by Chad Zunker
Sammy checked his heart rate, which, after the hard climb up, had now settled. It was time to start his descent down the mountain. After tightening the lace on a hiking boot, he began moving down the trail, his legs feeling extra spry today. He knew each and every nuance of the trail, where every sharp rock poked up, where to veer left or right, and where to be extra cautious. Turning a corner at brisk speed, Sammy almost bumped straight into a man. He was surprised he hadn’t heard the man climbing up, but then Sammy’s hearing had been failing him a lot lately. His wife kept wanting him to get it checked. The man in front of Sammy was young, probably in his late thirties, slender but muscular in his black T-shirt, hiking shorts, and boots. The man’s hair was short and white. His face was hard, serious.
“Excuse me!” Sammy exclaimed.
“No problem,” the man muttered, kept moving.
Sammy watched until the man disappeared around the boulder. He’d never seen the guy on the trail before. He had a strange feeling about him. After thirty-five years selling insurance, Sammy had learned to read people pretty well. The eyes told a lot about the soul of a person—they truly were a window. Sammy didn’t like what he saw in the window of this guy. There was something hollow behind his gray eyes. He shrugged it off. Everyone has their struggles; it was not his place to pass judgment. He kept climbing down the mountain, pausing only briefly when he came upon a steep cliff with a more than fifty-foot drop. It was yet another wonderful view back over the town.
The push was quiet but fierce. Sammy felt the pressure of a hand on his back, but it was too late to respond. His hearing had completely failed him this morning. As he toppled over the cliff, Sammy realized there was more than just a struggle behind the white-haired man’s hollow gray eyes. There was pure evil.
Marvin Shobert was at the horse track again. Lone Star Park was fifteen minutes from his home just outside Dallas. At first, the quick drive seemed like a blessing. Marvin could easily meet up with drinking buddies without drawing the ire of his wife, Brenda; however, the close proximity had become a curse the past few years as the gambling grew out of control and the debt choked him. Several times Marvin had been on the verge of climbing out of the financial pit, only to risk everything going for the big one, and had dug himself an even deeper hole.
Over the past few months, that hole had turned into the Grand Canyon. Marvin was desperate. He owed a hell of a lot of money to Jersey, a guy he’d been introduced to a year ago through one of his work buddies. As a bookie, Jersey was a nice-enough guy—but he worked for a much more sinister boss who wasn’t nearly as forgiving. Two thugs had visited Marvin at the printer company a week ago. Right inside his office, they’d made serious threats and really scared him, along with a few coworkers. Marvin owed them $25,000. If he didn’t pull it together within ten days, people were going to start getting hurt.
Marvin hadn’t slept since that day. Brenda was concerned. He was pale and had the shakes. She kept asking him about his health and wanted him to go see a doctor. He assured his wife that he was fine, just simple work stress. Give it a few days. He hoped this would be true after tonight. He planned to turn $3,000 into more than $25,000 on one bet. Marvin had a good lead horse. The odds were right. He’d done thorough research. Hell, that’s all he’d done the past two days in the office while avoiding all sales calls.
Marvin had a really good feeling about this one. After all, the horse was named Set Free. And that’s all Marvin wanted to be right now. After tonight, he swore he’d be done with the track. The thrill was not worth the stress he’d been living with for months now. This time, it would be different. He was tired of living with the shame, too. The $3,000 he’d used for tonight’s bet had been stolen from his eighty-four-year-old mother. He’d actually forged a check when visiting her in the assisted-living facility yesterday. A sixty-one-year-old man stealing money from his elderly mother. Shameful. But he hadn’t been able to look at himself in the mirror for a long time now.
Tonight would change everything. He’d win the money back and replace it in her bank account like nothing had ever happened. Then he’d get the thugs off his back and take up a new hobby. Probably golf. It was hard to gamble much on golf—although Marvin knew you could gamble on just about anything.
The horse race tonight was not local. Marvin was watching it in the simulcast TV lounge with a bunch of other local gamblers. Sweating something fierce, he stood in the very back of the room. He’d actually said a prayer when he’d placed the bet. God, just this one time. How many gambling addicts had said that same prayer? He really meant it.
Watching the dozen TV screens in the front of the room, Marvin felt sick to his stomach. The race was about to start. He clenched his ticket in his fist. Set Free was out quickly. That was good—the horse didn’t get caught up in the gate. Marvin held his breath. His horse was sitting third around the first turn, just four lengths back. He tried to swallow the thick knot stuck in his throat. His horse got caught by two other horses on the back stretch. Cursing, Marvin took a step toward the TV screens. His chest was so tight. He wondered if he might have a heart attack. If he didn’t win this race, he might as well be dead, anyway. Set Free was running fifth at the final turn but still within striking distance. Marvin started to get dizzy. It wasn’t looking good. God, please. Then Set Free caught a wind and quickly passed three other horses down the final stretch. His horse was only one length back from the leader and gaining ground.
“Come on!” Marvin yelled at the TVs. He was normally a quiet and reserved man, so the outburst caught him off guard. Others in the lounge were also screaming at the TVs. It was all part of the fun and excitement, although Marvin doubted anyone else in the room had as much on the line as he did.
The horses were nearing the finish line. Set Free was still gaining on the leader, just a head back. It would be so damn close. Marvin held his breath as the horses blasted through the finish. He stared frozen at the TV screens, waiting for the official results. When they flashed on the screen, he realized his horse had actually won. Marvin couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d done it. He’d actually done it. A few others in the room cursed at the TVs while a couple of guys started high-fiving. Marvin couldn’t move—he stood perfectly still, his body numb. Set Free had actually won.
Seconds later, all the emotion of the moment hit Marvin at once, and he became physically nauseated. He was going to vomit. Rushing around the corner of the lounge, he found the hallway to the men’s restroom. He grabbed a stall, shut the door behind him, and dropped to his knees on the dirty floor. He then proceeded to spew his dinner and drinks into the toilet in one violent upheaval. Finished, he tried to catch his breath. His old body just couldn’t handle the intense nerves anymore. He quickly flushed the toilet so as not to stare at his own vomit, but continued to kneel while trying to somehow gather himself again.
He felt like celebrating. He’d have enough cash left over for another race. Just one for the road before he let it all go for good. He quickly caught himself, realizing how stupid he was. Shaking his head, he decided he’d cash out his ticket and get the hell out of there as fast as possible. He’d been given one last pass at life, and he wasn’t going to spoil it. Thank you, Lord.
He heard footsteps in the quiet restroom outside his stall. Then the door handle for his stall was pulled against the latch. “Someone’s in here,” Marvin muttered, still breathing heavily. Odd, since there were five other open stalls available.
Another yank on his stall door.
“Hey!” Marvin exclaimed. “I said I’m using this one!”
When his stall door burst open, all Marvin saw were the gray eyes of the young man before the back of his hair was grabbed in a ruthless fist and his face was shoved down into the toilet water. Marvin tried to struggle but felt powerless against the strength of the man. He wanted to shout, Wait! I have your money! But nothing would come out in the gurgle of water he was now swallowing.
Seconds later, his body stopped convulsing as his mi
nd went to a different place altogether. All Marvin could think about was his winning horse.
Set Free. How appropriate.
ELEVEN
David billed the most hours of anyone in the firm’s history during his first month with Hunter & Kellerman. For a seventy-one-year-old law firm, it was a phenomenal feat. Everyone was stunned. Marty Lyons and the other partners told the litigation group they’d reviewed David’s billing entries exhaustively, just to be certain—everything checked out. David had broken a billing record set by Lyons himself more than twenty years ago. Only a month into his legal career, David was clearly the firm’s newest superstar. Lyons and the other partners celebrated him with full accolades at the litigation group’s monthly meeting. David felt awkward. It was clear most of the associates despised him for his achievement, as it only raised the level of pressure and expectation on all of them. But they all engaged in the necessary cheering, clapping, and backslapping when Lyons made the toast. All hail David Adams!
Tidmore seemed defeated. Although they’d been neck and neck in the beginning, David had run away with the victory the final two weeks—with a little help from an old friend. David told himself it was only temporary. He just needed a little something extra to keep his eyes open and focused in the dark hours of the night, when everyone else had gone home. Plus, Melissa had proved to be a powerful force of nature. She’d been regularly pulling David out of the office to show him off at fancy dinners with important people. David had to somehow make up for the lost time—the only way to do that was to work through the night. It was the same thing he’d told himself during his second year at Stanford. A little something extra went a long way to help him to study, go to class, participate in mock trials, and cover enough shifts at the Dutch Goose to somehow afford to stay in school.
The former classmate who had introduced him to the small blue pills had called them Uncle Billy. He always said, “Let Uncle Billy help you out.” Call them whatever—Billy, whiz, speed, uppers, goey, louee—they gave David the added edge he needed to skip sleep, stay alert, stay focused, stay at the office all night, and get the job done to a spectacularly new level. His former classmate, who’d dropped out of law school altogether, had shipped a supply to David from California. David could afford a lot more of them now. With Uncle Billy’s help, he’d managed to keep both Melissa and Lyons happy with him.
The day after the toast, Lyons moved David into the more spacious office directly next to the partner’s corner power suite. Another awkward moment for David was passing the fourth-year associate in the hallway who’d been downgraded and moved out. David shrugged it off—it was all part of the game. Hell, everyone knew the high stakes of what they’d signed up for. With an arm around his shoulder, Lyons told David he wanted his protégé close by. The future was bright. Before he left David’s office, Lyons placed an envelope on his desk and said the partners had all agreed on a special bonus for his incredible achievement. When Lyons left, David opened the envelope and found a bonus check for $5,000.
David peered up from his desk when Thomas entered his new office, shut the door behind him, and then stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrow.
“What?” David asked.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What do you mean? Working on your brief.”
“I’m not talking about that.” Thomas stepped closer to the desk, keeping his voice at a volume that couldn’t be heard outside the office. “You have to slow down, David. You’re going to wreck yourself. No attorney should ever bill as much as you did last month. It’s impossible to put in that kind of work and stay healthy.”
“I’m fine, Thomas.”
“Tell that to your face,” Thomas chided him. “Your eyes are red, and your cheeks look gaunt. You’ve probably already lost ten pounds since you got here.”
“I needed to drop ten, anyway,” David quipped, forcing a grin.
Thomas sighed. “This isn’t a joke. Have you learned nothing from Nick’s suicide? If you don’t take your foot off the accelerator soon, you’re going to crash and burn your first year.”
“I haven’t heard Lyons voicing any concerns.”
“And you never will, believe me. But I’m not Lyons.”
“Look, I said I’m fine, okay?”
Thomas shook his head. “Please just take what I’m saying under consideration.”
“All right, I hear you already.”
After finishing up another long day at work, David cut through an alley on his walk home late that night. He was so tired, he could barely walk straight. Although he’d tried to reassure Thomas he was okay, David knew he was not. There was no way he could keep up with this pace. He was already popping twice as many blue pills as he had back in law school. His dealer had actually asked him if he was selling to other lawyers. David assured the guy he was simply storing them away for future use. After getting off the phone, he’d cursed himself. Was he seriously lying to a damn drug dealer? What the hell was wrong with him? Was he going to end up like Nick, with a rope around his neck?
He stepped around a dumpster, careful to avoid several muddy puddles left over from a rain shower earlier that afternoon. He was looking down, watching his steps, so as not to get his brand-new dress shoes wet, when he felt someone step out in front of him. David stopped, startled. The man looked to be in his twenties, with a tough-guy goatee, and he wore a dirty white tank top that showed every square inch of his muscled arms covered in tattoos. David could make out a red dragon tattoo that looked like it was hissing fire up the man’s neck. This was not someone you wanted to encounter in a dark alley.
“Yo, dude, you got a smoke?” the guy said.
“Sorry, don’t smoke.”
David tried to quickly sidestep the guy and keep on moving, but the dragon shifted over to block his path. David cursed. They were only a few feet away from each other now. He thought he could smell a mix of alcohol and marijuana on the guy. This was not good. He was standing alone in a damn alley with a guy who looked like he wanted to break David in half. A man who was clearly not interested in David simply walking away from him right now.
“Then how about you buy me some smokes?” the thug snarled.
“Look, man, I’m just trying to get home.”
David heard it before he spotted it. The familiar click of a switchblade. He used to play with his friend Joey’s knife back in the sixth grade. Peering down, he spotted the shiny, sharp object in the man’s right hand. David felt another wave of fear race up his back and tighten his muscles. Could this really be happening? Would the firm have to deal with back-to-back deaths of two lawyers? He was suddenly envisioning headlines about the bright young attorney destined for greatness who got stabbed to death in an alley. The partners would mourn him—there went their future cash cow. Tidmore would throw a private party.
“Okay, settle down,” David stammered. “I got some cash. You can have it.”
“I want everything.”
“Fine. Just be cool, okay?”
David began to slowly reach into his pockets, searching for his wallet, as well as his keys. He couldn’t be certain handing over his valuables would be enough to satisfy this guy. He still might have to protect himself if this thug didn’t want to leave him unharmed. He grabbed his wallet from his right pocket with his right hand. With his left, he found his condo key, squeezed it tightly in his palm. A switchblade versus a condo key. It was nowhere near a fair fight, but it was all he had on him. The dragon was watching him closely, the switchblade now raised in front of him. Adrenaline coursed through David. Sweat poured down his back. He felt his whole life flash before him. All the hard work. All the damn studying and the countless hours of sacrifice. He’d finally arrived. And now, in this moment, if he wasn’t careful, everything could be taken away from him.
A shadow of another man suddenly appeared right behind the dragon. David never even noticed the second guy—neither did the muscle-bound freak. An arm went around the dragon’s neck and ya
nked him backward in a fierce choke hold. The dragon gasped for air, stunned by the sudden sneak attack, his eyes bulging. The dragon began whipping around, trying to grab the man and sling him off. But the shadow guy only squeezed harder around the dragon’s neck. When it was clear to the dragon that he was not going to be able to toss the man aside, he changed tactics and instead slammed them both up against a metal dumpster as hard as he could. The shadow guy’s head collided violently against the dumpster, causing him to release the dragon. Gaining his freedom, the tattooed guy in the tank top stumbled forward, gasping for air and clutching at his neck.
Standing there, David was unsure what he should do next. Should he run for it? Or should he now jump on the guy himself? He turned around when he heard loud noises in the alley behind him. David spotted a group of college guys, all laughing and whooping it up as if they’d just enjoyed a raucous night on the town. However, they stopped when they realized they were walking in on something bad going down. The dragon also noticed the guys and decided it was time for him to clear out. He turned and staggered out the opposite end of the alley. The frat guys also backtracked, leaving David now standing there alone with the stranger who’d just saved his life. The man had slumped all the way down to the wet concrete and was leaning against the dumpster.
Kneeling, David got his first good look at the face of the man. He shook his head, stunned. An old homeless guy who was probably in his seventies. His face was dirty and unshaven; his clothes smelled of sweat and body odor. He wore a black trench coat, dark pants, and unlaced brown work boots. The old man wasn’t moving. Had he been knocked out cold? David could tell the man was still breathing, so that was good. At least he wasn’t already dead. Looking closer, David could see a trail of blood trickling down the back of the man’s neck. The collision with the metal dumpster had done some real damage.
Standing again, David looked both ways up and down the alley, wondering what the hell to do next. His first selfish instinct was to just get the hell out of there and get on with his life. He really didn’t want to have to deal with something like this right now. However, David couldn’t just leave him there. The guy had put his own life on the line. David thought of calling the cops but knew that would only create a much bigger mess for him to have to manage. He just needed to help the guy recover a bit. Get him patched up, maybe give him some food or something.
