He wouldn't be like Frank, though, he would keep the girl a secret. The men would never know what she really was. He glanced back at Pablo. He would ensure they never knew.
“Then we're done,” Pinky finally said.
Pablo sighed, shook his head and reached for the door. “I'm sorry it has to be this way, Pinky.” He left, walking out of the warehouse without a word to the others.
Pinky leaned in the doorway, the men looked confused. They respected Pablo, he was the reason a lot of them rode out the hard times.
“Lee,” Pinky called.
Lee Hart was the youngest there, but what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. He followed Pinky into the office.
“Close the door.”
Lee did what he was told. He always did what he was told, and maybe sometimes he didn't do it as well as Pinky would have liked, but he was still obedient. He would never stand in the way of Pinky and his ambition.
“What's up, boss?”
“What's your plan, Lee?”
Lee frowned. “Boss?”
“Yeah. When I was your age I had it all planned out. Me and my brother were going to own the city.” Pinky smiled. “We did it too. We owned S'aven. I have one regret–I never had a son.” He paused, waiting for Lee to take the bait.
“Things are changing, Lee. The time has come to take back the city again. But I'm an old man; once I've reclaimed my city I will need someone to pass it on to.”
Lee finally understood. His eyes sparkled with ambition.
“I need good men around me, Lee. Men I can trust.”
“I've got your back, boss. Whatever you need.”
Pinky forced a smile. “That's good to hear. Especially today. Do you know what happened to my brother?”
“Frank, yeah. I heard that Donnie Boom put a bomb under his table when he was at dinner.” Lee shifted awkwardly.
“And you've heard Donnie is back.”
Lee nodded, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. He couldn't look Pinky in the eye and shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly.
Pinky beckoned him closer, putting his hand around Lee's shoulders. He hadn't been lying about wanting a son. It would have been nice to have a protégée, having someone to carry on the family name. He looked Lee in the eye–if he did find someone it wasn't going to be him.
“What if I was to tell you Donnie didn't kill my brother. What would you say if I told you Pablo killed Frank?”
The colour drained from Lee's face, his mouth dangled open like a dead fish's. “Pablo?” He squeaked.
“The thing about being boss is you have to deal with these problems, it doesn't matter how you feel about it. Do you think you could deal with a problem like this?”
Lee thought about it, and then nodded arrogantly. “Sure boss, I could deal with it.”
“How would you deal with it?”
There was only one way to deal with it, even Lee couldn't miss that. “Take him out.”
Pinky nodded approvingly and waited for Lee's statement to sink in.
“You want me to take him out?”
“That depends, Lee, what's your plan? Do you want to fill my shoes one day, or are you happy just sitting in the bottom of the heap?”
The decision was made. Lee stood a little taller, knowing that the next few hours could be the making of him.
“Consider it done, boss.”
* * *
He'd killed a man before. There was a fight, Lee had thrown the first punch and the guy went down, cracking his skull on the pavement. He was dead instantly. Lee didn't even mean to do it. But he did, and that made him a killer.
The others thought he was stupid, but Pinky had seen the real him. And even better Pinky had given him the chance to show the others what Lee Hart could actually do. He had his gun; he was standing outside Pablo's apartment. He could do this.
His hand was trembling as it knocked. He waited, tapping his foot as the seconds passed. Pablo opened the door. He frowned at Lee and then sighed.
“You'd better come in,” he said and stepped aside for Lee.
They walked into his sitting room. Pablo sat in his favourite chair. He was drinking. He didn't offer Lee anything.
“I should have left when Frank started to lose it,” Pablo suddenly said. “I don't know if that Reacher messed with his head, or if he was just crazy anyway. I should have just left. But I didn't. I stayed. I slogged it out. Helped Pinky when the whole business started falling apart. Jesus, you boys would be coming to me, expecting to get paid, and I'd talk my way out of it, knowing there wasn't any money.” Pablo laughed and shook his head.
Lee watched him. It looked as if he'd been crying. He couldn't imagine Pablo crying. His stomach lurched; what if Pablo started begging for his life? He swallowed his nerves and reached for his gun.
“It's all going to happen again. Whatever happened to Frank is happening to Pinky. If you were smart you'd get out while you still can.”
But Lee wasn't smart. He aimed the barrel of the gun at Pablo's head. He could barely keep it steady.
“I'm sorry,” he murmured and pulled the trigger.
* * *
Pinky inspected the latest shipment of heroin with the remnants of his men. They were laughing and making jokes, but seemed nervous around Pinky. Let them be, Pinky thought to himself, if they had something to hide he would soon find out about it. His phone started to ring. He was expecting it to be Jackie, maybe Lee, but it was Riva.
“Pinky, we've got a problem. Charlie Smith just left the club with Roxy.”
It should have surprised him, but it didn't. The men around him went silent, waiting for the fallout.
“When?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“No word from Jackie?”
“Nothing yet. I tried calling him but there was no answer. Maybe we should send Pablo.”
Pinky cleared his throat. “Pablo's no longer with us.”
His men stopped what they were doing. The air in the warehouse chilled.
“What do you mean not with us?” Riva paused. “Pinky, no.”
He hung up his phone. All he needed was the girl. Nothing else mattered.
15
John insisted they wait out in the cold and Rachel was too tired to argue. They sat on a heap of bricks, the remains of an old garage, surrounded by miles of containers and lockups. The place was a storage maze, big enough to hide in. They'd lost the cops quickly and so far nobody else had tracked them down. Rachel was beginning to think they might survive the night, until the wind blew in from the sea. She tightened John's coat around herself and tried to subtly huddle closer to him.
“This place is nice,” she said drawing her legs up away from the discarded needles and condoms on the tarmac.
“The factory owners pay for hired protection so the cops don't bother coming this way.”
“What about gangsters?”
“They won't look for us here. This place is reserved for people who no longer give a fuck. We won't be bothered.”
They wouldn't be bothered because John was terrifying. He was her protection and even she was scared of him. She shivered against the bricks, but he didn't move. His eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“Aren't you cold?” She whispered.
“No.”
“What, are you a robot or something?”
“Or something,” his mouth twitched, hinting at a smile and a little bit of her unease melted away. “I thought you'd be tougher, being from Red Forest.”
“Screw you,” she replied with a smirk. “I saved your ass back there. How tough do I have to be?”
“After I saved your ass you mean, what's it now, three times?”
“You're living in the past, John.”
His smile broke free and suddenly he was human. Sure, he could shoot a man through the head with his eyes closed, but he had a sense of humour–what else really mattered? She nudged him with her foot and he playfully slapped it away, s
hooting her a scowl that would probably make most people soil themselves.
“Do you do it often? Use your powers?” John suddenly asked.
“Probably more often than I should,” Rachel replied.
“You could do well in our line of work,” he mused. “We could use you.”
Rachel stared at him, trying to see if he was serious. She tightened the coat around herself. She was cold, hungry, and alive. It felt good, and she started to smile.
Eventually he looked at her thoughtfully. “You turned around to face me that night, why?”
“I was sick of you terrorising me,” she replied and folded her arms defiantly. She had forgotten about that, although now she couldn't quite muster the energy to hold a grudge against him.
“You knew I was there?” He sounded hurt.
“Yeah, I could feel you. You'd follow me at the same place every time I left work.”
He shook his head, angry at himself.
Rachel reached out and touched his arm. The sensation was different, warmer somehow. “Hey, it's probably just my heightened senses. I'm sure you are a very good stalker.”
Headlights waved across the road ahead.
Rachel squeezed his arm tighter. “Here we go again.”
The car pulled up with a skid. She used her powers, muttering her mantra over her chattering teeth.
“This time it doesn't count,” John whispered. He nudged her and pointed at the men getting out of the car. “It's Charlie.”
As she ungracefully leapt over the hepatitis concrete she realised that Charlie wasn't alone. Another man was getting out the driver's seat. John tensed and she stopped in her tracks. She touched John's arm, to feel his reaction, to know when she needed to duck.
“What's he doing here?” John's voice was venomous.
“Anyone would think he didn't miss me,” the stranger called out.
Rachel tried to see the man through the headlights, but all she could make out was a broad shadow leaning against the bonnet of the car. John reached for his gun and instinctively she stepped behind him.
“John, put that away!” It was Charlie's orders. And it was clearly an order he was used to bellowing.
“I said I'd shoot him next time I saw him.”
“Yes and he said he'd kill me. While I'm alive, he's alive. Look, you know if it wasn't for him I'd be dead already, so just relax. Okay?” Charlie stepped free of the beaming lights focusing on his brother. “John, okay?”
John conceded, albeit reluctantly. “What's he doing here?”
“Helping us out, God knows we need it. You good?”
John nodded.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I'm fucking sure.” John shook his head; he glanced back at Rachel and rolled his eyes.
The gesture made Charlie frown. He was looking more tired and run down than ever. Rachel didn't have to guess why.
“You okay, Charlie?” She whispered.
He didn't try to hide it from her. “Same old. Did John take good care of you?”
She opened her arms wide. “Still in one piece, with minimal psychological damage.”
“Good to hear. This is a good friend of ours.” Charlie ignored John's scoff. “Roxy, say hello.”
Everything about Roxy suggested Charlie had pulled him off a three-day drinking binge. His suit was filthy and stank of smoke. He hadn't shaved and his hair brush seemed to be on strike. He was good looking; in the way drug addled rock stars tend to be. But then charm can disguise anything and with Roxy it hid just about every fault he had.
“An absolute pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. Hop in before we let all the heat out.”
“Where are we going?” John growled.
“Somewhere safe,” Charlie reassured him. “Just get in the car and stop being an asshole.”
There was a rule about cars and strangers. But it was cold and Rachel had decided about an hour ago she'd rather die in the warmth. The backseat was a graveyard for discarded coffee cups and pizza boxes. She kicked the rubbish to the floor. The others were still in a stalemate outside. The good, the bad, and the ugly; only she couldn't work out which was which.
“Hey guys, I appreciate you've got to flex your muscles at each other, but I'm freezing my ass off in here!” She shouted.
John was the first to get in. He slumped beside her and stared at the pile of rubbish at his feet. The dismay on his face was adorable. There was no way he could be the ugly.
“Don't worry, I've got your back,” she whispered. She may not have felt the instant connection with John like she had with Charlie, but he had climbed down a building with her and she was still in his coat.
He looked appreciative, at least until the others got in.
“Roxy's got a place where we can lie low,” Charlie said, taking the front passenger seat.
“It's nothing fancy, but I have heat, maybe even a bottle of bourbon if we're lucky.” Roxy gave Rachel a wink.
“And what's it going to cost us?” John snapped as the car pulled away.
“Just the pleasure of your delightful company, my love.”
Charlie turned to the backseat. “Stop sulking and play nice, Roxy didn't have to help us.”
“I don't trust him,” John growled.
“You don't like him. There's a difference.”
“I don't like him because I don't trust him. And he's an asshole,” John added.
* * *
Factories and warehouses dominated the edge of S'aven, blowing smoke into the smog as though they were working in cahoots. There was always work going on in the estate. Twelve hour shifts of intense physical labour for half the minimum wage and a free chunk of bread at break. The work was hard and it was dangerous. If you showed up late you lost your spot and you'd go hungry for the day, but at least you wouldn't get crushed, or burned, or maimed, or poisoned.
The whole place stank like rotten eggs and putrid meat, even away from the factories and towards the storage units, the air burned like acid on the nose. The electricity shorted more than it worked, and around the lockups the lights were always out. Most of the containers were locked up tight, but that didn't stop thieves from trying their luck. People who paid for storage obviously had something worth keeping and, if there was a gap in security, containers could be emptied in seconds.
They pulled up outside Roxy's garage and Charlie breathed an audible sigh. The trembling in his hands was getting out of control.
Roxy tossed a set of keys at John. “Be a dear and open her up.”
Charlie knew his brother well enough to decipher the grumbling noises as he made his way out of the car. The garage door was open and Roxy rolled the car inside. The headlights lit up the dusty contents and Charlie flinched as they nearly hit a stuffed tiger sandwiched between two mannequins.
“Don't mind old Monty,” Roxy laughed. “He's just there to scare off thieves. There's a generator on the left, should have enough gas to keep the lights on for a day or two,” he shouted at John as he switched off the engine.
In seconds the room flickered into light. Charlie hobbled out of the car, stumbling on piles of boxes. He knocked one to the floor and a whole stack of forged identity passes scattered over the floor. Against the walls more random assortments of junk were piled up. Paintings and rolled up carpets rested alongside a crossbow, ready to launch a firework at two garden gnomes on the far side of the room. A wall of boxes, six foot deep protected them from stacks of old DVD's and even some VHS tapes, haphazardly stacked in jaunty towers.
“Jesus, Rox' what the hell have you got in here?” Charlie said, keeping his voice down in case the junk decided to avalanche.
“Mostly the boxes are just porn,” Roxy shrugged, “Buyer fell through at the last minute, and now I can't shift them. They're yours for half my asking fee if you want them,” he added. “Anyway you guys can hole up here for as long as you want,” Roxy offered.
“Here?” John snapped.
“Hey, I know it's not a five star hotel or any
thing…”
“No, it's a trap is what it is.”
Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose. They were always like this, bickering like children and competing for attention. His headache was growing; it was nearly time for his medication. Then he panicked. He couldn't take his pills with them all watching. One of them would notice. “It's not a trap, John,” he said in frustration.
“So what, he just shows up and offers to help out of the kindness of his heart?”
“It's very easy to do,” Roxy said. “For those of us who have a heart. You know you're the one who tried to kill me. I should be the one angry with you.”
“He tried to kill you!” Rachel exclaimed.
“No.” John replied indignantly. “If I had tried to kill you, you would be dead. It was a through and through shot, as I intended, you barely felt it.”
“Barely felt it!” Roxy scoffed.
“Guys please!” Charlie begged. The garage light was starting to hurt his eyes. He shouldn't have had that beer, it was messing with his head and now he couldn't think straight. “Nobody is double-crossing anyone. Nobody is killing anyone. Now sit down and shut up!” He glanced at Rachel like an exasperated parent.
Both men fell silent and took swipes at each other with their body language instead.
Roxy jumped onto the bonnet of his car. “So what's the game plan?” He asked Charlie directly.
The plan was to take his medication and then work out how to get out of the city alive. He wondered what they would say if he told them that. Roxy would call him out, John would walk away and Rachel, well she would probably stay with him until Pinky's boys caught up with them. Charlie had to rest against the boxes for support. The air was growing thick around him. He was hot–too hot.
“We're not telling you anything!” John barked when the silence started to drag.
“Oh, for crying out loud. If you don't want my help I'm not keeping you here. Go on, feel free to find your own hole to crawl into, one big enough to fit your giant ego in.”
In desperation Charlie raised his hands. “Enough! Please. We've got to get Rachel to a church I know about in the morning. There's a convent she can go to where Pinky would never find her. Then we're getting the hell out of S'aven.”
The Running Game (Reachers Book 1) Page 9
