Run With Me

by Shorter, L. A.

  “But what? But you should have told me about the man before all this shit happened. But you shouldn't have asked me to bring Kitty in in the first place. But you should have let me kill him myself!”

  “You're right, on all of that. It became a personal vendetta for me. Maybe I was selfish, or maybe I felt....responsible.”

  “Responsible,” I say, my eyes narrowing as I lean towards him.

  He nods. I can tell there's more he's not telling me. I can smell his hand in this.

  “I knew the man,” he says reluctantly. “I'd hired him in the past and recommended him to someone for a job. I had no idea that job would involve Sophie.”

  Now all I'm doing is staring at him, unblinking, as his eyes shift from side to side. I stand motionless, preparing to strike. Another wrong word right now will set me off, and he knows it.

  So it was him trying to clear up a mess that he'd created. The words, handwritten in my file, were of guilt and remorse: I owe this man a debt, and I will repay it.

  “I'm so sorry Colt.” His words are creeping out now, tentative. “I hunted him to get revenge for your family...I...”

  “His name,” I say, cutting him off. “What was his name?”

  “Robert Pullman,” says Carmine immediately. “When I found him, he'd been living for years as Mark Lambert in Canada. It took a lot of time and money to track him, Colt.”

  I snarl at his last comment. Like any time or money can pay back what happened, what was taken from me. What is all of this anyway? Is he trying to placate me, using all of this to bargain for his life? Am I supposed to thank him for killing this man? For getting revenge for my wife? Or should I be more likely to pull the trigger because he's the one who recommended the man, because he denied me the chance to kill him myself?

  There's too much spinning around my head right now to make sense of anything. And at the bottom of it all remains Kitty, half forgotten amid all these revelations. Her life is still in the balance here, still under threat. Her safety is still the priority. But first, there's one last thing to know.

  “The man who hired this Pullman....what was his name.”

  Carmine's lips crawl into an odd smile for the briefest of moments before collapsing again. “Teddy Klein,” he says. It's a name that requires no further comment.

  “Teddy Klein,” I repeat quietly. “And why?” I ask, my voice still shallow.

  “She owed him debt, I think. So...he burned down your house.”

  “Thank you,” I say, squeezing out the words. Then I turn, slowly, and begin dragging my feet numbly across the bridge. Once more, Carmine's voice brings me back.

  “What about us Colt? Are you still going to kill me?”

  I stop as before, but don't turn back. “If you kill Kitty, then yes.” I say bluntly.

  There's the shortest of delays as I look forward to the far edge of the bridge.

  “And if I do what you said. If you promise she won't talk?”

  Now I turn and look into his face. It's sincere, hopeful even. “Then I'd leave with her and never come back.”

  “And what about Klein?” he asks. “I've known him for years.”

  “You denied me Pullman. Klein belongs to me.”

  I wait for his reaction. All he does is nod very lightly, his eyes sticking to mine. His permission, like I need it.

  Then we both step forward together, shortening the distance between us, and raise our hands. They lock into a shake, both our grips tight. “I'll give you Kitty for your word you won't try to kill me.”

  I nod and shake harder. “And I'll make sure she never speaks of any of this, as long as you leave both of us alone.”

  He nods as well.

  “I think, Mr Tanner, we have a deal.”

  Chapter 20 - Kitty

  Kitty

  I'm awoken suddenly by the sound of my door clicking open and footsteps moving in. I look up and see shadows entering from the bright corridor outside, voices uttering words my disorientated head can't immediately compute.

  Is it time? Is my sentence up? I wonder how they'll kill me. Hopefully it'll be quick and painless. Why can't they have just crept in and stuck a needle in my arm? Then, at least, I'd never have known and could have been spared all of this.

  My instinct kicks in and I scramble to the back of the bed and against the wall. I count two men, two strong sets of arms, reaching out and grabbing me. They pull hard and easily unseat me despite my attempts to fend them off. Now words begin to form in my head. Calm down. Stop fighting. Grunts from the men's mouths as they try to calm me down.

  My writhing continues as they half walk, half carry me out of the room and into the corridor. For the first time, I see the outside of my cell. There are rooms spaced evenly down the corridor with numbers. I was in 512. Next along is 511, then 510, until we reach an elevator after 506.

  The elevator takes us to the ground floor and we enter into what appears to be a bomb site. There's a large open space filled with construction equipment and material. Scaffolding sits on one side of the hall, its wall half painted, while at the front is a long desk with a marble top and a series of lock boxes behind it. So, it is a hotel, not yet open for business. Most likely Michael Carmine's most recent business project.

  I'm making noises now, protesting against my imminent death. Making pleading sounds and crying out in a way I told myself I wouldn't. I said if I was going to go down it would be with pride, with my head held high. This isn't exactly the way I'd envisaged it.

  It's light outside and I realize my last, my only, hope is to cry to high heaven so that someone hears me and raises the alarm. But even that's dashed as my captors stop at the door, stuff a cloth in my mouth, and wrap tape around my head to stop me from spitting it out. Now my calls are muffled to the point of being useless. I guess someone will have to see me instead if they're to do anything.

  That doesn't happen either. Outside the hotel is a cordoned off construction area completely hidden from the road. Within it is a black sedan, its back door open and ready for me. When we reach it one of the men pulls my hands together behind my back and fastens my wrists using some sort of plastic handcuff tie. I struggle in vain as they both help me into the backseat.

  Now we're driving, and I don't know where. Through the back of the city, away from the bright lights and heavy smog. For a few minutes I dance around at the window, hoping to get the attention of some passer by, until I realize that the windows are blacked out and no one can see me. The two men in the front of the car seem entirely disinterested, allowing me to shout my muffled cries for help until I'm exhausted and give up, which doesn't take long.

  Really, it's no use. This isn't a random killing. It's not impromptu and improvised. This has all been planned by people who know just what they're doing. I'll disappear and no one, not my friends, not my family, will know what happened to me. The only person who will is Colt.

  The next 20 minutes are the worst of my life. There's something about knowing you're about to die that gives you total clarity. You begin to think of all the things you've failed at, all the things you never even had a chance to try. You appraise your role in the world, everything you've achieved. The worst thing for me is that I have nothing to show for my existence. No accomplishments. Nothing to make someone proud of me, me proud of myself. I'm going to die and, really, no one's going to miss me. A handful of friends might question my whereabouts. My dad might wonder why I haven't written him. But that's it. The people I was closest to – Tara, my aunt and uncle – they're already gone. In the end, maybe joining them might not be the worst thing.

  I'm quiet now, sitting motionless and watching as the world turns more green, less urban. My eyes are warm with tears, drifting down my cheeks and soaking the tape around my mouth. My imminent death is made worse by the sobering thought that my life has been meaningless and empty. I see it all so clearly, like a vision glowing bright in front of my eyes. It's the type of lucid revelation that only unveils itself at the end. And it makes e
verything all the more painful.

  I try to look for rays of light, something to cling to. Friends. I've enriched their lives over the years, haven't I? I helped Tara out when she needed it and would do the same for anyone I cared about. Does that make me a good person, a good friend? I hope so.

  I think of my father, about our relationship before he went to prison, about how we were a team for so long after the death of my mother. I think of him getting the news in jail, banging the walls and shaking the bars. I'm his shining light. He tells me that in all his letters. What will he do without me guiding him? The thought brings a fresh steam of tears to my eyes.

  My thoughts also turn to Colt. The man who saved me, who protected me. Will he avenge me too? I think of his family and their deaths. Of the confession of Robert Pullman still nested into my back pocket. I'll never get a chance to tell him now, to give him the link that might help him complete the chain and find the retribution he's been seeking. It strikes at me in a strange way that, above all, I won't get to tell him how I feel. For what's he's done, for what he means to me. It's that thought that my mind lingers on the longest. The regret of something missed. Maybe, with him, my life could have developed some meaning.

  The feeling of the car slowing down pulls me back to reality, and I look out to see that we've arrived at a remote patch of land in the forest north of the city. Taken to the woods to be offed and buried in the deep, cold earth. It's almost a cliché.

  I'm not surprised when I look out of the window and see another car there. I half expected him to want to say goodbye in person, and I'm not left disappointed. Michael Carmine stands, arms crossed, with a beaming smile. I haven't known him long, but I've never witnessed that particular expression on his face. Is he really so callous that my death is the one thing that brings him true joy?

  Before the door opens and I'm ordered from the car I compose myself. I may have lost it for the duration of this car journey but I won't let him see me cry. I rub my eyes to my shoulders, which is tricky with your hands tied behind your back, and quickly dry my teary cheeks. I'm sure my face is still red and blotchy, but it's the best I can do.

  Then the door opens and hands reach in to pull me out. This time, though, I don't recoil and I don't struggle. I merely shuffle my legs over and step out as casually as possible. At the sight of me, I see Carmine's smile evaporate and a frown crease his eyebrows.

  “Why is she bound like that?” he asks forcefully, turning his eyes towards the two men who delivered me to him.

  “She was struggling boss. Making all this noise.”

  “Well untie her hands and take that damn cloth out of her mouth.”

  They set to it quickly, a little too quickly for my liking, pulling half my hair out as they rip the tape from my head.

  “Easy!” shouts Carmine, stepping forward. He reaches for the tape himself and begins to unravel it more gently. What is this? Like buttering up a lamb for slaughter? The gentle touch is somewhat lost on me given that he's about to take my life.

  The plastic cuffs around my wrists are cut and my immediate reaction is to rub my head where the tape was pulled too hard.

  “It's all right,” says Carmine. “No chunks missing or anything.” He offers a smile and hands the hair matted tape to one of the guards as I spit the cloth from my mouth.

  “Like it matters,” I mumble. Having fancy hair doesn't exactly make a difference when you're six feet under.

  I'm having trouble looking at Carmine, who's way too close to me for comfort. In fact, this is the closest he's ever been to me, so close I can smell his cologne mixed with the heavy scent of cigar smoke that lingers in his suit and on his breath. I try to raise my eyes to his, but only manage a glance before dropping my eyes back to the floor. In that glance, I don't see the malice I've come to expect.

  He steps back now and speaks. “What exactly do you think this is?” he asks.

  “The end,” I say curtly.

  I lift my head enough to see him nodding. “That's exactly what it is Kitty. It's the end of all of this. We have to draw a line under it for all our sakes.”

  “And what about Colt?”

  “He coming.”

  He's coming! So he has been using me as bait. Now Colt's going to walk into a trap and we're both going to be sent to the grave. It's the end all right, and Carmine's won. Was anything else really going to happen?

  “You need to make me a promise though Kitty.” Now I lock eyes with him and stare. “I need to know that you won't speak of any of this. If ever the police catch up with you, I have to know that my name won't come up.”

  “Catch me?” I say, tentatively. “You're....letting me go?”

  His face is stern, his eyes piercing. “Can I trust you?”

  “I...I don't understand. You're not going to kill me?” I repeat, my voice hopeful.

  “I told you Kitty, I wasn't going to kill you. But only if I can trust you?”

  I know what he means. Trust me to stay silent, to keep my mouth shut about the man I saw him kill, about Tara and my aunt and uncle. I still want him dead for all of that. For what he's put me through, put Colt through. What he should be asking is, will I step away and let things lie. Not forgive. I could never do that. But let it go for my own sake, and for Colt's. There is only one answer I can give.

  “You can trust me,” I say impassively. He eyes me with caution and suspicion, so I repeat to convince him. “You can trust me Mr Carmine, I promise you that.”

  “I believe you,” he says. “But if I get any hint that you've been to the police.” His voice is hardening now as he inches forward. “If I hear a whisper that my name has dropped from your lips....I'll kill your father. And, if I find you, I'll kill you too.”

  The threat is so real it almost hurts. A flash of my father, stabbed and lying in a pool of blood in his cell, crosses my eyes. Prison may keep people from getting out, but there's no hiding in there. If Carmine wanted him dead, it would be as easy as a phone call.

  I nod in silence and, now, can't look away from him. The bright smile is gone and his eyes are burning. He's telling me how serious this all is, telling me to let it all go and move on. It's an order I'll follow, even from him.

  The sound of tires moving over the dirt track suddenly comes into focus and I turn on the spot, away from Carmine. A car I don't recognize rumbles forward and comes to a halt about 100 feet away. The door opens and Colt appears, pistol pointing through the open window, body hidden and protected behind the metal frame.

  “Colt!” I shout, unable to keep my voice in check. I make a move to run to him but feel my wrist gripped in Carmine's vice like hand. He pulls me back as his other hand grabs my throat, restricting the airflow to my lungs.

  “We had a deal Carmine,” calls Colt. “Let her go.”

  “Lower the weapon first. The deal is still on, just lower the weapon and I'll release her.”

  I gasp for air as Colt wrestles with a decision. Most likely he's working out whether Carmine can truly be trusted.

  He has no choice, though, and soon realizes it. His hands slide backwards over the top of the glass and he stands, putting his pistol back into the holster in his belt. He steps to the side, exposing his entire body, and raises his hands.

  “OK Carmine,” he calls, “time to see if that word of yours can be trusted. Let her go, and we can call an end to it all right here, right now.”

  I can see the two guards off to the side, their own weapons unholstered and aiming towards Colt. For the first time I also catch glimpse of Rugger, standing behind Carmine's car, a gun casually hanging in his grip.

  There's a moment of pause as Colt stands there, staring just over my head at Carmine. I can feel his grip shiver slightly, as if contemplating whether to break my neck and have Colt gunned down simultaneously. Then, slowly, his hand slips from my throat and he releases my wrist.

  “Go,” he whispers to me. “But remember our deal.”

  I'm off and running as his last syllable falls, coveri
ng the short distance to Colt, whose arms fall, ready to meet me. They wrap around me as I reach them and I feel suddenly safe. For the first time since he left me in the cabin, I feel safe.

  I'm still in his arms, my head buried in his chest, when the sound of engines fills the air, then tires rolling slowly over cracked twigs and leaves. I hear one slow down as Carmine's voice comes from inside.

  “Remember our deal Mr Tanner,” he says. “I don't expect to be seeing you any time soon.” The engine growls again, tires roll, and gradually the sound of the forest is all that reaches my ears.

  I'm back in the woods. Back safe with Colt. Back on the run.

  Chapter 21 - Colt

  Colt

  Kitty doesn't loosen her grip on me until Carmine's long gone. When she looks up into my eyes I see that she's breaking down, tears quickly filling up and falling down her cheeks.

  “I didn't think I'd ever see you again,” she whispers. “I thought I was going to....” She doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't need to.

  I hug her tighter and speak softly. “Did they harm you? Are you injured?”

  She shakes her head and presses it back to my chest. I stroke her newly blonded hair and tell her that everything's OK now, that she's safe, that we're both safe. Then I lead her to the car and sit her down in the passenger seat. She's shaking slightly as she sits there, her tears starting to dry.

  “What happened?” she asks. “Why did he let me go?”

  “Because it's mutually beneficial,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “If he'd have killed you then he'd be risking his own life. I'd have never stopped hunting him.”

  She smiles and squeezes my palm, tears filling her eyes once more. “Thank you...I don't know what to say.”

  “You don't have to say anything Kitty...”

  She cuts me off with a kiss. It's sudden, her body darting forward and her lips lunging towards mine. I'm so wired that I almost back away, despite my desires. Then I remember myself, and kiss her back.