I check my watch – 9.30 PM. It's early still, and I know just where to start.
A half hour later my hand knocks hard on a door and I listen for movement inside. I can hear a TV on behind the door, quickly drowned out by the sound of a man's voice.
“Who is it?”
I don't answer, but knock again.
“I said, who the fuck is it?” comes the man's voice, louder and more aggressive this time.
Again, I say nothing, but just knock, this time with more force.
Now I hear footsteps, a heavyset man marching quickly towards me. I step to the side and up against the wall and hear a light thud against the door. I know he's looking through the peep hole, but now I'm hidden from view.
“Who the fuck's out there?” he growls.
I don't react, but stand calmly to the side.
I hear him mumbling “fucking kids” as his footsteps thud back towards his sofa. I lean across and knock again, hard and loud. I know from the file that this guy's got a a history of violence. He's not going to take this for long.
He booms once more, swearing as he rushes back towards the door. I stand still to the side, waiting for it to open. I hear his hands scrambling at the lock and the door swings open. I act fast now, moving quickly from the side. He sees me but there's little he can do. I've done this a thousand times. It's hard wired into me.
My left foot is behind his ankle in a flash as I duck forward. He tries to swing at me but I dive under his punch and thrust at his throat. He's a big man – fat, not muscular – and falls hard, my foot tripping him up as he crashes backwards into his apartment. He grunts as he lands heavily on the floor, and tries to scramble to his feet. But when his eyes fall back onto me, he stops in his tracks and holds his hands up.
“Who....who the fuck are you?” he asks, his voice shaking slightly.
I stand ahead of him, a gun clasped to my palm. I hold it out to the side, my eyes staring down on him, but don't point it towards him. I know how it feels to have a gun pointed at you. This guy isn't in for that treatment....unless he makes a move.
“Here man,” he says, ripping his wallet from his pants, “take it. Look around you, there's nothing here...I ain't got shit to rob.”
I don't move my head, but keep staring at him. I can see in my peripheral vision that this place is a dive.
“Give me your phone,” I say, still standing over him, unmoving.
“It's over on the table.” He gestures towards a coffee table stacked with old pizza boxes and beer cans.
“Give it to me,” I order, my gun hovering to my side.
He's shaky as he stands to his feet, glancing over at me as if he expects me to put a bullet in the back of his head.
“It's not worth much, man, seriously. I ain't got nothing here,” he says, handing the phone to me.
“Sit on the sofa,” I say, taking the phone from his hands, “and don't move.”
He moves nervously to his seat and sits down, his eyes still hooded in fear and confusion.
I flick the phone open and move through his contacts, searching for a name: Kitty. I don't see it. I move back to the start and check down the list alphabetically. I see the contact for 'Cuz', and glance back to the guy sitting in front of me. He shifts under my stare and speaks again: “what the fuck is this bro....”
I look back down to the phone and check through his latest calls. I'm looking for calls from 'Cuz' but see none. I put the phone in my pocket now and step casually through into the nearest room. It's a bedroom, and stinks of weed, just like the entire place. There's nobody in there. I check the bathroom too, but it's empty.
I move back into the main room and pull up a chair, setting it in front of the sofa and the fat guy weighing it down. I sit and place my gun on my lap, before pulling the phone from my pocket and tossing it towards him.
“Cuz is your cousin Kitty isn't it?” I ask as he catches the phone.
“Erm, yeah.”
“Have you heard from her?”
His eyes narrow into a frown. “Kit? Not for months, nah. We're not close family bro.”
I stare at him, searching for any lie in his eyes, any change in his voice. He seems honest. Too stupid to lie convincingly on the spot.
I pick up the gun again and eye it up menacingly for effect. “I'm trying to find her. Do you know where she might be?”
“No, I don't know man. I don't even know where she's living now.”
“Is she close with other family members? Your parents?”
He grunts. “My parents....fuck no. Her other aunt and uncle though, yeah they were close I guess. Like I say man, I don't keep in touch with her...”
“Pick up your phone,” I say quickly. “I want you to call her.”
“Call her? Why? What's this about.”
“Don't ask me questions. Just do it.” The inflection in my words is heavy, serious.
Slowly he lifts the phone to his ear. “What shall I say? I never speak to her.”
“I don't care, ask her how she's doing, whatever. Just get her on the phone.”
“Why do you need to know where she is. You're not going to hurt her are you?” He eyes my gun again, which remains lightly gripped in my hand on my lap.
I don't answer. I just look at him as a few long moments pass.
It's enough.
He dials the number and I can hear it connecting in the silence of the room. It rings once, twice, three times, then clicks to life.
I can hear a voice on the other line. It's quiet and I can't make out the words. Then Kitty's cousin speaks: “hey Kitty, errr, how you doing?”
More muffled sounds.
“Yeah, just calling to see how you are. We haven't seen each other in a while...”
I can hear her cutting him off. She sounds confused.
“Seriously Kit, a guy can't call his fav cousin once in a while. What's up with that....”
He glances up at me and shrugs his shoulders. There's a look on his face of “what the fuck shall I say...what the hell am I doing”. I lift my hand to my neck and make a slicing movement. Cut it off.
He frowns deeper and fumbles his words a bit.
“Ah hey Kit, errr there's someone at the door. I'd better grab it, OK. I'll call you back...”
He hangs up and breathes out. “Dude, what the fuck is this.” His voice is rising now, his anger brewing.
“Hand me the phone.” I say casually.
He shakes his head, so I lift the gun once more, stepping towards him.
He shrinks back again and holds up his cell. I take it from him and slip it into my pocket. Then I turn and walk back towards the door. He's behind me, spouting more words of confusion as I pull on the handle and step back out into the doorway. He doesn't have a clue what's going on. He doesn't have to.
I'm back in my car in a moment, pulling my own cell from my jacket and dialing. It rings and picks up quickly.
“Rick,” I say quickly, “it's Colt. I need a favor.”
Chapter 4 - Kitty
Kitty
It's quiet. So quiet I can hear the rustling of leaves in the trees outside the house. It's dark too, the stars and moon blocked by a swamp of heavy cloud, fat with rain and ready to spill.
I stand at the window and look out onto the street. There are a couple of parked cars silhouetted against the dying light, sitting in driveways outside large houses. I can see a thin light flickering in the distance, a TV playing behind thick curtains. Further down the road are more dots of yellow, spilling out from inside windows. There aren't many houses on this street, only a few littering the long stretch out of town. It's somewhere I used to love coming to as a kid, when the bright lights and booming sounds of LA grew too much. A haven, that's what it always was.
And it's a haven again now. But only for tonight. I can't stay here.
I step away from the window and glance at the bag sitting to the side of my bed. It's unzipped and there are clothes mashed together within, essentials hastily thrust i
nside . I had no time to fold, no time to organize. The whole thing was a rush, a blur, a nightmare that I can't wake up from.
I can still see the image of Tara's lifeless, bloodied body. It's like it's been etched onto the front of my eyeballs, a vision that I can't escape from, one that haunts my waking thoughts. Her pretty face, locked in a permanent expression of fear, of pain. The last thing she must have seen makes me feel sick. A man, a gun, a flash of light, then eternal blackness.
I know it should have been me in her place. The thought causes a swell of guilt to rise up inside me. It wasn't a break in. It wasn't a case of random murder. It was a hit, one intended for me, and Tara took the bullet in my absence.
I've been wondering how they knew I was there, how they'd known that I'd witnessed Michael Carmine pulling the trigger on that kneeling, begging man. I should have turned and walked away. I should never have been there in the first place. And now, Tara's dead. And it's all my fault.
A crack of thunder makes me jump slightly, breaking the silence of the room. Almost immediately I hear the sound of heavy rain begin to crash down on the roof. It grows quickly loud as the heavens open and empty themselves out. I look back to the window, where the black sky is now filled with water, droplets jumping wildly on the window sill as they rush through the open window.
I move forward quickly and pull down on the glass, shutting it tight and quickly drowning out most of the noise outside. Another rumble of thunder shakes the foundations of the house as lighting comes down with it, illuminating the world outside. I see a cat rush quickly under a car for shelter. It already looks soaked to the skin.
A ring sounds behind me and I turn, my heart jumping suddenly. I see the phone on my bed lighting up and singing its tune. I edge forward and peer at the number, a frown creasing my forehead.
“Brad?” I whisper in confusion.
I lift the phone to my ear as it rings a third time and press the button to connect the call.
When I speak my words are cautious and wary. Brad isn't someone I hear from often.
“Brad....hey, how are you?” I say, my voice tentative.
“Hey Kitty...how you doing?” He sounds awkward, his words forced.
“I'm...OK, I guess. This is a bit out of the blue Brad...is something wrong. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, just calling to see how you are. We haven't seen each other in a while...”
“Um, I know, it's been a long time....is anything up?” It's weird hearing his voice again. I can't remember ever talking to him on the phone. I'm racking my brain to think of the last time we were together. Probably as a family before my dad went down....
“Seriously Kit, a guy can't call his fav cousin once in a while. What's up with that?”
“Fav cousin? I'm your only cousin Brad. Did you have something specific you wanted to talk about or something...”
“Ah hey Kit, errr there's someone at the door. I'd better grab it, OK. I'll call you back...”
“But....” I try to respond but can already hear the phone going dead.
“What the fuck?” I say to myself, my mind racing.
I drop the phone back to the bed and stare at it for a few moments. I'm waiting for his call back, for some sort of explanation. I mean, that was the most cryptic thing ever. Totally random.
Seconds pass and turn to minutes as the rain continues to slash against the windows. Cracks of thunder boom through the house on occasion, but I can hardly hear them now. I wait, anxiously, to see my phone light up again.
But it doesn't.
Those minutes turn to half an hour, that half an hour to an hour. Questions run through my head as I settle on my bed. I question why he called in the first place, I grow anxious at the stiffness of his voice, the forced nature of his words. The entire situation is fucked up, but then Brad's always been like that, always been a completely random guy.
Weed. He smokes it all the time, or at least he did the last I knew of it. It's probably screwed with his head, made him paranoid or something. I don't know, never gone there myself, but I've known guys who have done some weird things when high.
As I lie and wait I begin to feel the heavy scent of sleep bearing down on me. I haven't slept in two nights now. I'm scared to do so, scared to shut my eyes for what I'll see. The thunder and lightning is still rumbling, the storm still emptying its payload over the city. The sound of rain tip tapping on the roof is strangely comforting, soothing my tormented mind.
I struggle to keep my eyes open. My eyelids are heavy now, drawn together like magnets. Tara. My thoughts return to Tara. The image of her on my sofa; her life, so full of promise, cut short. I see flashes of gunshots tearing into her as she studies, then the sight of the kneeling man hitting the tarmac, blood pooling beneath his body.
I toss and turn as I tumble into a troubled sleep. The storm keeps roaring but I don't hear it now. Everything turns silent, my mind bending inward as I lose consciousness. I'm lying, clothed, on my bed, the room lit dimly by a lamp on the bedside table. It's the first I've slept in two long nights.
I see flashes in the blackness, accompanied by the sound of booming thunder. I wake, suddenly, my mind quickly alert, my eyes open wide. I quickly scan the room but see nothing, no one. I can feel the sweat soaking through my T-shirt, my hands and forehead clammy and hot.
I reach for my phone. No call back from Brad. Nothing.
It's late now, the minutes just ticking past 3 AM. I can only have been out for a few hours.
Another flash and rumble, even louder than before, causes the house to tremble. The sound of rain on the roof grows stronger, pounding harder and harder, louder and louder. I slide to the edge of the bed and hang my legs over the side, taking a sip of water from the glass on the bedside table.
My pulse is racing, my breathing fast. I feel like I did in the movie theater, as if I'm having a minor panic attack. I must have been dreaming, a terrible nightmare creeping around in my head as I slept, but I can't remember.
When I stand my legs are slightly weak and shaky, but quickly sure up. I see the faintest of lights through the window on the street outside, but it quickly disappears. It's so loud I can hardly think. The rain is relentless, the storm unyielding, booming its angry song amid the strikes of sharp lightning outside my window.
They come in their pairs, one quickly followed by another. As soon as the night sky lights up with a flash from Zeus, the thunder follows a split second later. Lighting, thunder, lighting, thunder. And amid it all is a chorus of rain, hitting hard on any surface it meets.
I walk to the window and open the curtains, my eyes drifting down to the street below. There are no lights now in any of the houses on the opposite side of the road, no light at all barring the faintest celestial glimmer breaking through the storm above.
A flash comes down again, illuminating the street. I can see puddles, wide and deep, forming on the tarmac of the road and in front yards, beautiful flower formations being decimated by the force of the rain and wind.
Another flash, and my eyes drop to the road just outside the house, a little way down the street. There's a car there, one that wasn't there before. I eye it closely before the light fades once more. The sky lights up again, and I get a better look. I can see, through the heavy rain, a wisp of condensation rising from the back of the car. The engine's hot. The car's just arrived.
Once more it grows dark as the sound of thunder cracks and fades. I keep my eyes on the car as it disappears again into the blackness. There's no other house on this side of the road for 100 feet or so. Why is someone parking right there at this time?
When the lightning flashes again and the thunder grumbles in the heavens, I hear something else. Another thud, closer this time, short and abrupt. It sounds like it's coming from downstairs, timed in with the thunder.
I sit in silence and listen, but only the sound of rain fills my ears. Then, again, the lightning comes, then the thunder, and I hear it. Another thud, just as the thunder cracks.
My pulse begins to race. There's someone downstairs, someone breaking in.
I creep to the door and press my ear to it, focusing my hearing. The sound of rain is drowned out now as I hear the lightest sound of movement, of footsteps creeping up the stairs. They're old, they creak. With every step I hear the bending of wood underfoot, of someone trying to move upstairs without making a sound.
I step back, as quietly as possible, keeping my eyes on the door. I feel my bag at my feet and pick it up, grabbing my phone and dropping it into my pocket. Carefully I pull on the zip, winding it across the top of the bag and locking it up, and all the while my eyes keep staring at the door, my ears keep searching for any sound beyond it.
But amid the incessant patter of rain and the frequent crashes of thunder, I hear nothing. I move to the window, walking backwards for fear of turning from the door. When I reach it I open it up, and the world grows suddenly louder. Splashes of rain jump into me off the window sill as I step straight through and out onto the edge.
With my bag slung over my shoulder I climb down onto the tiled roof covering the front porch. The rain is cool on my warm skin, hitting me hard and quickly soaking me to the bone. I look back through the window to see that the door to my room is still closed and a sickening feeling rushes through me. What about my aunt and uncle?
They're in another bedroom, further down the hall. If he finds them....I don't know what will happen. I should never have come here. I know that, and now I've put them in danger. I need to leave, draw him away, whoever he is.
I begin to rush now, moving quickly as I reach the edge of the low roof and drop down onto the ground. I run through the rain round the side of the house, where my car is parked in an open garage undercover. I unlock it and jump inside, purposefully roaring the engine as loud as I can.
I screech out onto the street, putting on my high beams and lighting up the road. I stop, just outside the front of the house as my engine rumbles, and look up. A crack of lightning flashes again, followed by another boom of thunder.
Run With Me Page 3
