The Courier (San Angeles) (9 page)

I
COULD FEEL THE
adrenaline course through me, making my skin prickle, and a sharp thrill settled in my gut. The damn jacket was charged.

My attacker raised his fist, swinging it at my head. I fought the reflex to duck and jumped toward him instead, hitting the switch in the collar of my jacket at the same time.

As I leaped forward, the direction of his blow changed, lowering to catch me as if I was ducking away. The two moves combined perfectly, as though we had choreographed and practiced them beforehand. His fist hit my chest in a blinding flash of light when the jacket’s stored charge released at the point of contact. I stumbled, falling to my knees. He flew backward, arcing through the air, and landed a few steps away from me with a dull thud. Electricity sparked across the wires attached to his clothes and his body twitched in silence.

Sharp pain lanced through my chest and I hunched over, pressing my hands against my heart, sucking in air through my clenched teeth.
Please don’t let it be a broken rib.

I crawled to the nearest scrapheap on my knees and one hand, using it to pull myself to my feet. Every muscle in my body complained. It felt like every joint was twisted, and every bone scraped against another one. My brain wasn’t working at full speed. I teetered to my feet, not knowing what to do next.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, breathing through my mouth, wobbling, crying. My bloody nose dripped slowly, mixing with the dirt between my feet. My hand wrapped around a length of rusted wire as I pulled myself from the black hole I was circling. When was the last time I’d slept? At least twenty-four hours ago.

The man still lay on the ground twitching and moaning. I hobbled over to him and tied his arms and legs together as tight as I could. With each twist of the wire, I could feel the knot loosen in my stomach. Anger rose in its place. I turned when I heard a growl, before realizing the sound, guttural and fierce, came from me. I twisted the wire tighter.

I grabbed the back of his collar and dragged him closer to the wall, using my anger for strength, leaning him against the old brick before checking to see if he had any weapons on him. I found a small handgun and several magazines of bullets, as well as his Taser, emptied of all power, and a short knife in a sheath tucked into one of his socks.

The gun felt weird. It was light and definitely not made of metal. I shoved the gun and bullets into my pocket, throwing the spent Taser away. When I turned back, the man’s eyes were on me. I couldn’t tell if I saw anger or admiration in them.

Either way, it was time to get some answers. I slid the knife from its sheath. It was made from a single piece of metal. The blade was
short and black and vicious, thin and sharp, almost surgical looking. Two fine curving hooks, facing backward to the holder’s hand, sat a few centimeters from the guard. If it went in far enough, pulling it out would create a lot of damage.

Images of Quincy, his hands covered in blood, standing over the body of the gutted man, flashed through my mind. I almost threw the knife away, a wave of revulsion pulsing through me. But I hesitated. This guy had just tried to beat the crap out of me. Whatever I did, he deserved. It didn’t sound convincing, even when I said it to myself. I held the knife loosely in my hand and crouched in front of my attacker.

“Who are you?” My voice sounded gravelly and low. I sucked my tongue, forcing some spit into my mouth, and swallowed.

The man gave me a sullen look before dropping his gaze to the ground between us. He didn’t look at the knife in my hand.

“I’m not in the mood to fuck around, asshole. Who are you?”

Silence.

I moved the knife to the man’s groin and hesitated again before poking the tip of the sharp blade into the material. He shuddered and tried to slide closer to the wall.

“Last chance, asshole.” I slid the knife deeper into the material. “Who are you?”

The look in the man’s eyes had turned to pure terror.

“Frank. Frank Bow—”

“Do you work for Quincy?”

Confusion washed over his face. “I don’t know a Quincy. Please . . . please move the knife away.”

“Who do you work for?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

I pushed the knife a bit deeper and saw a small stain of blood appear on Frank’s pants.

“Honest, I don’t know.” His voice had gone up an octave, and the accent became more pronounced. “I’m telling you the truth. I was . . . I was contacted on the Net and told to come here and wait for you.”

“Who contacted you? How did they know to send you here?”

“I don’t know.” Frank stilled a sudden twitch. “I never do. I just get told where to go and where to pick up the money.” The words came out of his mouth almost faster than he could say them.

“You said you had to deliver me. To where?”

“I was supposed to give you to another guy on Level 5, near the McConnell Park up-ramp.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

I twisted the blade slightly.

“I don’t know. I told you . . . I just get told what job to do and where to get my money.”

I paused, thinking. “How were you going to get me there?”

“I have a car, two blocks north.”

“I didn’t find any keys on you.”

“The ignition and lock are code-activated.”

“What’s the code?”

Frank stared at me. “I can’t get out of here without my car.”

“Who says you’re going to get out of here anyway?” I wiggled the knife without pushing it any deeper. “What’s the fucking code?”

Frank’s face turned white and the code poured from him. “14159.”

I sat back on my heels and pulled the knife away, cleaning the blade tip on Frank’s thigh before standing.

“You’ve got to let me go. If you leave me here I’m dead meat.”

I looked down at him. Let him go? Hell, the bastard just admitted he was going to abduct me and give me to someone he didn’t even know. They could have been planning to kill me for all he
cared. Why the fuck should I worry what happened to this shithead? I took a step away.

“Please.” The urgency and panic in his voice were clear.

Damn, damn, damn. Why couldn’t I just leave him? After what he had done, was planning to do, to me. It was my right to leave him here, to let the Level 1 scum take care of him. I wiped the drying blood from my nose and turned to leave again before giving in to the silent argument in my head.

I crouched in front of him. “Lean forward.”

Frank leaned until his chest was almost lying on his outstretched legs. I cut the wires holding his arms and took two quick steps back.

“If you try to follow me, remember I have your gun.”

Frank stared at me, rubbing his wrists. Blood seeped from the fine cuts left by the wires. I know I had tied the wire tight, but I didn’t think I’d tied them tight enough to cut. The bastard had been trying to get loose the entire time we had been talking.

A sharp crack cut through the silent air and I felt a burn on my neck. Frank flew back into the wall, a small black hole magically appearing in his forehead, and slid into a slouch. Where the back of his head scraped against the wall, blood and bone intermixed with gray stuff smeared on the rough brick, mixing with the already wet moss.

I spun and dived behind another pile. A second crack and I saw a cloud of dust and rock chips flying up from the brick beside Frank’s body. Right where I had just been standing.

I pulled my hand away from my neck. It was smeared in blood. Was it from my nose, or my neck? A wave of nausea swept through me
and I leaned my head against the pile of garbage. I tried to push the feeling aside. Someone was shooting at me, trying to kill me. Who the fuck was this guy? Not a friend of Frank’s, unless hitting him had been an accident. I looked back at his crumpled body.

From where I’d been standing and where he had been shot, the shooter had to have been near or in the building directly across the lot, in the Madison Hotel. Probably somewhere above ground level so he could get a better view. I placed my back to the heap of garbage, looking for a way out of this mess.

The ground in front of me was strewn with rubble from the collapsed building. The next structure big enough to hide behind was a little over a meter away. If I crawled on my stomach, I might be able to reach it without being seen. It was a big if though. What if I was wrong about the location of the shooter? I’d be a nice, slow-moving target, that’s what. I could feel the tears coming again, blurring my vision. I wiped them away roughly with the back of my hand. This wasn’t the time.

Three meters to the right was one of the entryways into my old basement hideout. This one was just a low depression in the ground that turned into a tight tunnel under the concrete floor. The tunnel dropped into an elevator shaft, and if I hung from the lip and swung, I would land on a tiny ledge and be able to squeeze through the partially open doors. Or I could miss and fall to the bottom of the shaft. I had never used the entrance when I lived here. The thought of using it now made me shiver.

One slip and I would end up lying in who knows how many meters of cold, filthy water. I guess I was a pragmatist, though. Or an idiot . . . Years ago I had placed candles and matches just inside the elevator doors, just in case.

All of that was pointless if I couldn’t get there. Would the shooter expect me to run through open ground? Even from here, the
entrance hole looked like nothing. From the hotel, it couldn’t be seen at all. Once I wiggled under the concrete, I’d be safe from bullets at least.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I held my breath and launched, running to the depression and sliding to the ground, lying as flat as I could. No shots rang out. Maybe I’d taken him by surprise after all.

The opening under the floor was still there, but it was a lot smaller than I remembered. Christ, I wasn’t even sure I would fit. Keeping my head low, I snaked toward the small dark hole, pushing my motorcycle helmet ahead of me. When I reached it, the helmet fit, with enough room on the sides for my shoulders. Or so I hoped. I pushed the air out of my lungs, praying it made me smaller.

A first for me.

My head followed the helmet. When my shoulders hit the outer edge, the hole became pitch black. Once I almost stopped, too scared to move forward. The thought of the gunman kept me going. I pushed the helmet farther in, grabbing at the walls with my hands, looking for something to grab onto. I dug my toes in, willing my shoulders past the constricting entrance. I popped through and scrambled a few centimeters before I got stuck again. I felt the package in my pocket crinkle. Twisting, I pulled it through and wiggled in deeper.

Suddenly, brick and chips of concrete exploded around my calves, followed by the muffled crack of a rifle. Fuck! I pulled and pushed myself deeper into the hole, my mind an icy wall of panic. Slivers of pain cracked through the ice, and I started kicking with my heels. Loose chunks of corroded concrete and dirt fell from the ceiling, partially closing the entrance to the tunnel. If I couldn’t get into the basement from here, I’d be trapped. But maybe the fucker with the gun couldn’t get in either.

Now in complete darkness, I slithered forward as fast as I could, grabbing the helmet and pushing it ahead of me. The tunnel widened and I stopped. My breath was coming in quick, short gasps, each inhale spreading a dull ache through my chest where Frank hit me. I could feel sweat pooling in the small of my back.

Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving.

I repeated my new mantra over and over again until I started squirming forward. I barely crawled a meter more when my helmet and hands felt nothing but air. My breath whooshed out of me. I jerked backward and froze again.

I lay as still as I could, fighting the sensation of falling headfirst into the gaping maw of the pit. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there, struggling to get my racing heart under control. Once I could feel the unmoving earth beneath me again, I slid forward and peered over the edge.

Rocks and debris, pushed ahead while I crawled, fell into the shaft, creating echoing splashes when they hit the water below. I only saw more of the same blackness. Staring at where the elevator door should have been, directly under me, I thought I saw a faint outline. When I looked closer, it disappeared from view, like a ghost hiding in the dark, waiting for its prey.

I couldn’t lie here forever. Eventually whoever was shooting at me would make his way down. There was only the loose rubble I’d managed to kick from the ceiling between me and a bullet. It wasn’t enough. I braced myself against the tunnel walls and began the process of bringing my feet around. Only my height saved me from getting permanently stuck, and I thanked whoever was responsible for making me short.

Another first.

The pain from my calf faded into a dull throb as I twisted and crunched my body into shapes even a contortionist would be proud
of. Finally, still lying on my stomach, I slid my helmet onto my arm and lowered my legs and hips over the abyss.

My kicking feet found nothing but hard concrete walls. Shit, where the hell was the door? I lowered myself farther, catching the edge on the bottom of my ribcage. I didn’t know if they still hurt; all I could feel was terror pulsating through me. My feet still felt only cement. Shifting further, my jacket slipped, and a scream tore from my gut.

I hung on the brink from my armpits, my hands grasping uselessly at the dirt floor. My legs dangled into the depths. Small rocks fell silently, until they hit the dank water below. I kicked my feet again, hearing the dull ring of metal. Slowly, I swung my legs to the left and right, looking for the opening I remembered.

There! Oh thank god. How far up the door was I? How far below me was the ledge? I struggled to remember the height of the elevator door, the width of the opening and the size of the ledge. The memories of my fourteen-year-old self came fragmented and incomplete.

I heard rocks being moved from the tunnel entrance, and a shaft of light struck the ceiling partway up. It was now or never. I moved the helmet past the edge, my fingers finding purchase on the dirt. I slid down some more, until I was hanging from the lip. My hurt shoulder strained, but held up under my weight. I hung from my fingers, completely committed, my feet searched for the opening again. I knew I didn’t have the strength to climb back out. My left foot banged against the door, a loud metallic thud, and my right swung into open air. Moving my foot sideways, I found the edge of the door and hooked it with my heel and knee, pulling my body closer to the wall. I felt dirt slide under the fingers of my left hand, turning to sludge as it mixed with drying blood from my neck, and it popped off the edge.

I dangled above the darkness, held my breath and let go.