“Ged’off of me!” The kid fussed, struggling. It sounded like a boy.
Val dropped to his knee, loosened his grip. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said, the cold concrete sending pain through the aging joint in his knee. “My friend sent me to pick up a girl. Goes by the name of Rachel. You have her.”
The boy’s eyes shone, reflecting the moon to its fullest. He adjusted his clothes, took a step back, and seemed to be trying to figure him out. “Not here. Mmm, no sir.” It sounded as though he was clearing his throat.
“It wasn’t a question. I know she’s here. Just tell her Val Salinger is here for her. She’ll decide for herself whether she wants to see me.”
The boy studied him, a look of obvious distrust in his eyes.
“Go on,” Val urged.
The boy moved back into the container. “Wait here,” he said, and then disappeared, pulling the door shut behind him.
Val stood still for a while, eagerly watching the way he’d gone. He wondered how long the boy would be, or if he would even return at all. He could picture him down there, underneath the city in what looked like a cellar.
Minutes dragged by, and the door cranked open again. Val stepped forward, ready to see her. He was eager to hit the road, to find somewhere safe for them all. Who knew how close behind the Agency was. Not to mention the LAPD.
The boy stepped out of the container, and a few seconds later, a hunched figure came out from behind him, cloaked in black with a hood covering her face.
“Rachel?” Val asked. If it was her, she was crossing her arms and concealing her face with her head down, the hood hanging over her. “Rachel, it’s Mr. Salinger. Remember me?” He inched forward.
The boy took a quick stride, prodding Val with his finger. “She don’t know you, Mister.”
Val stopped, his hands still raised. “Rachel?” Worry spread through him now. Maybe he had the wrong place.
Sure, how many secret underground shipping yards are around here?
Slowly, the figure lifted its head, revealing a woman. Her face was full of tears, dirty like she’d been through hell and back. He couldn’t tell if it was her until she looked at him with recognition. In that brief passing of a smile, he saw the girl he’d helped raise. The girl his son had always been in love with, though Val hadn’t see her in years.
She rushed toward him, throwing her arms around his neck.
He felt like a father again. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her tight. “It’s so good to see you,” he told her, nodding his courtesy to the young boy. She seemed like the same little girl to him, small and frightened, though he could see that recent events had something to do with that. Val felt a stab of sympathy.
“It’s good to see you too. Is… Blake okay?”
“He’s fine.” He didn’t want to worry her by mentioning the bullet wound. “We have a van just over here,” he said, leading her back through the maze and over to it. It was easier this time, simply following the light. When he opened the back door to let her in, she rushed into Blake’s arms, nuzzling herself into his chest.
Blake cried out in pain but didn’t push her away.
Val watched them as they held each other, Rachel crying as her best friend rocked her back and forth, paying no attention to the pain his wound was giving him.
It struck Val then just how much his son had matured over the years. He hadn’t been there to witness him growing into the man he’d become, but now he could see that the selfless man in front of him wasn’t weak. He wasn’t a coward or a fool. Blake was more than Val could have ever hoped to be.
It’s just a shame, Val thought, that we might all die before the week is out.
Chapter Three
Six weeks later
The mall was buzzing with life. Children ran around screaming, some pulling their parents around to point at what they wanted for Christmas as if there was less than a whole month to go. Some snotty teenagers stormed around in their hoodies, surrounded by their small armies of friends. There were couples holding hands and window shopping. Some looked happier than others. The less enthusiastic ones seemed to be the bag-holders.
Blake leaned against the railing that overlooked the entire ground floor and tried to concentrate through the general volume of his surroundings. Security guards were patrolling down on the ground, presumably bored, but they probably wouldn’t recognize him from the news anyway. Why would they? He’d grown dark patches of facial hair and was wearing a baseball cap, though that was mostly to hide the earpiece.
“So, what do you see?” Val said through the earpiece, his voice crisp and clear as day.
Blake tried to take it all in, surprised at how much he was willing to learn. The survival lessons he was taking from Val were giving him more confidence. Not the kind of confidence that lets you throw your weight around, but the kind that allows you to worry less. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t constantly fear a cop’s hand clapping onto his shoulder.
“Two men on the ground floor,” Blake said, biting his lip.
“Go on,” Val urged, safe in the back of the van.
Blake pictured him spitting into the microphone, his eyes trained on the camera feed. “One of them isn’t paying attention. He seems to be more interested in the opposite sex. The other…” Blake studied the man, trying to find something about his character that stood out. “He’s putting all his weight on one leg. An injury, maybe.”
“Excellent!” Val’s voice burst in his ear.
“So… the security goes as far as one pervert and a fatty with a busted leg.”
Val’s laugh roared in his ear. Blake could hear him steady his breathing, simpering down into a more professional tone. “So, that’s the obstruction. What’s the target?”
Blake took another look around, examining the people on the floor below him. “I’m looking for guys in suits, right? Because they have more money?”
“Because it’s easier to take from suit jackets than it is from coats,” Val corrected. “Cover your mouth when you talk, or move your lips less.”
Blake wanted to argue that Bluetooth headsets were a common factor in today’s technology, so it wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary for him to be having a conversation without physically holding a phone. But this was the wrong place to be falling out—they’d already agreed that, for as long as they were in the field, whatever Val says, goes.
He would argue later.
His eyes perused the chaos on the lower floor until they landed on a man who was talking into his phone. “I think I’ve got one. His arm is lifted to his face. Pocket exposed. Easier target, right?” Blake covered his mouth this time and smiled behind it with embarrassment. He knew Val was watching him through the hacked security feed, silently criticizing his every move.
“Where is he now?”
“Across from me, a floor below.”
“But where is he going to be?”
Blake hadn’t thought of that. This spy business was harder than it had seemed in books and movies. He looked around in the direction the suit was heading. Escalators stood in his path. “To the stairs. But I don’t know if he’s going up or down.”
Val sighed, frustrated. “Is he holding anything? A bag?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Then we’ll take a chance that he’s here to shop and hasn’t bought anything yet. Maybe he’s going up. Head toward the stairs but stay on that floor. Let him come to you.”
“Got it.” Blake pushed himself off the rail and began to move. His bullet wound stung, but it was healing. Slowly but surely. It was becoming easier for him to enjoy these physical training exercises, though he always felt a strong punch of guilt every time he did it. He had to keep reminding himself that it was necessary if they wanted to eat that night.
With a hit of luck, Blake saw the suited man rise up the escalator, like a fly cruising toward a spider’s web.
“Take it easy. Consider your surroundings,” Val warned him.
Blake used his peripheral vision to take note of the crowd around him. To his right, a small group of people were heading toward the man. Blake slipped in to join them. The target reached the top of the escalator. Blake made sure there was no other way for him to go. While he was distracted, he squeezed past him and grunted with false impatience, hoping to look like nothing more than a rude pedestrian. Before the man got a chance to turn and look at him, Blake slipped his hand into the target’s pocket. He didn’t seem to notice that his wallet was being stolen.
“Very smooth,” Val said as Blake blended back into the crowd. “Keep moving. It doesn’t look like he noticed.”
Blake dumped the wallet into his own pocket and kept his head low, knowing, or hoping, that he would soon be in the clear. The escalator took him down the stairs. When his feet landed on the ground floor, he stepped away and headed toward the exit.
But they saw him.
The two security guards were heading his way. The one with the short attention span was chewing gum, snarling, his eyes fixed on Blake. The other was reaching into his back pocket, also glaring at him. Blake panicked, his nerves rattled. Had he been seen? Did they recognize him from TV? By now he must have been all over the media.
“Relax,” Val said. “Keep your options in mind but don’t act on them until absolutely necessary. You look guilty.”
“What are my options?” he asked, scratching his nose to cover his mouth.
“Just keep on walking. If they stop you—if they stop you—act like you’re stupid. You don’t know what they want until they tell you. Anyway, you know how to throw a punch now, don’t you?”
Blake thought back to his lessons. He had learned to punch, block, and had even learned a couple of throws, although doing so made his gunshot wound sting like it was being torn open, the flesh ripping away from him.
He carried on, lifting his head slightly so as not to look guilty, and shifted his gaze from them. They were getting closer now, ten feet, five, three feet from him.
“Hey, pal.” The fat limper stopped him with the heel of his hand, his other hand still reaching into his pocket.
Oh, shit. Blake felt the heat rise and cross his face. He really wanted to avoid violence if possible. No matter who his father was and what he’d been through, he was still uncomfortable with hurting another human being—even less so with being hurt by one.
“Yes?” he said, acting calmer than he felt.
The guard pulled a picture from his pocket and aimed it at Blake. “You seen this girl? Her parents lost her in here a few hours ago.”
Blake felt his heart dance in his chest, and he was getting a little light-headed. “No. Sorry, I haven’t seen her.”
“All right, thanks,” said the man, and then headed in the opposite direction.
As Blake continued toward the exit, he could hear the guard asking the people behind him the same thing. His breath held, he crossed the tiled floor toward the door, weaving between the absentminded shoppers who got in his way. Val was chuckling in his ear, and Blake was trying his hardest not to smile with relief.
Outside, he jogged across the road and headed to the multi-story car park. He took the elevator to the second floor, keeping an eye behind him as he waited for it to arrive. He slipped off the earpiece and winced as he realized how much pain it’d been causing. It’d never been a comfortable thing for even a short period of time, but he’d probably had it in there for a half hour or so.
The elevator doors slid open. Blake strode toward the van. As he approached, the side door dragged open, and he climbed in.
“Very good,” Val said, holding him at arm’s length and making sure he was okay. “Everything go smoothly? I saw you almost crap yourself then.” He laughed.
Blake grinned and took the sweaty cap off his head. “I think it went well,” he said, flicking through the wallet and removing a number of notes. He began to count, moving his lips as he did so. “I didn’t have to do any running this time.”
Val grunted as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “How much do we have?”
“Forty-five…” Blake counted and clinked the coins around in his palm. “No, forty-six dollars and fifty cents.”
“All right. Well, that should keep us fed for a while,” Val said, bringing the engine to life and driving down the slope.
“Yeah, if you’re not as sick of eating beans as we are.” Blake sat back, his arm resting on the tire well, and breathed a sigh of relief that they wouldn’t have to do this for another couple of weeks.
He was unsure how much longer he could live this way.
Rachel sat with nothing but a blanket between her and the cold stone floor. She was alone, wrapped in a dusty, old coat they’d found there.
They were in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Central LA. At first they’d had to share it with squatters, but after trading a couple of stolen gadgets, they’d agreed to move on. Blake, Val, Jackie, and Rachel were the squatters now, and she hated every minute of it.
“Perk up, honey. They’ll be okay,” Jackie said, handing her a bottle of water.
Rachel shook her head, rejecting it. “It’s too cold to drink.” And it was. She thought it would be almost as cold as outside. In here they were freezing below a tall ceiling.
Jackie sat down next to her, removed her own coat, and gave it to Rachel.
“No, thanks.” But it was put around her shoulders before her protest had any effect. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked, seeing Jackie’s bare arms for the first time. There were scars on her forearms, thin red slashes in wild strokes across her skin.
“I’ll be fine. I actually like the cold.”
Yeah, as if anybody likes being cold. “What’s with the scars?” she asked, afraid to hurt the feelings of the woman who had been nothing but kind to her. It was an innocent question, really, once you stripped down the theatrics of social convention.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I was young and stupid.” Jackie sat back, resting her spine against the stone step. She appeared to be uncomfortable but didn’t complain about it.
“You sure? I know we don’t talk much, but I’m here if you need to.” More than anything, it was a distraction from her own problems, though a part of her was screaming to talk about them. “Did you have anybody? Before this?”
“You mean, like… a boyfriend?”
“Or a girlfriend.” She wondered for a moment. “Anybody that would miss you?”
Jackie smiled, adjusted herself. “My sister. Her niece, too. Oh, and I had a dog who I loved very much. Had to leave her with the neighbor. I know it sounds dumb, but they really are man’s best friend.”
“Or woman’s,” Rachel added.
“Or woman’s. Right. What about you?”
Rachel hesitated. She really needed to get her thoughts and feelings out there but knew it would leave her vulnerable. “My mother…” She stifled a sob. “She was in hospital when all this started. She was used as leverage to lure Blake into the open. I sold him out.” She stopped, those uncomfortable feelings rising up into her throat. “Not only that, but they couldn’t catch Blake, so they killed her. So now I’m a sellout and a killer. I deserve to be in this situation.” A single tear tickled her cheek and rolled down to warm her chin.
Jackie put her hand on Rachel’s back and rubbed it for comfort. “Nobody deserved this. It’s the Agency’s fault. Not yours.”
“But you’re here by choice. You’re here because you wanted to do the right thing. I’m here because I screwed up.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat—Jackie’s coat. “There’s something else.”
Jackie was silent, listening.
“I also have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah.” Jackie nodded.
“You knew?”
“Blake told me. I just didn’t want to pry.” Jackie smiled, a comforting look upon her face. There was something about this woman that seemed kind, caring, a little weird but in a good way. She was certainly set apart from the cro
wd.
Rachel played with her nails, feeling stupid.
“You miss him?”
“Of course I do.” Rachel sniffed, her eyes still wet. “He’s probably wondering where I am. He doesn’t follow the news. Actually, he hates it. But he cares for me, you know? He was… he is one of the best people I know.”
“One of?” Jackie crooked an eyebrow, a faint smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.
“I… what I meant was—”
“Say no more. Blake is a good person. He cares for you, too.”
It warmed Rachel’s heart. She felt so horrible for the things she’d done to him. The poor guy had been through hell and back, and she hadn’t helped by leading him into the Agency’s hands. She had a lot of making up to do if she wanted to carry on living here. The problem with that, however, was that she didn’t want to be here at all. It was so confusing. She knew she was safe with this group, but she dreamed of being back in Sean’s loving embrace. For all his faults, he made her feel safe.
Maybe she would see him again someday.
Maybe someday soon.
“Come on,” Jackie said, climbing to her feet. “Let’s get the fire going.”
Chapter Four
Greg took steady steps up the creaky stairs, trying not to gag from the smell: musty and rotten wood. The standard smell of a downtrodden neighborhood. It was the whore’s building, and he knew how often the man frequented her services.
The walls had been doodled with graffiti, pictures of naked women, motorcycles, and skulls everywhere, something that might have been popular among punks in the eighties. But now, in this neglected old apartment building in today’s LA, everything felt out of place.
He reached the first floor, stepping over a miserable homeless guy who was lying in his path and cocooned inside a sleeping bag. Greg’s suit was new, freshly pressed, and fit like a glove. It was a shame the first place he should visit when back on the job was a building that was sure to sink a foul scent into the weave.
The Bloodline Trilogy Page 17
