by John Rector
I stood there, staring at the rusted metal chain, letting the pieces fall together in my head.
The lock could only be fastened from the inside.
All at once, the gun felt heavy in my hand.
I turned and saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I lifted the gun, but I was too late.
The figure came in fast.
I had just enough time to register a baseball bat before I dropped down and covered my head with both hands.
The bat hit the wall just above my head, and tiny bits of plaster fell around me. I moved in, grabbing his arms and sweeping his legs out from under him.
We hit the floor hard.
I climbed on top, pinning his arms under my legs, and pulled my fist back, ready.
“Matt!”
A woman’s voice.
“Roach?”
“Get the fuck off me.”
I moved away, and Roach tried to sit up.
“What the fuck, Matt?”
“You could’ve killed me,” I said.
“You broke into my apartment, asshole.” Roach got to her feet and looked around for the bat. She found it, picked it up, and carried it out to the living room, mumbling to herself along the way.
I brushed the plaster dust from my clothes and hair.
My hands were shaking.
Roach grabbed the half-empty bottle of vodka from the coffee table and dropped onto the couch. “You’re still alive, I see.”
“Are you surprised?”
“Of course not,” she said. “You’ve always been lucky.” She paused, took a drink, and pointed at my face. “Or maybe nottell him he ow
26
“Can you get it?”
Roach stared at me. “Why?”
I didn’t want to tell her about Anna, but I needed her help, and I didn’t see any other way.
The news didn’t seem to faze her. “So you want me to give you their home address?”
“And tell me what you can about her and her husband.”
Roach laughed. “Here’s what I know.” She held up two fingers. “She’s rich, and she gets her hair done twice a month. Any of that help?”
“Then just their address.”
“I don’t see what good it’ll do,” Roach said. “If they’ve got your kid, they’re not going to take her home with them. They’ll just dump her somewhere.”
The words stung, but I kept going, trying to stay calm. “I don’t know where they took her, but Pinnell knows, and he’s going to tell me.”
“Do you plan on just ringing the bell and asking him where he took her?”
“It’s a start.”
“It’s fucking stupid, Matt.” came around the cornershyeke
I felt the anger glow inside me, but I managed to keep it in check. I reminded myself that Roach was hard to deal with at the best of times, and these were far from the best of times.
“What would you do?”
“I’m not the person to ask.” She waved me off and leaned back on the couch. “I’ll get you her address, but it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. All that stuff is in the computer at work.”
“Tomorrow?”
“If I can get in tomorrow.”
I waited for her to explain. When she didn’t, I asked, “Is there a problem?”
Roach motioned to the window with the bottle. “I was followed tonight. They were sitting outside when I got home.”
“The two across the street on the steps?” I asked. “They’re not following you.”
“How do you know?”
“They’re drunks,” I said. “And you’re paranoid.”
“Fuck you, Matt.”
“You’re jumping at shadows,” I said. “There’s no one waiting for you out there.”
“Check.”
“I’m telling you.”
“Check.” She pointed the bottle at the window. “I’m not leaving if they’re still there. It’s up to you.”
I stared at her, silent.
Roach frowned. “Well?”
I got up and walked to the front window and looked down over the street.
“Are they there?”
I didn’t answer.
“Matt?”
The street outside was still and white with snow. The men I’d seen on the steps were gone, but there was someone else there now, standing under one of the lights across the street.
“Are they there?”
I told her they weren’t.
“Then what is it?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I went around to the fire escape and opened the window. I stuck my head out and looked down. There was another man standing in the alley, smoking a cigarette.
“Shit.”
Roach sat up. “They’re out there, aren’t they?”
“Someone’s out there,” I said. “Whoever they are, they weren’t outside when I got here. It looks like they’re waiting for us.”
Roach pushed herself off the couch and grabbed the baseball bat. “Are they coming up here?”
“I don’t think so.”
Roach held the bat against her chest and paced the room. I went back to the front window and looked out at the street and cursed myself under my breath for being so careless. Coming here had been a mistake.
I should’ve known better.
If they didn’t already know I’d made it out of the cell in Pella Valley, they sure as hell knew now.
“We need to go,” I said. “Is there another the light60s out of way out of the building?”
“There’s a back door, but we’ll have to go down to the basement and through the laundry room.”
“That’ll have to do,” I said. “Come on.”
“And go where?” Roach held up her hand. “Where do you think we’re going to go?”
I grabbed her silver coat off the arm of the couch and tossed it to her. “Anywhere but here.”
Roach stared at me for a second then slipped her coat on and followed me to the door. When we got close, I held up my arm, stopping her.
“What?”
I pointed to the strip of light coming in from under the door. A shadow passed outside in the hall.
We stood, silent, waiting.
A second later, I heard the muffled clink of glass breaking. Then the hall light went out.
Someone was standing outside the door.
I took my .45 from my belt and nodded toward the window and the fire escape. “Outside. Go.”
Roach didn’t move, so I took her arm and pulled her along.
“Get your fucking hands off me.”
I stopped, whispered, “Stay here if you want, but I’m leaving.”
I opened the window to the fire escape and sat on the windowsill and zipped my coat. Then I slid the .45 into my belt and started to climb out.
Roach stood behind me, watching. “You said someone was down there. They’ll see you.”
I leaned out and checked again. Roach was right. The man was still there, standing in the alley. He would see me before I had a chance to get close.
27
The fire escape ended several feet below the roof. There was a dark window leading back inside, and a cement ledge lined with several stone gargoyles above me. The ledge ran along the length of the building, and I thought if I climbed onto the railing and jumped, I might be able to reach the ledge and pull myself up onto the roof.
It wasn’t the best option, but it seemed like the only one I had left.
I steadied myself against the wall and put my foot on the top of the railing. Then I eased up, testing my weight before each move.
I heard voices below me and looked down. When I did, the world seemed to pinwheel around me, and the strength dropped out of my legs. I had just enough time to see a figure leaning out of Roach’s window two floors below, then my foot slipped and I fell.
I landed hard on the railing, knocking the air out of my lungs. I teetered there, feeling my weight pull me over the edge. At the last second, I kicked out, desperately trying
to arch back onto the platform. I managed to catch the railing with my foot and stop myself from falling all the way down to the alley below.
I pulled myself back onto the platform and slipped down to sitting. My heart was beating so hard in my chest that I could feel it in my throat. When I was ready, I pushed myself up and tried to catch my breath.
I glanced down at Roach’s apartment and saw a man climbing out of her window and onto the fire escape. He was moving fast, and he had a gun in his hand.
I had to get up.
I wasn’t about to try the ledge again, so that left one option. I stood and kicked the window, shattering the glass, then bent down and crawled through into a dark room filled with cardboard moving boxes.
At first, I thought I’d come in through a storage room, but that changed when the woman sitting on the couch in the corner started screaming.
I held up my hands and said, “I’m sorry.”
It didn’t help.
The woman kept screaming.
I got to my feet and wove my way past the boxes to the front door. I pulled it open, but it caught on the chain lock. I slammed it shut, slid the chain, and tried again. This time, the door opened easily, and I ran out into the hallway.
Behind me, the woman stopped screaming, but only for a minute. By the time I reached the utility door leading to the stairwell, she’d started again, and I knew the man on the fire escape had just come inside.
I waited for gunshots, but this time they never came.
I took my .45 from my belt and eased the utility door open. The stairwell was empty. I took one last look back then ran down the steps, tak+stas came to meing them two at a time.
I’d made it down two floors when I heard the utility door open above me. Then a man’s voice echoed through the stairwell.
“You can’t get out,” he said. “There’s no place to go.”
I kept running.
When I got to the second floor, I looked over the railing and saw two men coming up the stairs.
Above me, the man with the gun was coming down fast.
I pushed through the door onto the second floor and ran down the hallway. I checked a couple doors, all locked. Then I turned the corner and saw a kid, earbuds in his ears, step out from one of the apartments and into the hallway. He didn’t notice me.
I came up behind him, gun drawn.
When he saw me, he pressed himself flat against the wall and said, “I don’t have any money, man.”
I motioned to the door and said, “Open it.”
“There’s nothing in there, I swear.”
I could hear the men coming onto the second floor shouting, their footsteps heavy on the thin carpet.
I pointed the gun in the kid’s face.
“Open the fucking door.”
The kid reached down and unlocked the door and swung it wide.
I motioned back over my shoulder toward the growing sound of footsteps and said, “You should hide.”
“What?”
I ran inside and locked the door behind me. The apartment was the same layout as Roach’s place, only reversed. Instead of looking out over the alley, the window leading to the fire escape faced the empty street.
I pushed the window open and crawled out. I could hear voices from the hall, then the kid said, “He’s in there.”
I pulled the latch to lower the ladder, and the metal screeched. It dropped halfway to the street then stopped.
“Shit.”
I kicked the side, but it wouldn’t move.
I heard keys turning in the lock and the men moving outside the door. I looked over the edge of the fire escape at the sidewalk below. It was at least twenty feet down, and there was nothing to break my fall.
No choice.
I put my foot on the ladder and started down. When I got to the end, I let my feet hang out into nothing and climbed, hand over hand, down to the last rung and stayed there, still a good fifteen feet from the ground.
Above me, one of the men said, “He’s down here.”
I looked up and saw them climbing through the window and onto the fire escape.
I let go of the ladder and fell.
When I hit the ground, my leg slipped on the snow, and I feltand you shoot
28
I drove fast.
I could feel the adrenaline pulsing through me, and every part of me seemed to shake. The pain in my knee had gotten worse, and whenever I moved my leg, my mouth would turn sour and my stomach would twist. Twice, I had to pull over and lean out of the car, and both times nothing came up but stomach acid.
After the second time, I leaned my head against the steering wheel and listened to the wind outside. My thoughts were spinning out of control, and nothing I did helped.
They’d known about Roach. They’d been waiting.
I felt like a fool for not expecting it. If Pinnell could find out about me, he would’ve had no problem tracing everything back to the salon.
Now, Roach was dead, and time was running out.
I was sure the news I’d made it out of Pella Valley had made its way back to the old man. That meant things were about to get more complicated. I still had to find Pinnell, but without Roach I didn’t know where to begin.
Then it came to me.
I didn’t like the answer, but I also knew I couldn’t do this one alone.
Outside, a blue Jeep sped by. The radio was loud, and the heavy bass rattled the windows of the cruiser. I watched it disappear around the end of the block, then I reached out and put the car in gear.
My hand was no longer shaking.
I took it as a good sign.
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Murphy’s bar was a long, one-level brick building in the warehouse district. The door was metal, faded green, and there were two large front windows and a row of smaller, square windows along the sides. It was an easy place to miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for.
There was a parking garage next door, and I pulled in and took a space as close to the front as I could. I didn’t trust my knee to take me very far, but I wasn’t about to park a stolen police cruiser in front of Murphy’s place.
I was desperate, not stupid.
I shut off the engine and opened the door. When I slid my leg out, my knee screamed at me, and tiny beads of sweat formed on my skin.
I closed my eyes and waited for the pain to pass. Once it did, I tried again, easing my legs out and pushing myself up to standing. When I felt steady, I put a hand against the wall and moved slowly through the parking garage and out onto the street.
By the time I got to Murphy’s, my knee had started to loosen up a little. I stood outside and tried to collect myself. Then I pushed the door open and walked in.
There was no one inside except for a woman standing behind the bar holding a clipboard. She was young and had pomegranate-red hair that fell around her face in tight curls. When she saw me, she set the clipboard down and watched me ease over and sit on one of the barstools.
She came over slow.
I leaned out and grabbed a chair from one of the tables and pulled it close. I set my leg on top of it and tried my best to ignore the pain.
The woman stood behind the bar, watching me.
“Can I get a bag of ice?” I asked.
“What else?”
“That’s it.”
The woman frowned. “This isn’t a hospital, buddy. Order a drink or hobble your busted ass out of here.”
I stared at her, smiling despite the pain, and said, “Jameson’s, neat.”
She stared at me for a moment longer, her eyes narrow, then turned back to the bar and grabbed the Jameson bottle from the shelf. She poured the drink and set it aside.
“And a bag of ice.”
“I heard you the first time.” She took a bar towel, laid it out flat, and scooped ice into the center. She folded the edges of the towel over and twisted it like a wonton before handing it
to me. “No bags, so you’ll have to make do.”
I took the ice and the drink and thanked her.
I pulled up my pant leg and saw my knee for the first time. The skin was already turning a dark shade of blue, and my kneecap looked swollen and out of place.
“Jesus,” the woman said. “And I thought your face looked bad. You really did a number on it, didn’t you?”
I told her I did, then reached for the drink, downed it, and set the empty glass on the bar.
“You owe me eight bucks for the drink.” She motioned to my knee. “Ice is on the house.”
“Start a tab?”
“A what?”
I looked around the bar. “Is Murphy +erasi bhere?”
The woman eyed me, didn’t answer.
“I’m a friend of his,” I said. “Is he in back?”
“I’d have to check.”
“Do you mind?” I asked. “I’d do it myself, but—”
“Murphy?” The woman never took her eyes off me. “You back there?”
He answered, his voice muted through the wall. “What do you need?”
“Some sad-looking motherfucker out here wants to run a tab.”
“Tell him to fuck off.”
The woman smiled. “You heard the man.”
I nodded, yelled back, “Brian?”
A moment later, I heard a chair scrape across the floor, then the door to the back room opened and Jimmy stood in the doorway.
He saw me and shook his head. “Yeah, it’s him.”
Brian said something I didn’t quite hear, then Jimmy waved me back. “Come on, Matt.”
I pointed to my leg. “That’s going to be tough.”
Jimmy stepped back and closed the door. I could hear them talking inside, then the door opened and Brian came out carrying an unlit cigar in his hand.
He saw me and stopped halfway. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Long story,” I said. “Can we talk? Alone?”
Murphy turned to the woman behind the bar. “Rita, give us a minute, will ya?”
“I’m doing inventory.”
“It can wait.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Rita grabbed the clipboard, walked out from behind the bar, and disappeared into the back room, mumbling under her breath.
Murphy sat next to me at the bar, silent.
