by Mark Stewart
THE FIFTEEN-year-old honey blonde Aussie girl brought the evening meal. Uncommon Kendal thought. He tried to strike up an off the cuff conversation.
“You must be new here?”
The two detectives were sitting in the Chinese restaurant a short two-minute drive from Police Headquarters.
“Yes, Sir, first day on the job. I’m helping me mum out by paying the bills ‘cause my stupid father nicked off two weeks ago and left us no money. It’s me and my mum now.” Her lips drooped down at their ends. “I apologize for sounding rude to you and ya Mrs. Please, don’t tell the boss.”
“Your secret is safe,” whispered Claire, smiling.
Kendal raised his hands. “This woman isn’t my wife.”
After the girl had slapped both plates onto the table, she stood glaring at Kendal.
“Typical. You’re the same as my old man. Wife and kids at home watching TV waiting for their father to come home and here you are having a good time. I hope you and ya mistress enjoy your meal.”
The girl turned on her toes and marched off towards the kitchen.
“I’m speechless,” mumbled Kendal.
“Who would want to have kids?” Claire flashed her partner a shocked look. “Sugar, I didn’t mean my statement to sound the way it did. Sorry.”
“No offense taken. Let’s eat.”
While Kendal ate fried rice and lemon chicken he looked around the small restaurant counting ten occupied seats out of fifty wondering why Patrick wanted him in the restaurant. Thoughts of how scared Tegan must be, flashed into his brain. He saw a girl wearing the same school uniform Tegan wore marched past the window. He jumped to his feet and set himself to run. Noticing she had long blonde hair and not black, he again sat and pushed the empty plate into the center of the table. Reaching for the bowl containing three king prawns his stare remained on the front door.
The young waitress walked past their table several times. On each pass, she glared wide-eyed at the two detectives.
“Quiet night,” mentioned Claire.
Kendal knew she was only striking up a two-bit conversation. He nodded and beckoned the young waitress to his table.
The girl marched over wearing a frown. “What?”
“I want you to be pleasant.”
“I don’t have to.”
“This scene isn’t what you think.”
Claire buried her head behind the menu card.
Folding her arms, the girl snorted.
“Spare me the sarcasm. I’ve heard all the excuses. I don’t have to be a genius to know what’s going on here. I can see one middle-aged white man sitting next to a young attractive woman he met overseas. What’s to understand?”
Claire slapped the menu card on the table and looked directly at the girl.
“I’m of Italian descent. I’ll have you know I was born in Australia.”
Kendal fished a photo of his daughter from his pocket. “Have you seen this girl?”
“Why would I tell you?” the young girl growled. She unfolded her arms and pushed her hands onto her hips. “She’s just another female you’re trying to lure. My reckoning is you want them young. I should call the cops you pervert.” The girl switched her attention to Claire. “Do you want my advice?”
“Not really. The way you’re acting I know I’m going to cop it.”
“If I were you I’d leave while you still have a chance.”
“The girl in the photo is my daughter,” advised Kendal. Fishing for his police badge his long black coat flopped open revealing his gun sitting in its shoulder holster.
The girl stared bug-eyed. “You want to find her, to bump her off.”
Kendal stood, towering over the girl.
“Stay back,” she yelled, “I have a black belt in Karate.”
“Yeah, so have I.” Flashing his police badge, he grinned at the shocked expression on the girl’s face.
The girl bowed her head and fell silent.
“We’re both homicide detectives. This woman is my partner, Detective Ambroso. I’m Detective Kendal. The girl in the photo is my daughter.”
The girl’s cheeks reddened. She flopped onto the seat next to Claire.
“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. I’m Genevieve.”
“Apology accepted,” said Kendal, sitting on the chair.
“Is there anything I can do?” asked the girl.
“Yes, if you or your friends could watch out for my daughter, you’d be a great help. Her name is Tegan. When she was kidnapped, she wore long pink pajamas and no shoes.”
“I’ll spread the word.” The girl stood. Walking towards the kitchen, she tapped a message out on her mobile phone.
Claire changed seats. Her shoulder scraped her partner’s coat. She reached for her black handbag and opened it. Kendal gave a bewildered stare. The paper she had scribbled all his thoughts on, was nestled between a snub-nose .38-caliber police handgun, and her travel makeup case was squeezed next to the spare fast reloader and a flick knife. She took out a small notebook and placed it on the table.
“What’s the astounded look for?” Claire asked.
“The knife is illegal.”
“Like you said before, a girl can never be too careful.”
“I don’t suppose you have a couple of post-dinner cigarettes.”
Claire pulled two cigars from the internal side pocket of her bag. She grinned. “They help settle my nerves.”
Kendal didn’t return her smile. He waved his hand at the cigars. He decided it was time for her to confess her secret.
“You can keep both of your cigars. Tell me something. I read the incident report on the accident. What actually happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We all have secrets. Seeing how I’m your partner, I have a right to know.”
Claire pushed her bag to the side of the table. Staring at nothing, in particular, she sipped her hot chocolate. Tears gushed from her eyes. Kendal looked on embarrassed by the sudden emotion. He’d known her since school and not once had he ever seen her cry. He had to provoke her. He had to know the truth. She had to confess the whole ugly story. His life might depend on it. He sat staring into her red-rimmed eyes.
Claire stared back. She swiped a napkin from an adjacent table and wiped her eyes.
“You’re right Alan. Seeing how you’re my new partner you should know.”
Kendal displayed a tight smile. He swallowed his emotions. He felt intrigued, almost bursting at the seams to prove his theory of what happened inside the convenience store, on the wet night of May 28th, 2006. The report he read was one-sided, cold and uncaring.
“It was my fault,” she blurted.
“I read those exact four words in the report. Now I want to know the truth.”
“The report happened to be the truth. It was my fault.” Claire’s hands started to tremble as she tried to drink her remaining hot chocolate. She gave up and placed the mug on the table. “I killed my partner. If I hadn’t met Daniel Weakom a few days later, I don’t know how I’d have made it through. He’s been there for me.”
Gob-smacked Kendal sat staring. “You should’ve talked to either me or Margaret.”
“You don’t understand. I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.” She lowered her gaze and stared at the remaining hot chocolate in the tall glass.
“It was an unfortunate accident.”
“I look at it differently. I made a mistake. I killed him. I killed Peter.”
“You’re too good a cop to make a mistake.” He could see she was trying to bury the incident. Could he rely on her? Or was she a liability? He had to know. “Sorry, I need details.”
Claire lifted her head. She spat angrily.
“I understand. It’s your job. It’s always the bloody job. It’s the single reason why I latched onto Daniel. He’s an outsider. That’s what I admire about him. He’s not our kind.”
Kendal’s thoughts tumbled over and over in his mind. Should he jus
t pat her on the hand and say, ‘case closed,’ or should he continue his cross-examination? He decided in a heartbeat. “Our kind?” he asked.
“He’s not a cop.”
“It’s the very reason why you should’ve turned to Marg or me.”
“Thanks, Sugar. You’re a good friend.” She exhaled heavily and sat straight-backed. “Peter and I were called to the convenience store at 11:15pm, robbery in progress. By the time we arrived, the bloke was gone. At 11:31pm the bloke walked back in, shotgun cocked and pointed at Peter’s head. I was at the rear of the shop buying food for breakfast. I heard Peter yell, ‘put the gun down.’ I snuck up an aisle. The gap between us couldn’t have been more than twelve feet. There was the problem. Peter had his back to me, and he was in my line of fire. The gunman’s accomplice was sitting behind the steering wheel of a pale green sedan, watching. All I had to do was take a step and shoot. The only thing the gunman had to do was look away. I swiped a packet of rice off the shelf and threw it. The gunman turned his head towards the door. I stepped out from behind the shelf. I had a perfect shot. I couldn’t miss. The scene was over in seconds.” Unrestricted tears tumbled over her olive cheeks.
“Go on.”
“Peter lunged for the gunman as I pulled the trigger. Peter went down. The gunman must have seen my reflection in the glass window. He aimed the sawn-off shotgun at my head. Peter managed to knock him off balance. I put a bullet in the gunman’s heart. His accomplice roared away. Peter died in my arms.”
“It was an accident,” whispered Kendal gently. He reached for and patted her hand.
“You don’t understand.” She picked up a spoon and started twirling it between her fingers as if struggling to confess the remainder of her secret.
“I understand people grieve in many different ways.”
Claire threw the spoon across the room. She stood and slapped her two palms on the table. She kicked out at the chair. Leaning over the table, she yelled.
“Spare me the psychological analysis.”
Kendal watched her tears fall. Restaurant customers watched in horror at her outburst. Some walked out. Others folded their arms to watch the spat.
“Because of me,” she screamed. “Because of me, Peter’s dead and the gunman’s accomplice escaped.”
Kendal leaned back in his chair. He painted a friendly smile on his face.
“It’s not funny.”
His face turned expressionless as if he was about to play his trump card and win a round of poker. “What’s the remainder of the confession?”
Claire slumped into a chair. “There’s no more.”
“Yes, there is.”
She sent him an icy stare. Her eyes darkened to the colour of thunderclouds. To Kendal, the look was all too familiar.
“I went to the practice range at two-thirty the following morning and pumped ninety-nine bullets into the stupid cardboard target. No one dared come close. All the new rookie cops said later my face resembled a wild Amazonian woman. The one-hundredth bullet is for the gunman’s accomplice when I find him.”
“There’s more,” he provoked. Kendal leaned forward in his chair. “I know your secret.”
“The only secret left is; you thought Peter might have been Patrick.”
“Three months ago, everyone was a suspect. Yes, even you. At the time, Peter happened to be my first choice. He started padlocking his locker about the same time Patrick’s case was thrown at me. I used the trick little Mike taught me to gain entry into his locker to search for evidence.”
Claire flashed black pupils at Kendal. In a show of anger, she slapped him across the face. He fell back in his chair, shocked. He hadn’t seen the slap coming. His gaze darted around the restaurant and found a few more people preparing to leave. Their faces said it all. Refocusing on his partner, Kendal looked deep into her eyes.
“I found a wedding photo in Peter’s locker. Marg and I kept the secret, you and Peter eloped.”
Claire exhaled as if a heavy burden had lifted from her shoulders.
“No one was supposed to find out,” she whispered.
“I’m a good detective.”
“Who else knows?”
“No one,” replied Kendal. “Marg and I will never tell a soul.”
“Thank you.”
Kendal sent his partner a soothing grin. He reached out to take hold of her hand.
“The shooting was an accident. You should’ve put it all in your report including the details of the wedding.”
“I did the right thing to keep everything a secret,” yelled Claire. She pulled her hand away. “If I didn’t I can still image the headlines on the front page of the newspaper.
‘Wife and partner kill husband over money.’”
Kendal shrugged.
“What, there’s something you didn’t know?”
“I’m at a loss.”
“Peter’s life insurance was worth a million. I found out this morning when I opened the letter. The cheque was inside the envelope you found on the bench. I didn’t want anyone to know, so I tore away the insurance company’s name from the envelope.” Her lips curled slightly upwards. “I’m a good detective too. You didn’t return the envelope to its original position.”
Kendal’s face looked to have a tinge of red. “The least you could’ve done was to inform Marg of the wedding. Why keep it a secret?”
“I wanted to tell you. Peter wanted our marriage to be a secret. He was concerned about the consequences. If Captain Hughes found out he’d have split us up. Peter said he couldn’t protect me if I were someone else’s partner. He took an hour to convince me. It looks as though we were both wrong.”
“Case closed.”
Claire swiped another napkin from a different table so she could wipe her eyes. “Sorry for slapping your face.”
“I’ve felt worse. Now back to the case.”
“Always the worker,” she moaned.
Kendal studied the restaurant for the umpteenth time.
“What’s going on? Are you expecting someone?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Partner, you’re a bit vague. Do you want to let me in on your thoughts?”
He shook his head and said seriously.
“Have you heard from Weakom lately?”
Claire ate a mouthful of cold honey chicken and a spoonful of fried rice before mumbling a reply.
“No. I’m beginning to be slightly concerned. I’m switching my view of Patrick’s identity from being a cop to Daniel.”
“I have to admit his sudden disappearance is suspicious. I put an APB out on him.”
“It’s ok. If Patrick isn’t Daniel, I don’t know who is.”
Using chopsticks, Kendal picked up a headless king prawn and swallowed it whole.
“That’s disgusting,” groaned Claire, scrunching her nose.
“Why?”
“How can you eat something that’s been swimming happily in the ocean?”
“I didn’t hear any complaints from the prawn.”
She shook her head and dissected a piece of chicken.
An old long grey-bearded man dressed in shabby street clothes opened the restaurant’s front door. He slowly hobbled up to the reservation desk. He gained the attention of the young Chinese girl talking on the phone by banging his walking stick three times on the floor. The girl slammed the phone back on its hook and eyeballed the man.
“Sir, may I help you?”
The old man leaned forward dragging his beard across the stack of menu cards. He whispered his question. The girl pointed a slender finger at Kendal. The old man smiled, tipped his wide-brimmed hat and hobbled over.
“Excuse me Sonny, Missy,” he stammered. “A young girl walking along the street gave me this envelope. She asked if I’d give it to you.”
The big-bellied old-timer’s gloved hands shook as he placed the yellow envelope on the table.
“Thanks, old timer,” yelled Kendal.
The man wagged a gloved finger
. “I might be old and bent, but I ain’t deaf.”
“This girl, the one who gave you the envelope, how old is she?”
“Ooh!” replied the old man stroking his beard. “I’d say maybe twelve or thirteen. I remember when I was that age, my old man used to give me a whippin’ every night just cause, I was alive. His duty he’d say. I’d miss out only when he’d pass out from being too pissed.”
Both detectives eyed the man suspiciously.
“Have a good night young fella, Missy.” He dipped his wide-brimmed hat and hobbled towards the door.
“Interesting visitor,” whispered Claire, scratching under her French cap.
Kendal shook his head watching the old timer disappear out of sight. “I’m not sure.” He slid the envelope off the table and started to open it. “Let’s see what the note says.”
From across the street, a white van backfired.
“Sugar, outside, the white van looks and sounds identical to the one we’ve been searching for.”
Kendal looked up. He pretended to stretch. Burying the note in his pocket, he slowly stood and walked to the front desk. Through the restaurant’s window, he saw the van moving down the road. He sprinted to the glass front door shouldering new customers from his way. He drew his gun and yanked the door almost off its hinges. He ran onto the road and stood in the middle. A screech of tyres sent him diving for the gutter.
“Get off the road, you, drunken street bum,” yelled a ‘P’ plate driver over the noise of the car’s radio. His mates sitting on the rear seat joined in by swearing a colourful cocktail of words.
Kendal tumble rolled over the grassed nature strip, jumped to his feet, steadied his revolver at eye level and squeezed the trigger. The bullet from his gun buried itself in the van’s taillight. The vehicle swerved, narrowly missing a light pole before it disappeared around the first corner. One hundred and three people walking along the street dived for cover. A few women screamed hysterically, one yelled for the police, and a baby in a stroller wailed. All eyes were on the man in the long black duffel coat holding the gun. The street filled to overflowing as shop after shop was emptied.
Claire caught him up. “Sugar, if Tegan was in the van the bullet could’ve hit her.”
“The thought did enter my consciousness three seconds before pulling the trigger. Why else would I hit the van’s taillight? At least we can ID the vehicle when we find it.”
“Hopefully, we’ll get some good fingerprints.”
“There won’t be any,” stated Kendal. He slipped his gun back into his shoulder holster.”
“Why not?” asked Claire.
“The driver, the old timer, and Patrick are the same person. Here, read the note.”
Claire looked a little puzzled. She waved at the ‘P platter’ to signal him to drive off. Focusing on the crowd, she held up her hands to scatter the people.
“Folks, it is okay, go about your business.”
The P-plate driver parked his car a short distance from the restaurant. The four car doors opened. Four blokes in their mid to late teens walked towards Kendal.
“You, ivory scum standing next to the momma in leathers. We want a word,” yelled the driver. He started to smash his fist into the palm of his other hand.
“Crusher,” whispered the smallest of the four. “What we gonna do if he starts shootin?”
Crusher poked his finger at his head. “Squirrel, he won’t shoot. We’ve been told he’s a cop. You forget what we got paid for.”
“What if he overpowers us and searches the trunk? He’ll find all the fags we hoisted.”
Crusher rolled his eyes. He lifted his long-sleeved shirt to reveal skull and crossbones tattooed on each forearm.
“Squirrel, you worry too much. One cop against us four, I don’t think so. Get behind us to cover our arse.”
“White scum, drop the gun onto the grass,” instructed the teenager on Crusher’s left. “We’ll smash your hands if you don’t.”
“Little Momma, go,” added Crusher. “You don’t want blood all over your black leather pants.”
“Boys, get your eyes off my thighs.”
“Wanna go for a ride momma? We’ll all show you a really good time,” hinted Squirrel.
Kendal studied the group. The one named Crusher had a few scars on his face. Squirrel too looked to have his fair share.
“I don’t have time for this. I need to find my daughter. The clock’s ticking.” He turned away from the boys and started walking towards the restaurant.
“You’re not going anywhere scumbag,” yelled Crusher. “I’m gonna take me razor blade off me ear so I can cut your heart out.”
“Give it up fellas,” growled Kendal. “Except for your head banging music playing on the car CD you look like quiet boys.”
“I want an apology.”
“What for?” probed Kendal.
“I nearly ran you over, and I could’ve hurt my car.”
“Practice helps you to be a sharper driver.”
Claire clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles.
“Not good enough.”
“Crusher, let’s go,” whispered Squirrel in a timid voice. “I don’t care for the money. The night is young, let’s go.”
Kendal heard the noise of a metal blade extending. He pulled his police badge from his pocket.
“Game’s over fellas.”
Four groans wafted into the air.
“Games we play,” squeaked Squirrel. “The games we play.”
“You, hero,” barked Kendal staring at Crusher. “Start talking.”
“I’ve nothin’ to say.”
He grinned at Claire, pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and pointed it at Squirrel. He squealed in agony.
“I haven’t shot you yet.”
“Look, Coppa,” moaned one of the other boys, his eyebrow ring twitching. “It’s all a game.”
“Hello, someone has a voice,” chirped Claire.
“Talk,” growled Kendal.
Crusher glared at the boy. “We’ve nothing to say, Coppa.”
Kendal sighed and waved his gun in the air. “Okay, we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
Crusher shifted his weight from one leg to the other and scratched an invisible scab. He pointed to Claire.
“I suppose this is where we play good cop, bad cop. You must be the good cop.”
“You’ve been watching too much TV.”
Kendal walked to the car and read the personalized number plate. ‘CRUSHR.’ He grinned. “This is your last chance to talk. I don’t believe in the game you think I’m playing. I need to know who put you up to this confrontation and I want to know now.” He pointed his gun through the open window at the car’s hi-fi system. Displaying a poker face, Kendal’s his trigger finger constricted.
The boys acted mummified.
He pulled the trigger.
“The head banging music crap has been permanently silenced. Detective Ambroso herd the boys over here to the car. I have five bullets remaining. Let’s see what my next target will be.”
She lined the boys up in a row, facing the car. Kendal walked towards Squirrel, gun pointing at his groin.
He started to wheeze.
“I can hear knees knocking,” reported Claire.
“Police brutality,” yelled Crusher.
“Another street-smart lawyer,” jeered Kendal. “Tell me, who’s going to know?”
“We have witnesses,” stammered Crusher.
Kendal grunted, looking at Squirrel.
“I heard a whisper about a robbery. Detective Ambroso, pop the trunk.” Kendal clicked his fingers. Crusher handed over the flick knife.
The four boys heard a click, and the car’s trunk sprang up. Kendal made a loud whistle. He looked Crusher in the eyes.
“I’d estimate ten grand’s worth of fags supersedes your witness.”
“We’ll confess,” blurted Squirrel. “Please, I’m not a bad kid. If we tell you what you want to kno
w will you forget about the fags?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Squirrel cleared his throat. “A hooded person wearing blue jeans came and threw a thousand bucks at our feet. Two-hundred and fifty bucks each to rough you up.”
Crusher’s shoulders sagged, adding to the story.
“Yeah, we were to rough you up and deliver a message.”
“What’s the message?” asked Claire.
“It’s all part of the game,” advised Squirrel.
“Sugar, the message is identical to the note you were handed in the restaurant,” reported Claire.
“The hooded bloke drove a white van,” added Squirrel.
“Tell me the number plate, and I’ll forget about the fags.”
“The van had no number plates. I can say a sticker on the rear bumper read, ‘Save the Elephants.’”
Squirrel bent in two, buckled at the knees and fell face first into the gutter. A metal arrow protruded from his back. A small puddle of blood formed under his shirt. He died where he fell. Crusher died moments later the same way. The remainder of the group dived behind Crusher’s car.
“Where’s the sniper?” whispered Claire.
“He must be on the building’s roof across the street.” Kendal used his right foot to flip Squirrel over. The crossbow arrow had lodged in his heart. He died with his eyes open. Kendal fished for his mobile phone, pressed 000 and requested backup, an ambulance, and the police helicopter.
“The act must be Patrick’s revenge for snitching,” mentioned Claire.
Kendal slapped his partner on the shoulder.
“Stay squatting. Boys, you’re all under arrest for theft. Here Claire, catch. You’ll need an extra pair of handcuffs. Tether the boys together by cuffing them to the car. We’ll sweep the rubbish up later. I’m going after the sniper.”
“I thought we had a deal?” moaned one of the two remaining hoons. “We talk, you’d forget about the fags.”
Kendal’s face looked cold and uncaring.
“You failed to inform me of the number plate. Be advised I don’t make deals.” He buried his mobile phone in his coat pocket, looking at Claire. He gave her a short, sharp nod.
“Careful Sugar,” whispered Claire.
“It’s okay, I believe the sniper is Patrick, and he won’t shoot me. Not sporting enough.” His mobile phone sounded as he readied himself to run. He answered it on the first ring. “Patrick, I was wondering when you’d call. Why did you shoot the boys?”
“They snitched.”
Kendal frowned. His mind whirled into overdrive. How did Patrick know the exact words Claire had spoken? He looked at her and saw her herding the boys together. She caught his gaze. He averted his stare by looking away.
“Is it a good enough reason to kill two of the four boys?” growled Kendal.
“Yes. I will add it’s your fault. You made me do it.”
“How do you figure? You loaded the crossbow and pulled the trigger.”
“You hung up on me at the lake. We’re playing a very different game now. I remember what you said. It’s your game and your rules. I’ve called it, ‘The Games We Play.’”
“Did you shoot the arrow or did your accomplice?”
“Coppa, you do ask too much of me.”
“Come on, you and me, right now,” growled Kendal.
“You sound desperate.”
“You’re going down, Patrick.”
“I don’t think so. Here’s a warning. I’ll kill anyone who gets too close. Understand?”
The phone went dead.
Kendal sprinted for the building across the street, mentally calculating the line of sight of the arrow as he dodged cars and people. By the time he reached the building, he believed the sniper should still be on the fifth floor, apartment one or two. Sprinting up the building’s seven front steps, the door to one of the two lifts opened. He pushed past a big man wearing blue overalls stepping out of the lift car.
“Make sure no one comes out of the other lift,” Kendal yelled at the man.
“Get stuffed.”
The lift closed to the man’s middle finger pointing skywards.
Kendal flashed his police badge. “I can’t get good help anywhere,” he grumbled, starting to pace in tight circles around the lift’s car. “Come on you bloody slow lift. If I’m quick Patrick will see the inside of a prison cell by tonight.”
The door opened. Kendal took a moment to get his bearings. Apartment one and two were at the end of the corridor on his right. He raised his gun to head height and closed in. He paused outside the door, listening. All was quiet. He kicked the door in and made a quick sweep of the interior of the apartment. Finding nothing, he repeated the procedure in apartment two. The sliding glass balcony door had been left wide open. The curtains were slowly moving in the breeze.
Using a fast sweep of his arm, Kendal stepped outside.
“Nothing, no Patrick, and no sign anyone have stepped on the balcony in weeks,” he mumbled. He slipped his gun back into the shoulder holster and looked over the glass balcony wall.
The whole area was in the process of being blocked off. Police cars had been parked haphazardly and were spewing cops. They resembled blue ants running in all directions. The reverberating throb of the approaching police helicopter sounded to be less than thirty seconds away. He spied Claire running across the street towards the building. Staring at him she stopped running. She raised her gun to eye level and pointed it at the balcony. He watched her take careful aim. His eyes widened in disbelief.
She pulled the trigger.
Mortar dust blew into Kendal’s eyes. He ducked. Claire squeezed off another bullet. The one-metre glass balcony wall shattered. His mind whirled, confused at the double cross. No wonder Patrick knew everything. Where he was in the day and what he was doing. He felt pain in his hip. His leg buckled and gave way. He dropped to his knees. He felt pain in his ribs. He doubled over and fell on the shards of glass littering the floor. His gun fell first and hit the concrete footpath directly below. Kendal knew he wasn’t far behind. Patrick’s inevitable win cast a black shadow across his mind. He was convinced he’d never see his family again.
Something dark caught his gaze as Kendal started to follow his gun to the street below. He reached out in desperation. Tightening his grip, the object felt hard and cold. He heard a scream from the road. His feet swept the air. Whatever he was holding was strong enough to take his weight. Kendal looked up and found he had hold of the balcony’s metal frame.
A figure wearing a black hood was staring down at him. His blue eyes appeared to be laughing.
“Hey, what a shame I didn’t break your ribs. I have to improve my kicking technique.”
“Patrick!” snarled Kendal.
“I’m happy you know my name. Don’t wear it out.” He squatted, bringing his covered face close to Kendal’s. “Before I say goodbye, I have to say it’s been a pleasure playing your game.” He checked his watch. “It’s getting late. I have to find some rodents. It amazes me what they’ll do for money.”
Kendal’s fingers ached and were starting to slip. His left hand fell away from the balcony frame. He swung in mid-air by his right hand.
“I fall, you’ll fall,” he barked.
From the street below Claire started yelling.
“Hold on.”
Kendal swung back towards the building and groped for Patrick’s balaclava using his free hand. He missed by the width of a hair. Kendal swung harder and groped for an ankle. Patrick moved fast and stepped away from the edge. He tilted his head back and started a victory laugh. Slowly Patrick returned his gaze on his relentless posse. He spat a three-word statement.
“Good-bye, Kendal.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
