. The fear is that I’ll die without having lived. Without really having lived.

When I speak, it’s little more than a whisper.

“And if the life catches up to me? Or her?”

“Outrun it, Columbus. Make ’em think you’re already dead.”

For the first time, maybe for the first
real
time, I can see it. Not a mirage, not a vaporizing dream, but a tangible, reachable image. I can take a cue from Coulfret, get our names on a list of dead travelers and disappear. Vanish to a place in the country, a place away from the trappings of the professional life. A place devoid of contracts and violence and death.

And why did Ruby tell me this? Does she see a strength in me she doesn’t possess herself? Does she want to walk away but can’t get her feet to move? Or is it because she hasn’t found someone to walk away with?

“You got a suitcase somewhere you need for your flight?”

“Nah. Archie takes care of all that.”

“Then hop on. I’ll give you a ride to the Florence airport.”

“I got a car coming . . . should be here any minute.”

“We’ll cancel it.”

“Is this your way of kissing off my advice?”

“It’s my way of saying thank you.”

She half-grins and rolls her eyes. Maybe she believes me and maybe she doesn’t.

I step off the bike to fetch her the spare helmet I keep underneath the seat when a bullet whizzes by my head and hits Ruby square in the face. Her forehead caves and her body falls like the earth reached up and yanked her down.

For a split second I think I should just stay here, just let it happen, let Svoboda take me out too. I could step off the plank, walk into the quicksand, let
this
be my escape. Not fake my death . . . hell, make it real, make it count.

And just as quickly, instinct kicks in and I am diving and wheeling in the direction the bullet came and another shot rips the ground next to my head and I scramble away from where Ruby fell, keeping low, another shot explodes closer and I slither my way to the relative safety of a bus bench.

I can’t stay here, though, stay in one place. I have to keep moving, fend him off before he gains position on me. I take a quick peek but can’t find anything to target, and if he’s expecting me to break for my motorcycle or try to help Ruby, then he should have shot her somewhere besides the bridge of her nose. She’s beyond needing help; Ruby was dead before her body touched the ground.

I discharge a full clip, including the bullet I have racked in the chamber, and then break for the alleyway to my left, dropping my clip and re-racking while on a dead sprint.

A fourth bullet ricochets off a stone edifice within an inch of my ear and please don’t let this be a dead end and please get me through the next two minutes so I can pay this goddamn bastard back.

I run hunched over, trying to make myself smaller, providing the narrowest possible target, and the alley funnels out to a cobblestone street. I feign left and break right and as soon as I’m clear of the alley, I slam on the brakes and press my back into the wall.

I don’t want to think, not now, not about Ruby pleading with me to get out of this life, to escape it in a way she knew she couldn’t, and her face disintegrated by a bullet intended for me. Shut it down, block it out, bite it back, and focus.

A half a second to scan the alley and he’s there, at the opposite end, a thin man with simian arms and dark features clutching a pair of pistols and I swing out and we squeeze triggers at the same time, two ships steering into each other.

A bullet kicks up gravel behind me, and I see Svoboda whirl around and maybe I clipped him, but I’m not sure. He disappears around the entrance, the way he came in, and if he’s playing possum then I’m going to run headlong into his ruse. I sprint up the alley, and there’s no sign of blood, and I hear an engine catch and roar, and when I peek around the side, my motorcycle shoots away.

I look down at the rubble. Ruby lies where she fell, a dark halo congealing around her head.

This is how you die. Faceless and, before long, forgotten.

Not any more. Not Ruby. A car is pulling to the curb, a black Audi, the driver Archie had ordered to carry his sister to the Florence airport.

A plump man opens the door and steps out, looks around, wiping sleep from his eyes, and then spies Ruby’s body on the pavement.

“My God,” he says in Italian, and the next thing he hears is his car screeching away behind him.

I’ve been on the wrong end of the hunt for far too long and it’s past time to flip the switch. Svoboda’s running now, and that means I must have wounded him. Maybe just a nick, but enough to toss him off his plans, and if there’s an advantage I can wring out of this sorry mess, then I plan to make the most of it.

I duck my chin and blitz through the gears, redlining the tachometer, as up ahead the motorcycle takes a corner without slowing, Svoboda’s knee practically scraping the street. He slingshots out and up at a ninety-degree angle, managing the corner without forfeiting speed. He can handle a bike better than I can, damn him.

I sweep into the same turn, throwing up the parking brake as I downshift and slide out. The Audi drifts into the turn and careens off a parked Smart Car before straightening again. I’m on his tail, but he’s got six blocks on me and I’m not sure if the Audi’s got the engine to catch a motorcycle.

Svoboda doesn’t give me the chance.

He swings the bike around like it’s on a turntable, points it in my direction and throttles the engine. Before I’m sure what’s happening, an avalanche of bullets peppers my windshield, shattering the glass. I only have a half second to duck as this madman, this medieval fucking jouster, unloads an entire clip into my interior. The seat behind me explodes like a hand-grenade went off, and I jerk the wheel involuntarily as I bury my head in the floorboard.

The car lurches to the left like a horse stumbling out of the gate and smashes into God knows what and whatever advantage I had is gone. I hear the motorcycles engine buzzing past somewhere out on the street, or maybe that’s just my ears ringing.

He’s better than me.
This realization bangs around inside my head like a bullet.
This son-of-a-bitch is actually better at this than I am. He turned the tables on me before I knew what was coming, went from defense to offense in the blink of an eye, rope-a-doped me like a three-dollar stooge on amateur night at the county fair.

I have to make a move now or it’s over, and, goddammit, I will not let it be over. Not hiding in the floorboard of a fucking car in Siena while he drops the bike, walks up, and shoots me through the empty windshield. Not while Ruby lies dead in the street. My engine is still running; I can hear the Audi’s purr even as my ears try to pick up the sound of approaching footsteps.

Without poking my head up, I throw the car into reverse and slam the palm of my hand on top of the accelerator, pushing it down flat. The car responds, lurching backward and just when it gets up to speed, it slams into something else and I knock my shoulder into the dashboard, but if there’s ever going to be a time for a peek, this is it. I pop my head up like a gopher coming out of its hole, and quickly look left and right.

Gunfire flashes in front of me, forty yards down the street, but the bullets whiz harmlessly over my head, and I see my backward maneuver surprised him. He has to change out his clip and now it’s my turn to grab momentum.