by Reid, Joseph
I pulled Max over to the sole security measure I’d installed on the roof. The extension ladder lay flat against the tar-and-gravel surface, as if forgotten by workmen. In actuality, I’d bolted its feet to hinges at the roof’s edge so it would flip up and over, stretching down to my neighbor’s open-air patio one story below.
The aluminum clunked loudly as I adjusted the two sections to the right length, then clattered and shook as it struck the edge of my neighbor’s stucco wall. I urged Max down first, alternately watching her and the trapdoor.
The night air felt warm against my face. You could hear waves crashing in the empty distance, while swarms of lights stretched in either direction along the coast.
For a split second, all I could think was what a shame it was to be running for our lives on such a beautiful night.
As Max finished climbing, I started my turn on the ladder. Heights are far from my thing, so to avoid knee-liquefying vertigo, I kept my eyes locked on the trapdoor instead of looking down. I’d gotten maybe three steps when a hail of bullets erupted upward through it.
I paused, drawing the Sig and bracing myself across the ladder. When a dark shape appeared at the mouth of the trapdoor, I let off two quick shots.
Although the silhouette disappeared back down the hole, I wasn’t crazy enough to think I’d hit anything. Hopefully I’d bought us more time.
Eight bullets used. That meant I had four left in the mag.
Descending as fast as I could, I shouted for Max to take cover behind the stone walls surrounding my neighbor’s barbecue grill. My sneaker had no sooner found tile than bullets ripped the air around me. I brought the gun up along with my eyes and let off the final four shots, causing the shadows on the edge of my roof to retreat momentarily.
Holstering the Sig, I adjusted the end of the ladder so it would pass over my neighbor’s wall, let it go, and watched it clatter against the side of my house, extending down to its full length. Then I turned and scrambled to join Max in her hiding place.
As shots landed dully against the stone all around us, I loaded a full clip in the Sig and checked Max to see if she was ready to move. “There’s a trellis on the other side of this wall. When I say go, climb down it and wait for me at the bottom. Got it?”
She nodded in a way that didn’t provide any reassurance, but there wasn’t much else I could do. The individual shots ringing out from behind had changed to random sprays of automatic fire—I’d need to give her some cover.
“Ready . . . ,” I said, pivoting up to one knee. “Go!”
I jumped to my feet and let off two pairs of shots with a small break between them. By the time I recovered behind the grill, Max had disappeared over the wall.
I’d seen at least three shadows up on my roof. The automatic fire began again, in bursts that sounded like a chain saw revving. “Who’s gonna cover you, genius?” I muttered to myself.
Eight bullets left, but if we actually made it to the street below, I’d need some there.
Three was all I figured I could spare.
Gritting my teeth, I pivoted again, then took a deep breath, and stood. I let off two shots individually as I backed toward the wall, my free hand feeling for it.
The gunmen weren’t intimidated this time, though. Instead of withdrawing, they started to bring their fire to bear on me. As sparks began shooting up from the grill, I squeezed off one final shot, then turned and rolled over the wall, grasping for the edge with my free hand.
By rolling, I stayed close to the wall, but my hand bounced off or ripped through the first few trellis bars it touched. At that point I’d picked up enough speed—air rushing by my cheeks and over my scalp—that I didn’t know if I’d ever find a handhold.
As if it were falling slower than the rest of me, my heart slid up into my throat and nearly closed it.
I was just about to open my eyes to face the oncoming blackness when my fingers found a bar and stuck there. My arm felt like it was being ripped out of its socket, but I told myself that was the only way I was dropping any farther. Once I’d hung on for a moment and become convinced that first hand was set, I holstered the Sig and grabbed on with the other.
I wanted to check around for Max, but I didn’t dare. My pulse was still thundering in my ears from the drop, and just the thought of looking down into the black chasm below me caused my stomach to flip.
After forcing myself to take three shallow breaths, I set my feet and started descending. The air grew darker and seemingly thicker as I lowered into the narrow gap between buildings, the thin strip of starry sky receding above me. After what felt like an endless climb, I reached a point where my feet found nothing below them. No more trellis rungs, no solid ground. They simply dangled in space, scraping the stucco wall in front of them.
In the pitch blackness, I had no idea if I was two feet off the ground or ten. My mind said the former, but my stomach wasn’t so sure. Hand over hand, I worked myself a few rungs lower, then squeezed my eyes shut and let go.
The fall took just long enough to worry me it might continue forever. Then, suddenly, my feet struck solid ground. Somehow I managed to remain standing, although on impact the thigh that had gotten hit felt like it was exploding.
Electric jolts of pain were still reverberating through me when something grazed my right arm. I immediately recoiled, bracing for a fight, then saw flowing hair silhouetted by the light at the end of the breezeway. “C’mon,” I whispered, extending my hand. When Max’s narrow fingers found mine, I turned and, despite my leg’s objections, began leading her in the opposite direction.
My neighbor’s breezeway is capped at both ends by tall, ornate wooden gates. While I figured the gang probably had forces stationed on both sides of the house, all the gunfire had come from the walking street, and that was also where the foot soldiers had entered. To me, that made the alley worth trying.
I stopped just short of the gate, peeking through some of the holes carved into the wood. A dark SUV blocked the alley, but I couldn’t tell if it was the same one from the airport. Lights off, it pointed uphill—away from us but toward the main streets. Perfect for a getaway.
With the gunfire stopped, the normal quiet of night had resumed, and I cocked an ear. Besides the sound of my own heavy breathing, there were muffled voices—obviously angry, hissing indistinguishable words—while sirens had begun wailing in the distance.
I ran my hands down both edges of the gate, feeling for cold metal against the warm wood. I found hinges on one side first, then the latch on the other. It was the type you lifted and slid, with a heavy handle, the thickness of rebar. I moved it incrementally, pausing each time I could feel the friction increase or hear it scrape. Finally, it slipped free and the gate gave way, but I held it closed to take another peek into the alley.
No one nearby. No movement.
Pushing the gate open just enough to slip through, I flattened myself against the wall of the next house. Max followed suit. Once she was next to me, I jerked my head toward the opposite side of the alley.
She gave me a curt nod in response.
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Checking the SUV, I took a deep breath and launched off the wall, leading Max in a crouched, limping dash.
The gate directly across the alley is featureless and flat, rising only to the middle of my chest. I felt around for how it was secured, but finding nothing, I knitted my fingers together to give Max a boost. She stepped into my hand and sprang over it, landing silently on the other side. After a quick glance back at the SUV, I grabbed the lip of the gate and swung myself over.
My feet cleared the top of the gate, no problem. But on their way down, they caught something. I winced even before any sound rang out, but when it did, my heart sank. This house had metal trash cans, and they struck the ground with a loud, hollow gonging sound.
I didn’t bother looking back. As soon as my feet landed, I began running, grabbing Max’s hand somehow on the way by. Voices behind us—still angry, but louder
now—started following.
A security lamp flicked on as we continued down the breezeway, creating an island of light we quickly dashed through. Just as we reached another gate at the far end, a short burst of gunfire sounded over our shoulders. I threw Max’s hand up toward the top of the gate to encourage her to climb it, then pirouetted, drawing the Sig and squaring myself on the path.
Three gunmen charged into the light, and I let off a shot, dropping the leader and causing the other two to duck and retreat.
After holstering the gun, I vaulted the gate, landing on soft grass next to Max, who’d crouched to wait for me. Unlike the alley, where there’d been no light to spare, here the old-fashioned lamps along the walking street cast dim, yellow light toward the houses, creating long, eerie shadows across the lawns. We started uphill, but after just three steps, she tripped on something in the shadows—a flagstone, a garden gnome, something—and fell onto her stomach. Since I was holding her hand, she yanked me downward as she fell, doubling me over.
Probably saved my life.
At that moment, machine-gun fire ripped through the air just above our heads. Glancing back, I spotted the arm holding the gun extended up over the top of the gate, spraying bullets wildly in our direction.
I helped Max to her feet and turned us back downhill and across the concrete walking street. The yard on the opposite side had a short, knee-high stone wall we both hurdled. Bullets thudded against the rock as we cleared it.
The wrought-iron gate to this house’s breezeway must’ve been unlocked, as Max pushed her way past it without any problem. Following her, I slammed the door closed behind me, hoping there was some kind of latch on the door that would catch.
I heard a metallic click as it shut; then something struck the gate with a clang.
Ahead of me, Max was squirming through a tiny gap between a thick stand of banana plants and the wall of the house. I started to follow but had more difficulty: leaves smacked my face while stucco scraped the hell out of my back and the back of my head. I was only halfway through when the gate began shuddering under heavy blows. Wriggling faster, I had narrowly cleared the plants when the gate burst open with a tremendous crash.
I kept my head turned, looking behind me as I began running again, wanting to count the pursuers and gauge their progress. Because of the pain in my right thigh, I loped along unevenly, my left leg leading the way and doing more of the work. Although I could sense the breezeway widening around me, I didn’t think much of it—until my left knee struck something that felt like a sledgehammer.
My body twisted in the air as I fell so that my shoulder hit first. But what it contacted was as surprising as the blow to my knee: ice-cold water that quickly enveloped my arm, my chest, my head.
Struggling to sit up, I found myself in the basin of a large fountain built into the courtyard of a U-shaped house. The water was only six inches deep, but my entire upper body was now completely soaked.
Before I could find my feet, something moved in the direction from which we’d come, and I instantly drew and fired two shots. No idea if I hit anything, but no return fire came, so I climbed out and began running again. My knee and thigh now both screamed, but I refused to listen.
I found Max at the opposite end of the courtyard—she’d avoided the fountain—and we dashed down the shortened breezeway to the alley. The picket gate here was locked with a heavy chain, so I flipped Max up and over it before following awkwardly myself. Bullets sounded against the concrete path—as soon as I reached the other side of the gate, I pulled Max away from it. Shots sliced through the wood as we raced up the street.
I wanted to gain as much distance as we could before zigzagging inward again. We made it maybe three houses before a pair of headlights turned onto the street ahead of us.
Not seeing any flashers—the sirens were growing louder, finally—I steered Max left to a house with a low metal gate. While she fumbled with the latch, the engine behind the headlights roared, and they bore down on us.
As the headlights drew closer, you could see they belonged to something big.
A quick glance at Max said she wasn’t getting anywhere with the lock.
Although every instinct warned against it, I took two steps out into the alley and pulled the Sig.
Trying to visualize the front of the truck, I fired my last two bullets down and to the side of the right headlight, hoping for a tire.
A metallic crump told me one bullet had found the bumper. When no other sound registered, I assumed the other was a miss.
But then suddenly there was a loud pop followed by a metallic squeal. Yellow sparks erupted from the truck’s wheel, tracing short, bright arcs that stuck in my vision. The headlights lurched right, then suddenly back to the left.
At that moment, Max got the gate open and dashed through it. I sprinted after her, but once inside, we both stopped and looked back.
Light grew brighter and brighter against the frame of the gate. Then another scraping noise pierced the air—a high-pitched, screeching sound that raised the hair on my arms. Finally, the truck’s bumper slid across the face of the gate and struck its far side with a loud crunch. The bumper and tire seemed to be wedged into the frame, blocking it. Although the engine roared twice, the truck didn’t budge.
With my free hand, I pounded on Max’s back to urge her on.
We sprinted at least ten more blocks before stopping for breath.
Worried still more reinforcements might be coming, I kept the breather short. After a moment’s break, I got us on the move again, down the hill to the Strand.
Except for a few late-night joggers and one couple making out on the benches, we had the concrete path and the night to ourselves. Just as well—we must’ve looked like quite a pair: Max in a nightshirt, me limping along in wet, stained clothes. My knee was gradually locking up, and now I noticed how much my thigh ached each time I moved my right leg.
As the adrenaline dwindled, my condition started back up. My mind began clicking, the thoughts coming faster, but before it got too bad, I popped the earpiece in. The background noise settled my brain down and let me focus on next steps.
I couldn’t bring Max in, not now. Whatever leak had compromised our airport arrival had obviously struck again. Until Lavorgna or the FBI could sort out how the gang was getting its intel, handing Max over would be a death sentence.
The gang—if that’s even what it was—seemed more like an army tonight. They still bothered me. I couldn’t understand their connection to all this. Their targeting of Max struck me as so peculiar. I felt that if I could only understand that variable, then I could solve the whole equation.
But how, exactly?
Max was a mess. I was worse, and completely out of ammo. No place to go, and no transportation to get there. And I couldn’t call Lavorgna or anyone else official for help.
Once I thought it through that way, it was pretty easy to know whom to call. There was really only one person left I could trust.
CHAPTER 5
Thursday, July 16
We followed the Strand all the way back to the pier. When we stopped there, Max leaned her side against the metal railing, bending over it as much as her spine would allow.
I checked the time on my phone. Just before 1:00 a.m.
Music and chatter from bars still open up on Manhattan Beach Boulevard floated down the hill to where we stood. After everything we’d just been through, it felt easy to be angry at those people: enjoying their little lives, oblivious to what was happening just a few blocks away.
I looked at Max. Was she feeling it, too?
There was no telling. Whatever fire had burned inside her earlier seemed long since extinguished now. All the rage and venom sketched across her face had been replaced by a slack-jawed stare.
I went to touch her arm, to try and break her trance, but my left shoulder—the one I’d hurt hanging from the trellis—gave me a sharp stab of pain when I tried to move it. “It’s gonna be okay,” I said inst
ead, realizing afterward how big a liar the blood and injuries likely made me seem.
“They’re not gonna stop, are they?” Max’s voice was flat. “They’ll just keep coming. Till they finally kill me.” She turned to face the water, slumping over the railing again.
Using my good arm, I placed my hand on her back. “I won’t let that happen. We’ve just gotta figure out who they are, why they’re doing this.”
She remained silent, staring off into the darkness.
“We’ll start digging tomorrow. Tonight, we need to get you someplace safe, get both of us some rest.”
Even in profile, I could see her chin starting to tremble. She turned back to me, eyes already flooded. “Safe?” A single sob erupted from her mouth, like a loud gasp. Then another. Soon she had her head against my chest, resoaking my shirt with her tears.
I wrapped my good arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight.
I recognized the big Lexus by the shape of its headlights as it came down the hill. That, and the fact it was driving a shade too fast.
Finally, an SUV on our side.
Tires chirping, it pulled a hard turn in front of the concrete plugs blocking the entrance to the pier, then stopped suddenly. I staggered over to it as quickly as I could and opened the rear door for Max. A 12-gauge shotgun was waiting on the back seat.
Seizing it, I ushered her inside, then followed. “Ready,” I said, and the car lurched forward, helping me close the door.
The driver didn’t turn around. He simply asked, “What am I looking for?”
“Dark SUV, lots of damage to the right front bumper.” I noticed he had one hand on the wheel, the other on the grip of a Glock 22 resting on the console between the front seats. He prefers it because it doesn’t have a safety: it’s always on. “Glad to see you came prepared,” I said.
“You said to come hot.”
Late as it was, the road was virtually empty, and he pushed the SUV well past the speed limit. Now that we had our ride, I dug out my cell and switched it completely off. “Max, I need your phone.”
