Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1) (5 page)

Blake felt a little stupid but did as he was told. What was he expected to do? This man, whoever he was, was a damn sight smarter than Blake was.

He put one arm on the edge of the head rest, wrapped his fingers around the handle for support. His left hand clutched the door handle, ready to pull on it.

Silver Hair pulled to the left, maintaining his speed. He had obviously done this before. Hell, he had fought before, used tactics to escape hot situations before. He must have–he showed such confidence back at the police station. It made sense to Blake that this man would be on the wrong end of a high-speed car chase.

A man on a police bike caught up to them, swerving between the other drivers with well-trained precision. He slowed behind a van and swung around on the other side, pulling up on the left of them. Blake wondered what they were hoping to do when they caught up to him and his partner-in-crime.

Do people have partners in crime? They do–and now I do too.

What was this motorcyclist hoping to achieve?
At least the cars could try to pin them in. Blake wondered if they would try to get ahead of the car, cause them to slow to a stop.

And then he realised what Silver Hair was asking him to do.

The bike came closer on the left.

Silver Hair pushed his foot down further. There were no more cars ahead of them–none in their direct path, anyway. 'Now!' he called, urgent and demanding, and then slammed his foot down on the brake pedal. The tyres screeched across the tarmac.

The car jolted.

Blake kicked open the door and then desperately retracted his foot, careful to avoid the collision. The officer on the bike crashed into the door, a powerful smashing sound rang in the air. The door came off its hinges, missed Blake's foot by less than an inch.

The bike fell onto its side and slid along the road, crashing into a parked car at a frightening speed. Blake and Silver Hair went zooming on ahead.

'Good. That's one down,' said the man, and Blake could see a grin appear at the corner of his thin lips. This was the first time he had smiled since they met.

Blake felt as though he was about to throw up. He had never intentionally hurt a human being before, much less knocked one off a speeding vehicle. What worried him the most was that there was still another bike and six more cars. He wasn't expected to do the same thing again… was he? Before he could answer his own question, one of the police cars hit their back bumper, nudging them forward. Blake felt the seatbelt tighten across his chest, his neck lashed forward and his skin felt like it was burning.

They were off again, gaining speed quickly. The car that drove into them sped up and raced alongside them, only this time it was on the driver's side. Blake's vision went blurry. He felt even less safe without a door beside him, like he would be flung from the car at any second. He clutched harder onto the seat with his face pressed into it.

Silver Hair yanked on the wheel with both hands, they swerved, banged into the police car. The driver seemed to lose control. The car swerved, regained its momentum and then swung around again to avoid a civilian vehicle. Seconds later, it rejoined their right side.

Another car came up to the left of them. Blake watched them both pull outwards. They were about to try to pin them in, he thought. Both cars would crash into them, killing their speed within a heartbeat. It could hurt them,
kill
them. And if it didn't? He would still be in some serious shit with the law, with the wild accusation that had started it all.

'Hold on,' Silver Hair screamed, breaking his train of thought.

The engine roared, the tires gobbling up the road as they sped on.

The police cars caught up to them. In the bat of an eye, they swerved inwards, working as a team with aim to pin them in. Blake thought it was the end. His fingernails dug deeper into the seat. He closed his eyes, mouthed the words to a silent prayer, quietly saying his goodbyes and hoping he would survive this.

Silver Hair slammed on the brakes.

The pursuing cars, still driving inward, crashed into each other. The bonnets folded, collapsing on themselves immediately. Their back ends went up in the air for a second before dropping back to the ground with a bang.

The silver-haired man ploughed into the side of one of them, stopping instantly but with the car still intact. He felt badly beaten up. Everything hurt. His ears were ringing. Blake looked to his driver, who was glancing in every mirror, observing his surroundings.

'Give in,' Blake pleaded, wheezing and whining. 'This has gone too far. Please.'

The man seemed to pay no attention to him. He took one last look at the adjoining street to his left, and kicked the car into reverse. They pulled out, then swung the car around the destroyed police vehicles and continued to race on. It surprised Blake that the car would still move–it had taken quite a battering from the ride.

They slowed down to take another corner, and Silver Hair slowly and casually pulled in between two already-parked cars. To the unobservant, they would just look like two ordinary people in an ordinary car, blending in with their environment. Up close, though, there were enough dents and scratches to set it aside from the others. Passers-by looked at them with confusion, excitement, and disgust.

Blake's body was tense. It hurt when he looked over his shoulder. One police vehicle that had been pursuing them drove straight on by without a glance, their sirens screaming as if with panic. It seemed unusual that a team of officers so hell-bent on catching them should happen by without so much as a fleeting look at them.

They obviously hadn't been paying attention. They couldn't have. If they had, they would have immediately noticed the smashed-up windows, the car's bonnet bent in two.

Blake realised he was panting in unsteady gasps. What if they were just being tricked? What if a car came from every direction now, forcing them into a corner? This driver of his was good - there was no doubt about it - but there must have been some end to his talents.

'Do you know where we are?' Silver Hair asked, craning his neck around slowly. His eyes stayed focused on the road ahead.

Blake gawked mindlessly at the headrest in front of him, cracking his tensed knuckles.

'Listen,' the man shuffled around and looked him dead in the eye, 'in under a minute, four or more cars will be coming along this way, and I'll have to draw them away from you. Here's what you're going to do: you're going to get out, change your clothes. Take your jacket off
now
–they will be looking for two men in black jackets, not one man in a plain white t-shirt on foot. Can you do that?' The sudden lowering of his tone was persuasive.

Blake shifted his gaze to the man, unhooked the seatbelt and removed his jacket. It was getting hot in there anyway.

'Good. Now, you'll need to get some new clothes on, maybe a hat to shadow your face.'

Blake thought about that. He had left his possessions at the station. Everything he needed; wallet, money, keys. Even his mobile phone, which would have come in pretty damn handy right about now. He might have been able to contact Rachel, get some support. Maybe she could have helped straighten things out. 'I don't have any money.'

'Then steal.' He said it with such confidence, as if it was nothing. 'As soon as you've done that, you need to go to The Blue Compass. It's a pub in Knightsbridge. Do you know where that is? Can you find it alright?'

Blake realised that his hands were still shaking. He was about to answer, but as soon as he thought he heard something, he paused to listen closer.
Sirens?
Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he could walk out with his hands up and just explain the whole situation.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Nothing was certain.

'
Do you know where that is?'
Silver Hair had not yet seemed vexed by any means, but now that he raised his voice, he became even more intimidating than before.

'Yes. I know the place.'

The sirens were getting closer.

'Go in, sit in the corner, and wait for me there. But stick to the crowds.'

It sounded like an okay idea. Whichever path he decided to choose, he would have a straight-forward option. He could turn himself in,
or
he could listen to the man, go to the bar, and try to relax for a bit while waiting for further instructions. He could trust this man to some degree–that is, he trusted his abilities. It was his intentions that were not quite clear.

'Who are you?' he asked, finally looking up at his face.

'We'll discuss that later. Now move.'

Blake leapt out of the car, almost reaching to open the door that was no longer there.
That would be called Phantom Limb if it were on a person.
As soon as he was out, the tyres spun at a blinding speed, and the car almost knocked him down. The sirens were drawing closer as one police car came into sight and went speeding towards its target without noticing Blake.

More sirens screamed in the distance somewhere.

Blake had to move, and it had to be fast.

He got straight back onto the pavement, came to a hat rack outside a little souvenir shop, and tried on a green baseball cap with
I love London
inked across it. More police vehicles went on by, totally unaware of his presence. He felt safe, for now. Though the question he asked himself as he looked in the mirror, was whether he would go to the bar.

Why bother, when I could just find a way to get in touch with Rachel?

Blake glanced at the preoccupied shopkeeper, approved of his new appearance, and carried on down the street with his new hat on and his head hung low.

Chapter 7

Glasses clinked together on the other end of the bar. A group of women in business skirts sat up properly in their seats, hair straightened neatly and nails painted perfectly. They looked as if they worked on Wall Street and were celebrating something.

It made Blake wonder… would he ever return to work? What would happen to his job now? To him, his future seemed limited to either being on the run until he finally keeled over or, in the unlikely event of vindication, spending his days trying to rebuild his reputation. Even in the best-case scenario, if he were proven innocent, he would always be known as
that guy who killed his father and got away with it.

'You're going to have to order something.' The barman interrupted his thoughts.

Blake looked up at him stood over the bar; his grade-one haircut, one rotten front tooth, and a plain black t-shirt that showed off every contour of his body. There were tattoos all the way up his sleeves, though they were indistinguishable from each other. In other words, a bloody mess. 'I'll have a glass of water please.'

'If you want to sit down, you'll have to pay for something.'

What is this guy's problem?
Sure, he had sat there for a couple of hours, but he didn't have the money to pay for anything, so what could he do? 'Actually, no,' said Blake, his hands beginning to shake. 'The law states that any registered businesses serving food or drink must provide tap-water free-of-charge if requested. So look, I'm having a bad day. If you could get off my back and throw some water into a glass, that'd be bloody wonderful.'

There he was again, running his mouth. This happened far too often; he would wave his smartarse speeches around like they were weapons. He knew how much damage he was causing but it was always too late by the time he managed to shut up.

The barman looked as though he was about to throw a fit. His eyes spoke in a rage-filled stare, his face turning red. His fists were clenched and a vein throbbed at his temple. And then a voice, coming from behind Blake.

'Settle down, comrade.'

Blake turned on his barstool, barely able to believe his eyes.

I didn't think he would come.

The man with the silver hair stepped to his side, grinning as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened over the past few hours. Like they hadn't put the lives of pedestrians at risk and broken ninety-nine laws in the process.

'Get the man a water,' he told the barman. 'Try your best not to spit in it.'      

'Greg!' The barman's face changed entirely, from grouch to pal in nought-point-nought-five seconds. Their huge hands slapped together and they shook. There was obviously a past between these two, and it was clear that this barman respected Silver Hair. Certainly more than Blake did, anyway. 'I thought you were dead.'

So, his name is Greg,
thought Blake as he watched the two men get reacquainted. He felt a bit like a little boy, sitting quietly in his seat while Daddy ran some errands. The brief thought of a father figure entered his mind, saddening him again.

'That's the idea, pal. I'm sorry it had to be that way.'

The barman waved a hand, dismissing it. 'Nah, I get it.'

'Hey, look, without your help I'll be dead soon anyway.'

The barman tilted his head, and then a look of understanding crossed his face. 'Ah, I gotcha.' He turned his attention to the women in the corner. 'Alright, ladies! Bottoms up. We're closing down for the day.'

They looked at him like lost little creatures. A feisty-looking brunette turned in her seat, the bright-pink drinking straw jumping off her lower lip. 'You're having a laugh. We ordered food. We paid–'

The barman clapped his hands and stormed towards them. 'I said we're done.' He pulled her to her feet by her arm and shoved her towards the door. Seconds later, the woman's friends got up and followed, each with their own look of bewilderment–one with a small flicker of fear as she backed towards the door.

The barman bolted the door and turned back to them with a big grin. When he realised that neither Blake nor Silver Hair were laughing, his smile dropped. 'What? I'm on my own today. Besides, that was for you.' He flicked his nose with his thumb, sniffed at the same time. 'I got a room upstairs. Let's go talk.'

They followed him through the door at the back.