21 Hours

by Dustin Stevens

  I moved in with a left-handed stance and shot my right hand out in a couple of quick jabs. The ball of white gauze still stood up off the end of it, flashing in the dull morning light. Tank Top dodged the first one and batted away the second, pushing my fist off to the left. Using the momentum I pivoted and whipped the cast through in a hard slice that would have shattered my hand and his face if it connected.

  It caught only air.

  My body tailed away to the side, the cast jerking me off-balance. I stumbled several heavy steps, fighting to stay upright, when a combat boot slammed hard into my thigh. The shot wiped my legs out from beneath me, pitching me forward into a roll that deposited me flat on my back in the mud. For a moment I lay still before the sole of that same boot appeared above me. I rolled hard three times to the left, coming up onto my knees as Tank Top's stomp landed an inch deep in the mud.

  The shot would have snapped every bone in my skull. My neck wouldn't have stood a chance.

  He stood with his boot buried in the mud and stared at me. His face creased as laughter spilled from his lips and he jerked the boot free. "Go ahead, delay the inevitable," he said. "I'm going to kill you, and then somebody else is going to kill that little girl."

  The familiar swell of anger filled me, but I paused before moving. I looked down at the shattered remains of my hands and instead of rushing him like he wanted, I fished the knife from my boot. Holding it in my right hand I flipped opened the blade and stared venom at him.

  For the first time, the haughty expression left his face as he bounced around, his eyes locked on the blade. I resumed my right handed stance and slid forward, my feet sideways, pushing me forward like a fencer. I held the blade out in front of me and slashed it from side to side, knowing that would do more damage than a simple jab.

  If I was going down, I at least wanted to leave my mark, for me and for Annie.

  Sweat dripped off the end of my nose and my breath came in rapid gasps. I moved to within a few feet of him and swung the blade through in a quick arc. As soon as the blade whipped past him he stepped forward and pinned my arm against his hip. He snapped two hard left crosses into my jaw and swung his knee up hard into my groin.

  The world began to spin as the knife fell from my hand. Dark haze drifted in on the edges of my vision and a wave of nausea passed through my body. I stumbled into him, unable to stay upright.

  "Actually, I hope she ends up with one of the pedophiles," Tank Top said. He raised his arm high above me and drove his elbow down into my back, dropping me to a knee. "One of those sick fucks that gets off doing things to little kids."

  I wheezed for air, trying to scream a retort, to fight back, but my body betrayed me. I was at his mercy. He buried another elbow high between my shoulders, just inches from the base of my neck. The darkness crept in a little further as he bent down, grabbed me by the waist and tossed me end over end towards the wall behind him.

  My entire body flipped forward, the momentum carrying me in a full flip and depositing me just inches from the wall. My hands were useless to break my fall as I landed in a heap, my legs sprawling out in either direction.

  I didn't feel my right leg slam into the rifle leaned against the wall. Instead, I heard the sound of metal clattering against concrete. Barely able to keep my eyes open I rolled at the waist and grabbed up the weapon. Behind me I heard Tank Top grunt, followed by his heavy boots pounding across the muddy ground.

  My damaged hands could hardly hold the thing, but it didn't matter. I dropped the barrel top down across my left wrist and steadied it with my right. Holding it upside down I squeezed the trigger, sending a spray of bullets in an uneven line towards the wall across from me. Chunks of concrete dust and mortar flew into the air as most of the bullets smacked into the retaining wall.

  All except the three etched across Tank Top's tank top. I wobbled in place as he looked at me with complete shock on his face before falling forward to his knees and then his face.

  A moment later I followed suit, as my eyes rolled back in my head and I passed out on the soft mud bank of the Ohio River.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I had no idea how long I was unconscious. When I awoke, it wasn't of my own volition but from the heavy raindrops falling upon me. Even after they wormed their way through the fog of my brain I laid there with my eyes closed, fearful to open them and see where I was and what was going on around me. My entire body felt like it was on fire, the cumulative weight of my injuries melding into one unending throb.

  In that moment I thought of home. I thought of the last time I felt that bad, after I was in a motorcycle accident in high school. I remembered my mother bringing me homemade chicken noodle soup every few hours and my sister reading to me from the rocking chair beside my bed.

  Lex.

  My mind shifted from the young girl sitting beside me to the grown woman she'd now become. My DNA match in female form. My best friend in the world. She needed me. Her daughter needed me.

  The rain began to fall harder upon my face as I opened my eyes and raised myself to a seated position. My head spun as my upper body reached vertical and I braced myself with my left hand, held my head with the right. For several long seconds I remained still.

  Shielding my eyes from the rain, I cast a quick scan of the grounds around me. The world was just the way I'd left it an indeterminate amount of time ago. The assault rifle lay motionless by my leg and slick clay ran beneath me. Chunks of concrete block were spread out in a random pattern and Tank Top lay face down in front of me. His body was in the exact same position it was before the world went black, two dark circles having formed against his tank top. A third hole peeked out from his pale white skin along his left shoulder blade, a thin rivulet of blood running towards the ground. It mixed with the rain water as it descended down his back, washing the wound almost completely clean.

  A quick look to the sky told me nothing about how much time had passed. The rains had brought dark clouds with them, the day even less bright than it was before. The storm seemed to extend for miles in both directions with no sign of letting up any time soon.

  Best guess was it hadn't been very long or Rifkin would have sent someone to look for Tank Top by now. He knew his guy would take his time and really work me over good, but he also knew that wouldn't take hours, especially in a thunderstorm.

  One at a time I drew my feet up beneath me and stood. I felt like a baby colt as my legs wobbled beneath my weight, fighting to steady themselves under me. I picked the gun up from the ground and stared down at the inert body of Tank Top. For a moment I considered dragging it into the river, but decided against it. I had no way of knowing how much time had passed and couldn't take a chance on missing that boat.

  Besides, they knew where we were going. If he didn't return, they'd know something was wrong whether his body was here or not.

  I rested the barrel of the gun atop my cast, cradled the butt of it in my right palm and walked around Pier Five as fast as my legs would allow. At Pier Six I moved the length of an alley identical to the one Tank Tap was now lying in, the clay becoming slick with rain. Sliding my way along I managed to reach the chain link gate and peeled back the tar paper to make sure nobody was nearby. Content I was alone, I shot the lock off the gate, brushed the rusted shrapnel aside and emerged onto the pier.

  My truck was just where I'd left it, wedged between the log wagon and an outbuilding. I jerked the door open and went straight for the clock on the dashboard. The illuminated block digits stared back, informing me it was a few minutes after eight. One hour until the ship left Pier Twelve, five hours until she was gone forever.

  I had been out for over an hour. Thank God the rain woke me up when it did.

  I tossed the gun over the seatback and swung in behind the wheel. I didn't have to be back on Pier Twelve just yet, but I needed to put some space between me and Rifkin. It was only a matter of time before he started sniffing around and I was still little more than a half mile from his bedroom. />
  I glanced in the rearview mirror as I pulled a K turn behind the log wagon and eased back out onto the road. The entire left side of my face was puffy and covered in blotches. Right now they were faint purple and blue, but by this evening it would look like a paint-by-numbers. Lines of dried blood separated each of my teeth and a piece of my lower lip was gone.

  In truth, it wasn't as bad as I expected.

  I pushed the truck back along the row of piers, watching the numbers ascend as I drove. There was nominal activity on Pier Eight, a skeleton crew that looked to be doing maintenance on a couple of containers. Pier Ten had a small cluster of men standing beneath a lean-to in orange vests watching the rain fall. There was nothing urgent about their posture or the dock around them.

  The only one pier with much life at all was Pier Twelve. A trio of forklifts buzzed about the place as I eased by, rooster tails of water sprouting behind them. They lifted small metal containers painted brown and grey, all headed towards one particular barge stowed at the end of the far left dock. Overhead a loading crane hefted full-sized containers onto the deck of the barge, the entire operation oblivious to the steady fall of rain going on around them. I could only see a handful of people in the few seconds it took me to drive past, but not one of them so much as looked my way.

  If Rifkin was spooked, he hadn't alerted the docks yet.

  I glanced again at the clock on the dash. It was almost eight-twenty. There was too much activity on the docks to approach from the front. I needed a plan, something I could pull off fast, quiet, and unseen. The same aching pain rolled over my stomach as I exhaled through my nose. I tried to keep my heart beat at an even rate and watched the windshield wipers beat out a steady rhythm as I rolled past Pier Twelve and back towards the main street that would eventually run up onto the freeway.

  I stayed the course a full half mile before pulling off the street and parking behind an old milk truck in an alley. Another five minutes had ticked by according to the clock on the dash. Whatever I was going to do, I had to decide and do it fast.

  Chapter Thirty

  She sounded tired, irritated. I tried holding Merric's phone up to my face, but it was a pain balancing it on my mangled pinkie. Instead, I put it on speakerphone and laid it in my lap. I didn't bother to say anything the first time she answered, waiting until she snapped, "This is Watts," a second time before responding.

  I still wasn't sure I was doing the right thing, but I was out of options.

  "You find anything?" I asked, my voice much rougher than I remembered it being. The beating I'd received over the previous twelve hours was permeating through every aspect of my being.

  Watts' voice remained hard. "Who the hell is this? How'd you get my number?"

  I glanced at the crumpled business card resting on the front seat beside me. Fishing it out of my jeans pocket with a mangled finger was a major pain in the ass, but I'd eventually gotten it free. "You gave me your number a couple of hours ago."

  This time, her voice softened. "Jesus, you sound like hell."

  "I look the part too.”

  Another glance in the mirror told me hell might be a nice way of putting it.

  "Where are you?" she asked. I couldn't hear any background noise on the line, though that didn't mean much. It was still just eight o'clock on a Sunday morning.

  Outside, the rain settled into an even pace. It hit the windshield in a steady rhythm, the heavy drops running south along the glass before being pushed to the side every so often by wipers. The world was still dark grey with the low hanging clouds. I was yet to see another living creature in the alley or on the street in front of me.

  "I'm still in Cincinnati. Did you find anything?"

  Watts exhaled. "Not a damn thing. You?"

  My eyes focused on a particular droplet of water and watched as it joined with several others to form a downward rivulet before disappearing against the wiper blades. I followed the path down a few inches further and settled my gaze on the clock in front of me. Half past eight. It was time to start moving.

  I turned the wiper speed up, cleared the glass and eased back out on the street. I hooked a right and went higher up the string of piers, coming to a stop at Pier Fifteen.

  "Did you find something?" Watts asked again.

  Pier Fifteen was nearly identical to Pier Eight. A series of low-slung out buildings encircled the pier with three large grain bins arranged in a row through the middle. The same four docks as the others extended off the back end, though the middle were piled high with pallets and seemed to be used for little more than storage.

  I eased the truck as far back onto the pier as I could and slid it under a building that resembled an ancient carport. The left side of it was filled with pallets stacked high with hundred pound sacks of grain while the right had a large plastic bin that was filled with some sort of liquid fertilizer. An oil slick on the ground gave away that this was a spot usually reserved for a vehicle, though none seemed to be in sight.

  "I found her," I said simply as I turned the truck off and stashed the keys above the visor.

  "You found her?!" Watts shouted, her voice filling the cab of the truck. "She's sitting there with you now?"

  I dug the Luger out of the glove box and checked to make sure the clip was full. I jacked a round into the chamber and set it down on the seat beside me. "No. But I know where she is."

  "Felix, do not go in after her alone," Watts said, her official voice out in full force. She had no doubt heard the slide of the gun. There was no room for discussion in her tone, though I wasn't really asking. There was a reason I waited until the last possible second to call.

  "Get on the horn with Cincinnati Police and tell them the guy they're looking for is Lucio Rifkin. He's operating out of Pier Three along the riverfront. Trust me, they can't miss it."

  As I spoke, I fished the tire iron out from beneath my seat and stared at it. It was one of the few things I still owned that had been my father's. An odd thing to hold on to for sure, but he'd always referred to it as the Golden Equalizer, named for the spray paint job he'd done on it years ago. He always said it helped him more times than he could remember over the years.

  I don’t think this is quite what he meant, but let's hope it had the same magic for me just the same.

  Watts voice took on a different tone, almost distracted, as she scribbled down the information I gave her. "Never heard of him. Who is he and why do we care?"

  "He's a high end guy in a low end hole," I said. "He runs everything in and out of these docks from kids to drugs."

  "You're sure of this?" Watts pressed.

  "Seen it with my own two eyes. Guy seems connected too. I wouldn't be surprised if he has someone on the payroll, so be careful who you take this to."

  I could hear Watts continue to scribble notes. "Don't worry, I have a friend there I went through the Academy with. He's legit."

  "Good.” I turned and stared at the assault rifle behind the seat. It was enormous and loud, would slow me down. I could barely handle it with my hands the way they were. It had to stay behind.

  "O'Connor, I'll call him right now. Do not do anything. Stay where you are and I'll call you back after talking to him. Let us take this from here."

  I let her words sink in for a moment, a small part of me thinking she was right. The other part pushed my eyes back to the clock and knew she was wrong. I unwound the giant wad of gauze around my right finger until it was just a couple of layers thick, stained almost black with dried blood. It wouldn't be as obvious to someone watching and should allow me to handle the Luger.

  Should.

  "There isn't time," I said. "I'm not working against you, but my niece needs me now. I'll call you as soon as I can."

  I could hear her protesting as I thumbed the phone off and tossed it onto the seat beside me. I stuffed her business card down into my pocket and wedged the Luger into the back of my jeans. Inch by inch I slid the tire iron along the inside of my cast, the curved handle restin
g flush inside my palm. With one final glance at the clock I swung free from the truck and out onto the pier.

  I had twenty-four minutes to get down three piers and onboard a barge. The first part was pretty straight forward. The second part I still wasn't sure how I was going to pull off.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I kept the gun tucked into the back of my pants. I wasn't crazy about having a loaded weapon pointed at my ass, but I didn't want to be seen flashing a gun in the open. My face was smashed to hell, my hands were mangled and I smelled like piss. If I ran into anybody my plan was to pretend to be a bum and try to slide by them. Doing that with a gun in hand just didn't seem possible.

  I didn't have time to walk clear back out to the main street and sneak up through one of the alleys. I was too close to Pier Twelve to risk firing my weapon to blast through the lock on the gate. Instead, I walked out from beneath the makeshift carport I was parked under and went directly to the edge of the pier. Rain continued to fall in a steady pace as I dropped to my knees and slid my feet over the edge. I lowered myself as much as my hands would allow before losing my grip on the wet concrete and dropping into the alleyway below.

  The heels of my boots sunk a full three inches into the soft mud as I hit the ground, arms flailing to remain upright. I flung myself forward against the concrete wall to steady myself and tugged my feet free of the mud one leg at a time.

  Part of me should have been pissed to be stuck in the mud, but I was just happy I didn't land on my back and send a bullet through my ass.

  I kicked each of my feet against the wall to shake away the sludge and set off down the alleyway. My boots made deep impressions in the wet clay with every step. By the time I reached the bank of the river, my hair was plastered to my head and my shirt hung heavy with water.