CHAPTER SIX
Luckily, or through Ren's skillful guidance, I don't run into any city-owned public vehicles during my escape from the alley. His directions lead me a few miles off the most direct course, but they also keep me from interacting with any unwanted guests.
He chats with me while I drive, and I discover that the police and paramedics are getting run ragged tonight as hoodlums and miscreants alike all attempt to cash in on the bounties. There have been over half a dozen different attacks reported tonight aside from mine. Unsurprisingly, several of them have involved the kidnapping of young, Hispanic girls off the street. Apparently the depressing underworld in this city is wholly embracing the idea of attacking innocents and getting paid for it. Three girls have been reported missing, five motorcycles have been carjacked and four other people have been sent to the hospital for related injuries. All this, and it hasn't even been dark for an hour, yet. This is going to be a long night.
I'm hoping that the girls that have been plucked from the street are all still alive and unharmed. If they aren't, and they've been hurt or killed...
"So," I ask quietly as I watch the streetlight-haloed pavement slide by. "What odds are you giving me on the girls being alive when I get there? Will they kill them or do I have a chance of them coming out of this in one piece?"
I don't get an answer for several seconds, and I listen to what I can only guess is my friend's heavy breathing on the other side of the microphone. Time just stretches on as I wait for an answer and watch the dark city pass by me.
"Ren?" I ask again afraid he might not have heard me.
"So what was that back there, Cat?" he finally replies. "What did I listen to?"
Confused, I begin my answer slowly. "Back where? What are you talking about?"
"In that alley," he continues in that same dead voice he used earlier when speaking to me. "Is this what I'm going to have to get used to whenever you're out? This...this..." His words stumble in his mouth as he speaks. "This violence?" He finishes. "You almost killed those men back there. For what? Being stupid? And in the wrong place?"
"That?" I ask and almost laugh. "Ren, they shot me. He shot me. In the back, too. I was trying to leave, and they invited what happened upon them. That was their decision, not mine."
"You crippled them!" Ren nearly screams the words at me, and I can finally hear the emotion in his voice that he's been choking back for the last several minutes. "That man will never walk again. From what the paramedics are saying over the radios, two of the men might need their arms amputated. You destroyed their lives. Was that necessary? Really? Is there no mercy in you anymore?"
I breathe the filtered night air for several moments and let Ren's anger wash over me. At one time, his words would have stung. They would have wounded me, and caused me to apologize and swear to change. But not anymore. Not after that night with Chadwick and Leyna.
"Those men," I say cautiously so I don't also give in to the temptation of emotion like he did. "Are able to suffer the repercussion of paralyzation and amputation because they're alive. They shouldn't be. They were undeserving of the life they were living, but I let them continue to cling to it instead of wiping them from it. I did show them mercy. The fact that they are breathing right now is more mercy than they deserve. Don't try to tell me I overreacted. They shot an unarmed girl in the back. Out of greed. And they laughed and rejoiced in that despicable act. I have no pity for them, Ren. And you shouldn't either."
I continue to drive for almost a minute with neither one of us speaking. Just the hum of the road beneath me, and the soft staticky hiss of the radio in my helmet as my company. It's relaxing and pleasant after what just happened in that alley. Although I may not be the same person I was when Ren first met me, he is still the decent person he's always been. I still need him. I need him in my life more than I need my pride right now.
"I'm sorry," I finally say. "I know we have disagreements, but I need you right now. I can't do this without you. Really." I pause and wait for an answer, but he is slow to respond.
"I'm strong, Catarina, I know I am," he tells me. "But I can only carry the moral weight of your decisions for so long before they will wear me down. Nobody's that strong, kiddo."
I hate that word of his, but I understand his sentiment. "I know, Renny, I know. And I'm sorry, but I can't keep doing what I'm doing out here and embrace a 'love my fellow man' attitude. It's one or the other, and the gentle attitude lost out."
"Fine," he tells me. "But it can't continue like this. Something is going to have to change. And that change is going to happen whether you want it to or not."
The way he says it, I'd almost think he has a solution in mind. He sounds determined. And confident. And resolute. And I make a mental note to ask him about it.
As I open my mouth to speak, he interrupts me.
"See that big building up ahead on your right," he says and cuts off the words before I can form them. "That's your target. It's time."
Moving my eyes down the road, I see a large four story warehouse bathed in lights and surrounded by barbed wire and malice and looking as about as uninviting as a place can be.
I can sense people up ahead. Lots of people. There’s enough gunpowder residue wafting in the air to choke a herd of horses. The thought of what I'm going to have to do to those people and those weapons consumes my thoughts as I slow down and stare at the monstrosity of a structure in front of me.
The question I had for Ren dies on my lips like my sister died on that cold cement floor months ago, and I never get to ask Ren what he was thinking.
Although I do eventually find out. And he was right. It does change everything.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"This place is pretty impressive," I say as I throttle the bike and begin a slow crawl up the darkened street. "Anything you've found to help me?"
The clack of his keyboard continues to tickle my ears as I ride along, but he doesn't say anything as I move past the behemoth of a building and watch the front entrance get closer. I can sense the people nearby. Lots of them.
"Not much," he finally tells me. "It was last owned by a tire manufacturing company, but they moved out a couple years ago. It's been empty ever since. No new leases on the place or any pings on new ownership, so whoever is there must be squatting. That was to be expected, though. The interior of the place is mostly a large, empty warehouse floor. And it looks like the side you are approaching," he pauses and taps more keys before continuing. "Is the loading area. Or what used to be the loading area. Pretty much the backside of the place."
"Thanks," I respond with a small sigh. "That tells me what this place used to be. Any hints on what I'm going to encounter now? Who all is here? How many? What they have? What to expect?" I say and slow the bike as the edge of the building comes into sight. "You know. Useful stuff."
"Oh," he says with a slightly wounded tone. "That’s about as useful as my info is going to get. Not much else out there to get for you. I've been listening to the radios, but there isn’t much being said. Kinda blind on this one," he tells me. "I'm sorry."
Parking the now idling Zero in the darkness cast by the dead streetlamps lining the road, I stop and watch the activity around the front of the building. I'm not quite close enough to see where the temporary residents of the place have set up house, but I can watch the line of vehicles sitting in front of it. Apparently the response tonight has already generated enough interest to cause a backup. I count just under a dozen cars, trucks and tinted-out SUVs waiting in front of the place and out into the street leading away from my location. The criminal underbelly of our city has been productive tonight. That can't bode well.
"This isn't good. They have a line out here. A line. Each one of these vehicles represents a crime that occurred in our city tonight. A crime against an unwitting motorcyclist or some innocent Hispanic girl. I can't believe this. This can't continue. We have to stop it. No," I breathe in deeply and reassess what I was saying. "I have to stop this. Now
."
"What are you wanting to do?"
"Ren, you know what I want to do," I respond coldly. "There isn’t much option. This ends here."
"No," he tells me with a touch of resignation to his voice. "I mean how do you want to go about doing it? Sneak in? Scope the place out? Use some of the listening devices to get an idea of what's going on and what the numbers are? What's your actual plan?"
As he talks, I watch two more groups pull up to the back of the line and join the crowd waiting to receive their rewards for unleashing evil upon the citizens of our city. Another overly large and tricked-out pickup truck like the one that tried to intercept me earlier, and a small group of motorcyclists on loud, belching Road Bikes. Most likely Harleys. Probably a subset of some local Motorcycle Club. That means two more crimes have been committed that should have been stopped. Every moment I'm here watching, some other coked-up hoodlum is destroying my city. Every moment I'm not spending killing these men, is another moment allowing them to kill a part of me.
No. No, I won't be scoping this place out and looking around and playing it cautious. The time for that is over. I'm going in there and introducing myself to every single person I can before I run out of people left breathing. Or alive.
Leaning over on my bike, I dig through my two saddle bags for a quick inventory check. I have two Glock semiautomatic pistols with fully loaded magazines, and half a dozen hand grenades I've picked up from various locations over the past few months. Ren still refuses to supply me with any kind of real weaponry himself (says it goes against his beliefs and what my goals should be), so I've resorted to scavenging whenever I'm out rampaging through the underbelly of the city. I do my best to not flaunt them in front of Ren; he knows I have them. He’s the one who bought me the weapons locker at the warehouse so I could store them safely instead of just hiding them around. I’ve been keeping certain items stored away for nights like tonight. Nights where my natural abilities can't create the levels of destruction I'm truly desiring.
"My plan?" I say finally answering his question. "I'm going to go right up to them, introduce myself and ask them politely to stop. And then see where it goes from there."
Smiling to myself, I settle my weight back onto the bike, toe the gears and throttle the bike hard. The mass of metal beneath me shudders as it launches itself down the street and I embrace the feeling. I wrap my arms around that feeling and hug it to myself. I try to embrace it like the Darkness does to me when I need it.
I can hear Ren telling me to be careful as I begin to tune out his words and the world around me. I give myself over to the Darkness as I approach the bright spot lights of the parking lot where dozens of men are standing around the assortment of cars waiting to give up their bounties like evil little wise men before a corrupt baby Jesus waiting for their blessings.
Mentally, I step back and give up control of my body to the energy that springs forth from deep within me. I don't care what happens next as long as it gets the results I can live with. The results that would let me sleep at night if sleep were still a possibility.
Ignoring the protocol that seems to be suggested by the waiting line of vehicles, I pull into the parking lot and drive past all of them until I reach the front of the line. Men yell at me from open car windows as I pass them, and their words strike me as almost funny. They're angry that I'm cutting in front of them. I get told to wait my turn and go to the back. Threats are hollered, but I ignore them all. They have no idea how much more interesting their night is about to get.
As I approach the front of the line, I can see the vehicles are being directed inside the building through a loading bay. Apparently there are even more vehicles inside that were just out of my sight before. That means I have no idea how many people I'm about to face, and the response to the bounty might be even larger than I anticipated. I thought it was just the vehicles out here I had to contend with, but I have no idea how many are waiting for me inside the structure. Maybe Renny was right with his suggestion about sneaking around and staking the place out. Maybe the additional intel could have been useful.
Then I remember that every vehicle in this line that I'm passing is another girl that may be dead or dying because some hooligan decided there was an off chance she could possibly be me. Every moment this place continues to exist is another moment some girl could be snatched and killed.
No. Patience and subtlety were not invited to the party. Tonight's dance card is to be filled by the twin partners of rage and vengeance. And they are eager to get the festivities started.
There is a large, burly white man with an impressively-intimidating AK-47 machine gun standing next to the open rolled-up metal garage door. He waves his free arm at the next vehicle in the line as I approach, and I realize he is essentially a traffic cop in this situation. A well-armed and most likely overly-aggressive traffic cop, but still his main job is just to direct the vehicles in line.
With that in mind, I downshift on the bike, accelerate and shoot past him and into the warehouse before he can even react to my approach. I hear him yell something behind me that sounds vaguely Russian, or Lithuanian or wherever it is that Bond villains come from, but I don't hear any gunshots and I can only assume he's not dumb enough to fire his weapon at me when his co-thugs outnumber me and are much more likely to get hit.
To my happy surprise, the empty space is not filled with more vehicles, but only a single car parked in the wide open floor of the warehouse. There are a few gas generators running and several portable spotlights set up in a ring around the vehicle with a small crowd of very pale-skinned, and very large-bodied men standing nearby. They all appear to be looking into the open back bed of a small, red pickup truck and chatting amiably.
The thought of what must be the center of their attention bothers me, and I try not to focus on what particular crime has brought this particular Chevy pickup here. I'm sure I'll get a close enough view soon enough.
Since the Zero runs nearly silently on its electric motor, my approach is only given away by the yelling of the man back at the doorway. Whatever he's saying seems to have gotten the attention of several of the paler-skinned and bulkier-muscled gentlemen standing around the truck who all turn their attention from whatever is resting in the obscured bed of the vehicle up to me.
They seem surprised to see me riding up to them, but not alarmed enough for a single one of them to raise their gun to point at my arrival. To them I am just an impatient customer who has skipped the line and apparently forgotten my manners.
One of the men without a gun, but whose attention had been attracted by the yelling, steps away from the others and yells back to the doorman in whatever language they share. He's dressed exceptionally well in a dark suit and distractingly shiny shoes. His hair has been immaculately trimmed, and the thin lines of his dark facial hair look like they must require the daily upkeep of a very talented barber.
He couldn't have labelled himself as "leader" any more clearly than if he was wearing an apron and a nametag proclaiming him as "Manager on Duty". He walks towards me while continuing to speak loudly to the man at the door in the language I don't understand and holding up an open hand to ward off the angry yells being hurled in my direction.
After another quick exchange between the men as I roll slowly towards the well-dressed man, my target's patience apparently wears out as he says two quick, curt words to the traffic cop and dismisses him. I can hear a few reluctant curses rolled my way and then the soft thamp of his feet as he turns and exits through the door I just entered.
For a moment, I consider radioing Ren and asking him if he can translate whatever is being said. Or at least what language is being spoken. Give me an idea of exactly what is going on. Then I realize I don't care. My knowledge of their language or what they're saying is in no way going to alter the outcome of what is about to happen. It's just a distraction.
Slowing my bike as I approach the man, I notice he appears to be both completely unarmed and totally unafraid of m
e even though he has no idea who I am or what I'm doing here. His level of confidence is impressive and slightly off-putting, but it is also something that will soon no longer be of either of our concern.
"Excuse me, sir," he says addressing me in slightly accented, but very proper-sounding English. "But apparently your entrance has greatly bothered my man Viktor back there. We do have a line set up to make this as efficient as possible, and I would appreciate you respecting that." He smiles at me and reveals a set of brilliantly white teeth.
This boy comes from some serious money, I think. Too bad he has no idea who he's currently talking to. I guess we should change that.
"So if you don't mind politely exiting back out that doorway you just came in through, apologizing to poor Viktor so he doesn't remain so worked up, and getting back into line so we can proceed, then we can get to you in proper time. We really are moving as quickly as we can here. I do hope you understand."
I let him finish before raising my voice and speaking for the first time.
"I just came in because I have a request," I say loudly and clearly enough for him to both hear me and register that my voice is most definitely not masculine. "And I would appreciate an answer. It might help all of us get home a little quicker tonight. What do you say?"
At the sound of my voice, his head tilts slightly to the right and he squints his eyes at me as he asks, "Are you a girl? Why that is surprising."
The other gentlemen behind him and around the truck all turn to look at me and their conversations fade as they seem to grasp that I am not what they had originally assumed me to be. The round of surprised looks makes me smile inside. Maybe this won't have to end the way I had anticipated. Maybe I had been a bit hasty before...
And then I notice her. The girl one of the men is holding up by her hair as her limp body dangles into the truck bed and then out of my sight. One eye is a mass of dark and lumpy skin, but the other eye is wide open and terrified. And staring right at me. They have a young girl in the back of the truck. A still living, but insanely terrified, young girl. I look into that eye and the question I was about to ask dissolves on my lips.
Catharsis (Book 3): Catastrophe Page 4
