Tracers

by J. J. Howard

  Miller stood up. Instead of answering, he stalked forward a few paces until he stood beside Cam, just a few feet away. Methodically, in a line from left to right, he shot each of the four people Cam had been guarding.

  “This is the exit plan, Cam.”

  Still calm, like he was ordering a coffee or reading a newspaper, Miller began to change the magazine on the AK. When he was done, he trained the weapon on Cam.

  “This was always the plan,” Cam said. “The unloaded gun. The jump you didn’t make.” He didn’t necessarily expect his words to change the outcome of the situation, but he wanted Miller to know he understood, at least. Bad enough to be the bait—worse to be a complete chump too.

  Miller’s only response was a smile.

  The moment seemed to stretch as Cam stared back at him. It wasn’t that the betrayal was a compete shock. He knew Miller was responding to what he perceived as Cam’s own betrayal with Nikki. He knew Miller believed his one-alpha-per-pack mantra.

  Cam looked around wildly for a way out, then suddenly a second huge man—he had to be another bodyguard—came barreling around the corner. He threw Miller up against the wall; a mirror shattered behind his back, and Cam forced aside the nasty thought that maybe Miller would get cut today after all.

  The man must have heard the shots, Cam reasoned. He watched Miller hold his own with the much-larger bodyguard, blocking his punches, kneeing him hard in the groin.

  And then Cam spotted the third bodyguard coming around the corner, his own AK-47 held confidently aloft.

  Cam didn’t have time to think; he threw his empty gun at the bodyguard, then tic-tacked off the wall as the bullets started flying toward where he’d been standing just seconds before.

  The third bodyguard was a lot smaller than the guy who was still on Miller. An image of Nikki’s face flashed into Cam’s mind, and he put all his anger and resolution into his right hook. The guy crumpled.

  He turned to see that the other bodyguard had Miller pinned to the ground. The small velvet bag went flying; one of them kicked it farther across the floor. Cam reached for the bag, and, for the first time in his messenger (or criminal) career, he looked inside.

  It was filled with diamonds.

  Cam had never been a lucky guy, but he knew how to take a break when he found one. This was Cam’s exit plan. He gripped the bag tightly in his hand, closing his eyes for a moment, again thinking of Nikki.

  Moving quickly, he made his way back up to the skylight. The glass had been supported by two steel beams; he used an end table to gain some extra height, leapt, and caught one of the beams, pulling himself up as if the beams were parallel bars.

  He emerged just a few feet from Dylan, and couldn’t help but notice the surprise on his face when he saw Cam standing there, still breathing.

  Dylan drew his gun. “Don’t . . . don’t move,” he stammered.

  “Shoot him!” Miller called up to Dylan. “He’s got the package.” Cam looked down and saw that the bodyguard had Miller in a choke hold on the floor.

  Dylan’s hand shook as he aimed his gun. Cam could see the sweat on his forehead.

  “Shoot him!” Miller yelled again.

  Dylan and Cam exchanged a look. Decision time for Dylan. “Dylan, put the gun down,” Cam said, reaching a hand toward him, trying to reason with him—this guy he’d thought of as a friend.

  Dylan kept staring at him, clearly conflicted. Slowly, Dylan lowered his weapon.

  They heard shots. Miller was back on his feet. The guy he’d been fighting wasn’t moving. Miller had crossed the room and was standing below the skylight now, ready to fire on both of them.

  Just then, the apartment door burst open with a loud crack. Miller turned to fire, quickly dropping at least three of his new attackers. Cam motioned to Dylan, and they both backed away from the skylight. Cam searched for the best way out. After a few seconds, he decided to leap across to the next building’s roof. The sounds of gunfire were audible but fading as he landed.

  He heard a thud behind him and glanced back to make sure it was Dylan who’d followed him.

  But it was Miller.

  The guy had been right about one thing: today would be a new plateau for Cam’s tracing. He raced across the roof, covering it in seconds. The next roof was a bit lower; Cam jumped and rolled smoothly, rising up to keep running. He didn’t spare another glance behind him, though he still heard footsteps.

  Remembering his first job with the “family”—his initiation—Cam knew how hard Miller would be to shake. But he didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t a test or a game.

  The next building had a narrow ledge he’d have to aim for, but Cam didn’t waver or look down—just kept running. He caught a glimpse of Miller’s dark blue coveralls as the older man made an impressive leap down, closing the distance between them.

  Cam barely slowed as he spotted an open window on the side of the next building, just vaulted in and kept running—right through someone’s apartment, up and over the couch, and out their front door. He found himself in the building’s stairwell; he took the stairs five, six at a time, using the metal railings to stay on his feet.

  Finally, Cam burst out through the service entrance and hit the street at a run. Even though he was sprinting full out, a plan was starting to form in his head.

  He had only one chance.

  He knew the city pretty well after being a bike messenger for so long. He would head south—and hope that Miller wouldn’t see it coming.

  As he rounded the corner, he spotted a parked police cruiser. The cop had been getting back in the car, but he paused when he saw Cam race past.

  Cam didn’t stop. He heard Miller come up behind the cop and say, “DEA, I’m taking your car,” like he was really proud of himself. Yeah, the guy was a pillar of the freaking community.

  “No!” the cop yelled.

  From the sound of squealing tires behind him, Cam guessed that Miller had taken the car in spite of the cop’s protests. He ducked in closer to the buildings, trying not to let his former boss (attempted murder was definitely grounds for quitting) run him over.

  He might not be able to commandeer a police car, but Cam made use of every other vehicle in his path, leaping from roof to roof, kong-vaulting faster than he ever had before. His lungs were on fire, the cut on his arm burned, but he tuned out everything except the idea of escape.

  Abruptly, he ran out of vehicles to leap over, and he found himself back on the ground He looked up and saw Miller driving straight for him, determined to run him over.

  But the car couldn’t run up a wall. And Cam could. He tic-tacked up the wall of the closest building just as the car approached. Miller almost wiped out, squealing to a stop at the last second.

  At that moment, a van T-boned the police car; both vehicles spun out.

  It took Cam a few seconds to realize that it was the van he’d been riding in just an hour before.

  Nikki.

  He raced over and wrenched open the nearly fused door. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, clearly dazed. “Yeah.”

  “You have to get out of here,” Cam said, breathing hard, putting a hand on her arm, almost not believing that she was real. He’d been silently calling to her across the city. But now that she was sitting there in front of him, all he wanted was for her to be out of there, to be safe. He helped her out of the van and they started to run.

  “Stop!”

  Cam turned at the sound of Miller’s voice. The Energizer Bunny of evil had survived the crash and was back on his feet—bleeding and dazed, but still coming. Still holding a gun.

  Cam moved to stand in front of Nikki.

  “Give me the diamonds, Cam,” Miller called.

  They heard sirens in the distance.

  “Stop it, James,” Nikki yelled. “It’s over.”

 
He actually looked hurt by her words. “Okay, then. If that’s how you want it.” He raised his gun, aimed . . .

  A motorcycle skidded to a stop not ten feet away from Miller. Cam took advantage of the brief distraction and grabbed Nikki’s hand, leading her behind a row of parked cars.

  “Stay with me,” Cam told her. “Follow my lead.”

  They kept running, with Cam leading the way. His only hope, really, was that he’d led Miller on enough of a chase to prevent him from realizing where they were heading.

  He spared one glance back. Miller was still right on their heels. Cam said a silent prayer as they reached their destination. He ran up to the building and pulled open the door. He exhaled in relief as the door opened. He gave Nikki a little push to send her inside, then backed in himself, with his hands up.

  Miller burst in just after them, his gun raised.

  “Dead end,” he said, sounding pleased with himself. “Come on, Nikki. Move away. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Cam didn’t normally find the sound of guns being cocked to be a happy one, but at that moment it was like the sound of angels singing.

  Out of the darkness, all around them, stepped the Tong. His old friends Jerry and Hu among them.

  The huge open space had once been some kind of theater. There were still huge banners—red silk decorated with gold Chinese characters—hanging haphazardly from the ceiling and walls. Behind them, Cam knew, was an empty stage. He knew this place from one memorable day, and from a thousand nightmares that came after.

  A voice came out of the darkness, speaking Mandarin. Cam caught the name Hatcher.

  It was a woman’s voice. Cam turned and was shocked to see the old woman from the fish store. Miller was staring at her in horror.

  This, clearly, was Chen. The boss. Like an idiot, Cam had always assumed that Chen was some big, burly guy.

  “Chen?” Miller’s voice sounded completely different. He wasn’t the alpha dog here.

  No, Miller was the about-to-wet-himself runt of the litter here.

  Chen kept speaking, still in Mandarin. It was obvious that Miller understood her; he answered her in the same language.

  They switched to English. “There’s been a mistake,” Miller said.

  “There has been a mistake,” Chen agreed. “You have made it.”

  Miller was glaring at Cam. He couldn’t help but smile back.

  Chen was still speaking to Miller. “I told you a long time ago to stay out of my neighborhood.”

  Miller’s voice came out breathless and panicked; all his bravado was gone. “I’ve honored your request, Chen. I kept my business away from yours. But this one’s personal. Give me these two and you’ll never see me again.”

  Chen was smiling. “Your business here is closed. You’ve been making too much trouble for too many of my friends. It’s time for you to go away for a while.”

  “But, Chen . . .”

  “You belong to me now, Agent Hatcher.”

  Cam’s old friend Hu walked up to Miller, smiling as he took his gun and ripped the badge from around his neck.

  Chen continued to regard Miller with a steady, unblinking gaze. “There’s a boat leaving for Macau in two hours,” she told him. “Mr. Hu will make sure you’re on it. Some friends of mine want to talk to you. Say good-bye now, James.”

  Hu started to lead his captive back toward the exit, but Miller lunged toward Nikki, his face a mask of anger. Hu held him back, but he couldn’t stop him from yelling.

  “After everything I did for you? How long are you gonna last without me, Nikki? How long?”

  Nikki blinked away tears, but didn’t look away from Miller. She didn’t give him an answer either.

  Miller had expected an answer, Cam saw. He watched as the remaining fight went out of the man; he seemed to shrink several inches before their eyes.

  Hu smiled as he slid a black bag over Miller’s head. Another gangster grabbed Miller’s other arm and they led him out.

  Cam watched them take Miller away. Some part of him couldn’t quite believe that his crazy plan had actually worked. He couldn’t believe how much had changed since that morning, when Miller had been confidently planning to kill him and leave town with Nikki and the others.

  Pulling Cam out of his reverie, Chen turned to him and asked, “You have something for me?”

  Cam nodded and handed her the pouch of diamonds. She looked inside, carefully taking inventory and smiling.

  And then something unbelievable happened. She took out one diamond and flicked it back to Cam.

  “Your debt is clear. Don’t ever come back to Chinatown.”

  First Miller was gone. Then, moments later, his debt was gone too. Cam suddenly felt light enough to fly—the heavy weight that had been pressing on him for months had lifted. He turned to Nikki and saw that her radiant smile mirrored his own.

  She took a step closer and threaded her fingers through his. Cam looked down at their intertwined hands and squeezed. For the first time in years, maybe in his life, he was filled with something he thought was probably hope.

  Cam looked up to see Chen walk out of the theater, with the others falling in line behind her.

  Jerry hung back. Cam walked up and found him smiling too. “You’re one lucky bastard, Cam. That’s the best deal I ever seen anybody cut with Chen.”

  “What about our deal?” he asked. Extreme good fortune had made Cam bold.

  Jerry stared at him for a few seconds, then his face broke out into a wider grin. “All right. Your debt is clear. What the hell? I could use the karma points.” He tossed Cam the keys. Not a bad guy, in spite of all the death threats.

  Together, he and Nikki walked back out into the sunlight, their hands still clasped tight. The whole world looked different in that moment: the colors were brighter. He could hear birds singing, a sound he hadn’t noticed in what seemed like years. The GTO was parked across the street from the warehouse. Cam felt the weight of the keys in his hand. He caught Nikki’s eye. She was grinning back at him.

  He had done it. He’d found their exit strategy.

  Cam opened the passenger door for Nikki, let go of her hand, then vaulted over the hood and slid into the driver’s seat. He turned the key and sighed with pleasure to hear it start up purring. His car was running perfectly.

  He looked over at Nikki. “Where to?”

  She leaned her head back against the seat and smiled back at him. “Let’s just drive.”

  NINETEEN

  CAM GOT in the lane for the Holland Tunnel—heading out of the city. He looked over at Nikki as she sat back in her seat, a peaceful smile on her face.

  “I have one more debt to settle,” he told her. She frowned a little, but nodded. Cam pulled out his phone and dialed the number he’d saved yesterday. Angie picked up after just two rings.

  “Cam? Please tell me you’re calling with good news.”

  He smiled so widely he thought maybe Angie could see it across the phone connection. “It’s good news. All clear. You can go home.”

  “Oh, Cam—how? Wait, never mind. I don’t want to know. But . . . you’re sure? Completely positive?”

  “One hundred percent. And, Angie? I’m really sorry. Again. For everything.”

  “I’m just glad it’s over and you’re safe. And we’re safe! Mostly that last part,” she added, laughing.

  He laughed too. “Just stay at your old address long enough for me to send you a package, yeah?”

  “Cam, you don’t owe . . .”

  “I know what I owe, Ang,” he said, cutting her off. “And I always pay my debts.”

  It was really nice to be able to say those words.

  “Who was that?” Nikki asked, after Cam hung up.

  As he pulled up to a red light, he looked over at her, still grinning. “What, are you jealous?”
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  She crossed her arms. “No.”

  “Well, good. Because that was my landlady. She was a friend of my mom’s. I kind of jammed her up in my trouble with the Tong. I had to let her know I was in the clear.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good.”

  “So there’s nothing else to delay our getting the hell out of here,” Cam said, looking over at her once again. “You do still want that?” He felt the air catch in his lungs; he was holding his breath waiting for her answer.

  Her eyes met his for a second. “I do,” she said. “But . . .”

  Cam exhaled. “But . . .”

  “I texted Dylan. I need to see him.”

  They were still at the red light, and Cam turned fully to face her. “This actual morning, your brother came this close to shooting me. You do realize that?” He demonstrated the narrow margin of Dylan’s decision by holding his thumb and index finger so close together they were almost touching.

  Nikki held his stare, looking determined. “But he didn’t shoot you.”

  Cam frowned back at her. “True.”

  “He’s my brother, Cam.”

  Cam groaned. “Are you trying to tell me he’s coming with us?”

  “No.” Her voice sounded sad, but resigned. “He’s going home.”

  “Home? What about his ‘trouble’?”

  “The kid’s big-shot actor dad OD’d. It was on the news just the other day. And, last I heard, a scholarship got the kid himself out of Florida—I don’t think Dylan will have to worry about running into him there. Now he can go back. It’s all he ever really wanted.”

  “Do I need to turn around?”

  “Yes. He’s meeting us in the cell-phone lot at JFK.”

  Cam turned around and headed for the Verrazano Bridge. They rode the rest of the way to the airport in silence. Nikki spotted her brother waiting at the edge of the lot and pointed. Cam pulled the GTO up beside him.

  Dylan was standing with the hood of his black sweatshirt pulled over his head, even though it was warm and sunny out. Nikki leapt out of the car as soon as Cam came to a stop. Dylan picked her up and held her in midair for a few seconds before letting go.