Flight of Shadows: A Novel

by Brouwer, Sigmund

  “Shut up,” Mason said. This was the place. He didn’t need to be nice to Abe any longer.

  “Huh?”

  Mason knocked on the door.

  A young woman opened it, looked past Abe at Mason, and shrank inside, her mouth open in horror.

  “It’s all right,” Abe said to her. “I know his appearance might throw some off, but—”

  Mason knew it was more than his eye patch. He saw it instantly because he’d been looking for it—recognition. But she made the mistake of leaving the door open a second too long.

  Mason shoved the old man through the doorway, into the apartment. Abe stumbled, caught his balance, and turned toward Mason. Leading with his left elbow, Mason drove it into Abe’s cheekbone. The old man didn’t even gasp. Just dropped. Out cold.

  Normally Mason would have stopped to admire this. But the woman had fled farther into the apartment. She was his priority.

  SIXTEEN

  The outer bolt scraped.

  Caitlyn had been waiting nearly an hour for the sound, standing on a chair. An extra hour in the dark, wondering who would be there when the door opened.

  She sprang upward from the chair. It took her about four seconds to get into place so that she was suspended just below the ceiling. Arms spread. The palm of one hand pressed into one wall, other palm pressed against the opposite wall. Holding herself horizontal. Stomach muscles tight with exertion. Legs unwavering. Facedown, with her back almost touching the ceiling. It was a position called the iron cross; because of her muscular structure and the lightness of her bones, she could hold it for minutes and minutes, far longer than any world-class gymnast.

  She’d been stupid to trust Razor. He’d crept out, locked her in behind him. Obviously expecting her to be helpless whenever he returned.

  When the door did open, the crack of light briefly revealed that it was Razor, not someone else. He held no weapon.

  She said nothing from her perch above him. The element of surprise was, at this point, a better weapon than the knife Razor had returned to her after escaping the Enforcer car.

  He shut the door, putting the room in darkness again.

  Moments later, directly below her face, Razor struck a match. Lit a candle. Stuck it in a candle holder. The wavering light showed that Caitlyn had folded up the mattress shelf. With the exception of the chair beneath the shelves across the width of the back of the closet, it was essentially a bare room.

  “Caitlyn?” His whisper held disbelief that she was gone.

  “Impossible,” he muttered. He moved to the back of the closet and crouched. As if Caitlyn could be hidden behind the chair. Above him, she was now between Razor and the door.

  This was the moment of escape. She would drop, yank open the door, dash outside before he could react. With the bolt on the outside, she’d be able to lock him in the closet the same way he’d locked her in. Then she’d be gone.

  But the door opened again before she could act.

  “Hey!” Razor spun to face the light that exposed the entire interior.

  Below Caitlyn, a skinny man in a wheelchair rolled through the doorway. Pushed by one of the biggest men Caitlyn had seen, even bigger than Billy. His bald dark head was directly below where she braced herself between the walls. The smell of rancid sweat almost made her gag.

  “Where is she?” the wheelchair man said quietly. His hair was thinning. He had a blanket across his lap. A knife on top of the blanket. “Melvin sent for you an hour ago. Bad idea, ignoring Melvin. You know Melvin got Jimmy here.”

  With the light from the hallway spilling past the figures in the doorway, Razor’s face was partly in shadow. Still, his expression was easy to read. Even from the ceiling.

  Disbelief.

  “Melvin?” Razor said.

  “Think Melvin is stupid? Think Melvin don’t know what’s happening in his own quadrant? Think Melvin don’t know all your secrets? Your playacting? This is Melvin. He’s known about this weasel hole of yours for weeks. Just didn’t make sense to let you know Melvin knew until it was worth Melvin’s while. Like now. Melvin wants to know where she is.”

  “Where who is?”

  “Wrong answer,” Melvin said. He toyed with his knife and spoke without raising his eyes. “Jimmy. Only one. Don’t mark him up Make it the diaphragm.”

  Below Caitlyn, the big man squeezed between the wheelchair and the wall and advanced on Razor.

  “Sorry, man,” Jimmy said. “I like you. Just following orders.”

  Jimmy was wearing a gray T-shirt and gray sweatpants, and he flexed an arm as thick as Caitlyn’s thigh and drove his fist into Razor’s gut.

  Razor fell backward, splayed on his back, his mouth like a gaping fish as he sucked for air.

  “You’re not dying,” Melvin said. Monotone. “Most people start finding oxygen in less than minute. You just don’t want Jimmy hitting you more than three times. He’s Melvin’s because he’s the biggest man Melvin could find. Jimmy hits you with four shots like that? Diaphragm explodes. Then breathing just doesn’t happen anymore.”

  Caitlyn felt like her own diaphragm had just exploded. On the floor, looking up, it would be impossible for Razor to miss seeing her across the ceiling. She was watching for it and it came—the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he registered her presence above him.

  Razor blinked a few times in surprise. He wheezed as his upper body convulsed with the effort to breathe. And talk.

  “Jimmy, help him up.”

  Caitlyn saw the man’s broad, broad back as Jimmy reached down and pulled Razor up by the shirt with as much effort as another man might lift a kitten by the scruff. Jimmy kept hold of Razor, still facing away from Melvin and Caitlyn. If Jimmy turned now, he’d probably see her above him.

  “Jimmy,” Melvin said. “Shake his arms. You never know what he’s got up his sleeves.”

  Jimmy shifted his grip, his massive hands dwarfing Razor’s wrists. He followed Melvin’s instructions. A small bouquet of flowers shook loose. Red roses.

  “What’s this?” Melvin said.

  “Magic is who I am.” Razor’s voice was strangulated. “You know I love tricks. Poisonous fumes in the blossoms. You flip them in a person’s face, and it knocks them out.”

  “Cool,” Jimmy said.

  “Idiot,” Melvin snapped at Jimmy. “No poison in those flowers. Razor made that up. When you going to understand sarcasm?”

  “Well…,” Jimmy began.

  “Shut up,” Melvin said. “You need to learn rhetorical questions too. Just not now.”

  Back to Razor, Melvin said, “Melvin wants her. Where is she?”

  “Don’t. Know.” Razor obviously still had difficulty breathing after the punch to his diaphragm.

  “Jimmy. Again.”

  “I don’t like this,” Jimmy said. He had a weirdly high voice. Still holding Razor with his left hand, he threw another punch. Same place. Razor’s body bucked backward.

  “Keep him on his feet,” Melvin instructed Jimmy. “Melvin hates leaning forward to talk to someone.”

  Jimmy held Razor upright, his back to Melvin and Caitlyn.

  “She was with you last night,” Melvin said. “Right? Melvin knows you can’t breathe. So just nod.”

  Razor bobbed his chin down. Then up. Down.

  “You had the flowers for her?” Melvin asked. “Means you expected to talk to her soon.”

  Razor nodded again.

  “This is big stuff,” Melvin said. “See, Melvin was all comfortable this morning, and Enforcers busted in. Don’t matter to them that special arrangements have been in place for years. They’re suddenly in Melvin’s face, making threats. Melvin asks why, and what they show on a small vidscreen is some guy doing magic tricks and springing this girl from a cop car, and did Melvin know someone like that? Got to say, that was good how you did it. What was it you used to burn their eyeballs like that? Even on the vidscreen it was so bright it hurt.”

  Razor was back to the point where he co
uld wheeze. But not where he could acknowledge a compliment.

  “Any idea what she’s worth?” Melvin asked. “Melvin wasn’t stupid enough to tell them who you were. Otherwise they’d be here instead of Melvin. And Melvin wouldn’t get a piece of the action.”

  Razor managed to shake his head sideways.

  “Melvin turns her in,” Melvin said. “Melvin gets about five years of what Melvin makes running the Illegals in this quadrant. Melvin don’t turn her in, all those years of special arrangements with Enforcers mean nothing. They’ll turf Melvin. Any idea why she’s worth that much to them?”

  Another sideways shake of Razor’s head.

  “What Melvin really wants to know,” Melvin said, “is why she’s worth that much. Maybe Melvin can play this for more than what they’re offering. Got the answer?”

  “No,” Razor gasped.

  Caitlyn’s arms began to tremble from the exertion of holding herself in place. And from fear. Razor knew she was near the ceiling. How long was he going to protect her by remaining silent about her?

  “Some people like the carrot and the stick,” Melvin told Razor. “That’s how the Enforcers worked Melvin. Promised a lot of cash first. Then told Melvin how big the stick was if Melvin didn’t deliver. Melvin appreciates that. Melvin is a stick and carrot guy too. You just got a taste of how Jimmy does his business. That should be enough to convince you why you should deliver her. But there’s a carrot here too. You’ll get half of what Melvin gets from the Enforcers. So asking again, where is she?”

  Caitlyn waited for Razor to lift his eyes and give away her presence, only a couple of feet above their heads.

  “I’ve got her hidden somewhere else,” Razor managed to say. “Give me about an hour. I’ll come back with her.”

  “Again, you’re treating Melvin like he’s stupid. You really think Melvin’s going to let you out this door? Instead, you tell Melvin where to find her. Jimmy will wait here with you. Melvin will go and send someone else to find her. You got five seconds to tell Melvin where she is.”

  “Then I suggest you close your eyes. Caitlyn,” Razor said. With effort.

  “Caitlyn?” Melvin’s voice rose. “What kind of crap you talking? Jimmy, you’re going to have to hit him again. Take a little off it. Melvin don’t want his diaphragm ruptured until we find out where she is.”

  “Wait,” Razor said, speaking more clearly as he regained strength.

  “Two seconds.”

  “She’s right here.”

  “Here,” Melvin repeated. “You couldn’t hide a mouse in here.”

  “She’s here,” Razor repeated. “All you need to do is look straight up.”

  SEVENTEEN

  At the end of the hallway in the small apartment, Mason heard the sound of a kitchen drawer opening. And the light clanging of silverware.

  Mason grinned. The young woman thought she’d find a weapon good enough to stop him?

  A quick glance gave him what he needed. An upright lamp. He ripped the electrical cord loose from the wall, and sprinted into the kitchen with it in both hands.

  He’d guessed right. In the dim light of a kitchen without windows, she was looking for a weapon. There was a butcher knife in her hand. Half raised.

  Mason had been in plenty of fights. Hurt a lot of people. He knew indecision was their worst enemy. Paired with disbelief and a lack of willingness to inflict pain.

  She was still trying to comprehend that this was happening. Didn’t know if she should actually use the knife. And wasn’t ruthless.

  Mason, on the other hand, knew exactly what he wanted to do. And how it needed to be done.

  Using the lamp like a bat, he swung it so that the electrical cord lashed across her face. She raised the knife arm in instinctive defense. Then he swung the lamp back the other way, hitting the knife arm with such force that he heard the crack of the forearm.

  She screamed. But only for a spit second, because he lunged, falling on her.

  The knife bounced off the floor. He rammed the side of his palm into her mouth, cutting the scream short. She was biting, and he enjoyed the sensation of pain in the meat of his hand as he covered her body with his.

  With his free hand, he reached past her for the knife. He closed his fingers on the handle and brought the point of it to just below her eyeball.

  “You know who I am, don’t you?” Mason whispered.

  She blinked.

  Answer enough.

  “I’m not here to take anyone back to Bar Elohim. Blink twice if you agree not to scream.”

  One blink. Then another. With tears streaming from her eyes.

  He pulled his palm away from her mouth, watching for a sudden inhalation that would warn him of a scream.

  She was compliant though. He loved it. A knife and a scared, compliant woman. Some things were just like his old life in Appalachia.

  “We’re going to stand,” he whispered. “I’m going to follow you back to the living room. Understand?”

  He didn’t even have to tell her to blink twice. It came. He knew he owned her.

  He kept the knife to her throat and his body close to hers as they made it back out to the living room.

  Abe was still on his back. Staring without much comprehension at the ceiling.

  “Kneel,” Mason told the girl. “Beside him.”

  When she did, Abe’s eyes focused. He tried to croak out some words.

  “Do you want the old man to live?” Mason asked her, crouched behind her, one arm around her shoulder, knife still to her throat.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she babbled.

  “Then you’ll tell me everything I need to know about Billy and Theo.”

  Mason tenderly nicked the skin below her pretty chin.

  “Old man,” Mason said. “Do you want the girl to live?”

  Mason hadn’t wanted or planned it this way. He would have preferred a helpful conversation and the chance to leave without worrying that his identity was known. It would have given him time to find a way to get rid of Abe and leave the body hidden for at least a few days.

  On the other hand, this wasn’t working out so badly either.

  “Don’t… hurt… her,” Abe managed to say. “Whatever you want is fine.”

  “We’ll start with the password to your bank account,” Mason said. “Then the information about Billy and Theo.”

  “Jesus,” Abe said.

  “No prayers.”

  “You’re not going to hurt us, right?” Abe asked.

  “Of course not,” Mason said. “Just tell me everything.”

  “That’s the password,” Abe gasped. “The word Jesus. Five three seven eight seven on the keypad. Jesus.”

  “Good,” Mason said softly. “Keeping going.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Where we at, Holly?” Pierce said. He held a cup of coffee. In a plain white china cup. He liked that; the recycled paper cups in the office always gave a small tang that he hated so much he was tempted to mask with cream.

  She was on the leather couch across from him in the hotel suite. After opening the door to let her in, Pierce had returned to the desk near the window, where his laptop was still open, and had swiveled the chair to face her. She knew, of course, that he’d reviewed the footage from the Enforcer monitor, so she knew that he knew what Jeremy had spoken about last night. Best to keep it distant and formal when the two of them were alone.

  “Up and running,” Holly answered. “Hidden camera installed in the crip’s chair. The link is in place op-site so you can watch the action at any time.”

  Op-site. Operation Web site. She was referring to an NI Web site. With advanced encryption, security wasn’t an issue. First thing a team leader did for any new operation was set up an NI-based site. All team members had a code to send in information and reports but could only see their portions of the site. The team leader had the code for the overview and could get all the vital information by jumping on the Internet. Saved a lot of time.

  �
�The crip is Melvin.” Pierce finished his coffee, debated pouring more from the carafe delivered by room service. Stainless steel, not plastic. No wonder the coffee tasted so pure at the Pavilion. Pierce decided against the coffee, grabbed nearby notes, but didn’t leaf through them. Unlike Wilson, he didn’t have to review notes. Details stuck to Pierce like flies on glue paper. Earlier, Jeremy and Holly had spent an hour with Melvin offering encouragement for him to cooperate with them. Of course, the meeting had involved removing Melvin from the wheelchair because that kind of intimidation made encouragement easier. And also allowed for a techie to install the camera. All Pierce had to do was hit the link and he’d have access to the footage, live and archived, of Melvin’s activities since they’d released him.

  “Melvin,” Holly agreed. “Crip’s name is Melvin.”

  She had short hair, dark with gentle curls. She was tall. Willowy, as Pierce had decided was the best way to describe her. She dressed to show it and preferred to go through life straight-faced and serious, as if daring anyone to try to discover there was more to her than that. Pierce liked her attitude. Kind of like a rebel ice princess, she used cursing and crude language once in a while just to shake people up.

  “And Jeremy’s got the crip covered,” Holly said. “Close by. Turns out you’re pretty good at choosing a base.”

  “Just lucky. She couldn’t go far on foot from where the Enforcers picked her up. I like this hotel.” He arched an eyebrow. “How lucky?”

  “Building across the street. It’s a combination office tower with residential luxury penthouses. Jeremy’s outside it with a couple of low-level op guys for backup. Crip went inside at basement level saying he knows how to find the Illegal but wanted to go in alone.”

  Pierce said, “Some people might find crip an offensive term.”

  “Do you?”

  He wasn’t going to give her anything to work with. Instead he asked, “What happened at the hospital?”

  “Avery talked to the skinny kid with the big head.”

  “Theo.”