The Running Game (Reachers Book 1)

by L E Fitzpatrick

  “You didn't think you should mention this to me?” Charlie said. It was only then Rachel saw the full damage to his face. He was in pain, more pain than usual. All his weight was balanced on his crutch and yet he wasn't wavering. It didn't make sense that he looked better than when she had last seen him, but he did.

  “Honestly Charlie, it never even entered my head. I've ripped off most of S'aven. I don't think there's a guy you could work for who wouldn't be gunning for me.” Roxy brushed off John's hands and smiled. “It's no big deal. We'll kiss and make up at some point. And speaking of kissing… how about it Rachel?”

  John pushed him back, away from her. “If you're lying…”

  “I know, I know. You'll hurt me in unimaginable ways. And after I brought you coffee and gave you a place to stay. Honestly John, sometimes I wonder if we're even friends.”

  “We're not.”

  Roxy sighed. “Well fine, I'll be on my way and you boys can find out all by yourselves why Pinky wants Rachel so bad.” Roxy score one, Rachel thought.

  The look that passed between the brothers was an old one. One cultivated through years of dealing with Roxy.

  “You know?” Charlie leaned back on the car for support, curiosity was getting the better of him. It was getting the better of Rachel too.

  “I did what you two should have done before you took this job. Asked around this morning. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. But if you don't want my help there are no hard feelings.”

  “Roxy,” Charlie said as he reached for his lukewarm coffee and toasted his old friend. “As ever you have been a godsend. Any further help you can offer us would be so gratefully received we would be forever in your debt.” Flattery: the best way to deal with him.

  Roxy looked to John, waiting for a similar response.

  “Just tell us or I will hurt you.”

  “With that kind of charm how can I resist? Now you may have heard of Pinky's departed brother the late Frank Morris. Back in the good old days Frank was the heart of the operation. Damn psychopath too. If you think Pinky is bad you should have seen what his brother was capable of.

  “Anyway, Frank was at the top but he was totally paranoid about the people around him. Somehow he meets this girl, she was just a kid, not even in her teens. Then wherever Frank goes his girl follows. She lives in his house, goes to work. She spends more time with him than his goddamn girlfriends. As she gets a bit older she starts doing the rounds amongst the men. And suddenly snitches are ratted out, double crosses are pre-empted. Turns out this girl's a Reacher. She can read minds and she's working exclusively for Frank.

  “For a while everyone in the city is terrified of Frank. They're even terrified of thinking about Frank in case the girl picks up on it. But the longer it goes on the more people start to lose their patience. Wouldn't you, having your head messed with all the time? At the same time Frank's pumping more and more money into finding Reachers. Business is going south and what's worse is his little girl is all grown up and happens to be taking an interest in one of Frank's boys. Guy by the name of Donnie Boom. There are lots of theories about the story, but basically Donnie gets pissed when he finds out that Frank has more than fatherly intentions towards the girl and maybe she is more than compliant. Whatever the case, he waits until they're out for a romantic meal together and blows them both into tiny pieces. Leaving Pinky Morris to clean up what's left of Frank's mess, both literal and figurative.”

  Roxy leaned against the car allowing the suspense to build. “Rachel, don't suppose you happened to have an older sister.”

  Rachel closed her eyes. As soon as he had mentioned the girl she knew he was talking about Isobel. The girls were six and nine, fleeing the outbreak of yet another rebellion in Red Forest when they managed to find their father's friend, an old priest who took them in. In the weeks that followed the girls were split up and Rachel was sent to hide in a convent while Isobel remained in S'aven. Rachel had been devastated at the separation; it had been like losing a part of herself. But then the years went by and the emptiness she felt eased, even if it didn't really heal. She wrote to Isobel and received long letters from her older sister boasting about her socialite lifestyle and slowly the emptiness was replaced with envy. By the time Rachel set off for S'aven, leaving the convent for good, her sister and her sister's life was an exciting mystery to her.

  A decade of absence separated the girls and Rachel wasn't stupid enough to think that the Isobel she had left had remained unchanged in that time. She certainly hadn't so why would her sister be different? When the convent closed and she fled back to S'aven she'd been excited but also apprehensive about finding her sister. Apart from seeing their father gunned down in the woods, the memories Rachel had from her time before the convent were hazy at best. She could only just remember her sister's face as she stood beside the old priest, watching as Rachel left S'aven. They shared powers, they shared a difficult, lonely journey across the country, but after that they were strangers.

  “Seems your sister had the talent to make Frank Morris a very powerful man. I'd say his deadbeat brother has latched onto a similar notion. He always was the less inspired brother.”

  It was unsettling hearing Roxy talk about her, as though somehow she should have found all this out already and that she had let Isobel down by abandoning her search for answers when she first arrived in S'aven and discovered Isobel had been killed.

  “Her name was Isobel,” Rachel said. It was strange to say the name after so long.

  “Did you know she was dead?” Charlie asked, settling beside her.

  Rachel nodded, remembering the moment she felt her sister pass. “I'd just arrived in the city. We'd always shared a connection and then one day it just stopped and I knew. It was an explosion?” she asked Roxy.

  “Killed them both instantly,” Roxy told her.

  It was such a long time ago that Rachel was surprised she still felt a pang in her chest. Charlie's hand touched her shoulder.

  “I need some air,” he murmured. “Can you give me a hand?”

  Just as she sensed his grief, he immediately picked up on hers. She helped him out into the open smog, but as the door closed he was supporting her. She wiped the unexpected tears that had somehow slipped from her eyes.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, feeling foolish. “I don't even know why I'm crying.”

  “It sneaks up on you, believe me.”

  “Yeah, but it's been seven years.” She tried to get herself together. “We weren't that close. I mean we were separated when we were kids. I always thought she'd got the better deal. She got to come to the city while I was stuck in a convent. God, I thought she was happy, I felt like she was having a good time, but they were making her…” She couldn't bring herself to say it. Her sister, her beautiful sister, forced to whore herself out when she was so young.

  “We wrote to each other all the time. Never specifics in case anyone ever found the letters, but enough. I remember writing to her, telling her I had a job at St Mary's. I told her I'd got a job at Mum's hospital. Mum's name was Mary. She was so excited, she was going to meet me once I got settled. We had to be careful, two Reachers in one city would have been dangerous. And then I got here and two days later I felt her go. It was so quick.”

  “And you were stuck in S'aven,” Charlie added.

  “I didn't think it'd be that bad, but it was just like the convent. I was in another prison, just on a bigger scale, with more dangerous inmates.”

  “What about where you sent the letters to?”

  “We never had an address for each other. The nuns delivered all of our letters. It was safer that way. And we'd destroy them as soon as we read them.”

  “Not your last letter,” Charlie informed her. “Pinky Morris has it. I didn't know you were writing to your sister. He gave it to us so we could track you down.”

  Rachel sighed. “So that's how he found out about me.”

  Charlie reached for her hand and she felt the connection betwe
en them getting stronger. She was unsure of what lay ahead and that made her afraid, but she was angry too. There was a burning inside of her that matched his own. He couldn't stop her, even if he wanted to. She was going to put a stop to Pinky Morris. With their hands linked she knew that he sensed all this and that the only thing he could do was try to keep her alive.

  “I'm sorry about last night,” he murmured. “I just needed to clear my head.”

  And he needed a fix. It went unsaid, but Rachel understood.

  “I appreciate where you were coming from. It's nice to have someone watching my back.”

  “Yeah, well, I said what I said because I'm a selfish bastard. I can't have another death on my conscience.”

  “Then I'll do my best to stay alive.”

  “Are you serious about this? Me and John come with a health warning. If you stay with us you'll be in the same firing line. There are people, worse than Pinky…” He paused. “There'll be no going back.”

  She smiled. “I have nothing to go back to.”

  “Okay then, welcome to the team,” he shook her hand with a painful smirk.

  His face was now nicely purple and swollen. “Jesus, Charlie you look like shit, what exactly happened to you guys?” She said hoping to change the subject at least while she got her emotions in check

  As though he had forgotten about the pain, he touched his swollen lip and winced. “We had a disagreement with Pinky's men.”

  “You took them on alone?”

  Charlie glanced away sheepishly, “No, John was there too.”

  “But there's not a mark on him.”

  “Yeah tell me about it.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  He gave her a look–of course it hurt.

  “Give me your hands,” she demanded and from her tone he knew not to argue.

  The sensation when they touched was like dipping their hands in warm water. Rachel's hands grew warmer. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Slowly she felt the pain in Charlie's body start to ease. The nagging agony in his face, his back, all of it seemed to sigh into a dull, manageable ache.

  Rachel opened her eyes. “Pain is basically a signal being sent to your brain. You get hit in the face and your nerves start screaming at your brain. The trick is to tell your brain it doesn't hurt.”

  “And that's what you're doing?”

  She released him. “How do you feel?”

  He thought about it. “Better.”

  “It works on other things too. You saw the kid at the hospital. He went away because I gave his brain a fix.”

  He looked away embarrassed. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

  “We can sort it out, Charlie. I can get you back to what you were. I can help you get your daughter back.”

  Roxy and John were still arguing inside the lockup. Charlie stepped in the garage, fighting the limp and staying upright. He was stronger, despite the bruises. He coughed and both men quieted down. This was how it used to be, before the world ended. Rachel stood by his side. It felt right.

  “We're going to take everything Pinky wants. We've got two days. Are you in, Roxy?”

  “Would I pass up the chance to piss off that wanker? Count me in. I take it we have a plan?”

  Charlie Smith, Mr Can-Do-Anything-Just-Try-And-Stop-Him, smiled. He was back.

  21

  The best plans take time and patience. Neither of which they had. Charlie had to go on what he knew. They weren't going to take everything, just what they could reach in two days. Pinky's eyes would be on finding Rachel, so he'd never see them coming until it was too late. But first he had to make a stop.

  Charlie gripped the dashboard as John took another corner without hitting the brakes. His brother was brooding and had been since they'd left Rachel alone with Roxy. Roxy's presence had always added tension to their work, which wasn't surprising. He was infuriating, untrustworthy, and went out of his way to piss John off every chance he got. But when he was given a job, even if it was the shittiest job on the mission, Roxy would get it done. And, although he gave the impression he'd screw anything that moved, he was actually a gentleman, and Charlie was pretty sure Rachel could take care of herself even if he did try it on.

  Another corner and Charlie's stomach lurched.

  “Why don't you just drive us into the next wall and get it out of your system?” He yelled at his brother.

  John flipped up his finger in response.

  “Look, we need Roxy.”

  The look he got was venomous.

  “You can pull that face all you want; you know we did our best work with him. And he's our friend John.”

  “We can't trust him. He's sold us out before.”

  “That was a long time ago. You can't keep bringing it up every time you want him off a job. Roxy saved my life, he was part of our operation right up until Sarah's death. And yeah, okay, he got sticky fingers now and again, but he's a thief, that's just his nature. He never put any of us in danger, not like we did. Look there's nothing in this job for him, even if there was he knows the money is for finding Lilly, he'd never screw her over.”

  “If there's nothing in it for him why's he helping us?”

  “Because, as much as you hate to admit it, we are not the only two people who care about getting Lilly back!” Charlie had raised his voice louder than he had intended. “There was a time when Roxy was as good as family, and maybe he is an asshole and would rob us in our sleep if he got half a chance but he knows this is more than business.”

  A silence fell between the brothers. Charlie sighed, sometimes John was impossible. He forgot that Roxy had been the only one he could turn to when he needed to break Charlie out of hospital. He forgot that Roxy got them out of London.

  Another corner and it was clear John wasn't going to back down. The younger brother gripped the steering wheel as though it was trying to escape. His jaw was twitching in frustration.

  “Come on, I thought you'd be happy we're doing the job. And if he does anything wrong I promise you can shoot him,” Charlie finally said.

  John slowed the car and Charlie felt that he'd made amends until he realised they were pulling up outside the ramshackle church Father Darcy had made his home.

  “Can you see anyone around?”

  There was no point in looking himself, if anyone was there John would spot them long before he made out a shadow.

  “We're clear. Maybe Pinky was bluffing.”

  “Or maybe he doesn't travel at the speed of light like you do,” Charlie added. “I'll meet you back at Rachel's. Roxy said Fat Joe is the one to question about the money. You sure you can get everything we need?”

  John took offence. “Are you sure you can get across the road without a hand?” He sneered. “Of course I can. Give me two hours, and he'll be singing Pinky's bank account numbers in stereo.”

  “All right, just be careful. We don't…” Charlie stopped when John's hands clenched the steering wheel even tighter. “Okay, okay. I'll see you later.”

  John's foot was on the accelerator before Charlie closed the door. He was keen to get on the job, but even keener to get away from the church. Darcy had looked after them both when they were kids, but John had always been uncomfortable in the old priest's presence. He was intimidated by religion and righteousness. Even waiting outside the church was a challenge. Charlie wasn't a religious man himself, but Sarah had been raised a Catholic. Through her Charlie had always been able to appreciate the faith and the dedicated men like Darcy who continued to preach long after the government reclaimed the right to God.

  There were no churches in the city. No temples, no synagogues, or mosques. No religion. But in the nooks and crannies there were ramshackle huts where people of faith could gather. The government called it plotting, but most of the time they'd just sit and pray. Darcy had been moved across the country, even serving time in the work camps when the government had nowhere else to put him. The latest church was in the basement of an old pub
lic library. The rooms above had been overrun by wounded soldiers with nowhere else to go now that they were no use to the country. It was a stronghold for Darcy; the soldiers would protect him against the cops and for a while at least his work could continue.

  Soldiers sat on the main stairs to the old library. Old veterans smoked with young amputees, trading war stories and contemplating the futility of it all. Charlie hobbled past and they tipped their heads to him as though he was one of their own. A twist of stairs dipped down below the pavement. Charlie took a deep breath and readied himself for twelve steps of agony.

  The chapel was just a room. Assorted chairs and benches were lined up in front of a makeshift altar. The service was over, but one man remained, chatting with Father Darcy, holding a bottle in his hand. The church goer was obviously a soldier. He was missing half the red hair on his pink head, his eye was blinded white and the war had torn apart most of his left side. Charlie's back was still burning from his battle with the stairs, but he was already feeling like a fraud. The wars exploding around Europe were tiny factions of hell leaking out into the world. Charlie had passed through one two years before Sarah had died and vowed to never do it again. He had nothing but respect for the men and women who continued to fight, even when what they were fighting for was lost somewhere between the empty shells and human tissue.

  Father Darcy had waded through more wars than any of the men above him. He preached on his knees to avoid bullets. He sat in infirmaries comforting the dying. Despite the things he had seen Darcy was always smiling, flashing a mouth of gaps and yellow teeth. His eyesight was failing and he always wore his thick glasses, taped together at the sides. Charlie had seen pictures of him with a thick afro but his hair had started to fall out in his thirties, now all that remained was grey fuzz, thinning over his head. He spotted Charlie and rose. Charlie stifled a laugh. The old priest was wearing a red and blue jumper, with a crude yellow star knitted towards the left of it. Another token from one of his beloved followers.