by Rob Ashman
She watched as his foot stroked up and down. She tried to move her leg away, but it wouldn’t budge.
‘Shall we go?’ His voice slurred out the words as he fixed her with a lopsided grin.
Mechanic was fixated by the movement of his foot. She felt numb. She stared at the knife.
A knife like that could take a man’s head off. The words rattled around in her head.
Her father leaned forward and linked his fingers together under his chin.
‘You ready?’
A knife like that could take a man’s head off.
Boiling rage erupted through Mechanic’s body. She sprang to her feet, her hands shaking, desperately trying to control herself.
A knife like that could take a man’s head off.
Mechanic lunged forward and seized the knife.
Stewart Sells jumped back in his chair, his eyes bulging and his mouth wide open.
A knife like that could take a man’s head off.
The blade flashed in an arc.
The woman on the next table shrieked and cowered beneath her napkin.
The serrated edge slammed into wood as Mechanic plunged it into the table. The crockery bounced around and shattered on the floor.
Mechanic ran from the restaurant and out into the street. She bent forward, covered her head with her hands, and let out an agonising scream. It was a terrifying sound.
The knife was sticking straight up, the carved handle vibrating back and forth with the point buried deep in the table.
Stewart Sells sat rigid in his chair. All eyes were on him as the whisky swam around in his brain.
‘What the fuck’s got into her?’ he said to no one in particular.
He remained seated as the manager rushed over.
‘Are you alright, sir?’
Stewart Sells considered the question carefully. No, he wasn’t alright. He had a large check to settle and was now too drunk to rent a damn car to drive to Phoenix.
29
Mills was bouncing off the walls. It had been two days, and by now he should have the Helix Holdings file in his sweaty hands. But so far he had received nothing. This was the second morning he had got up at 4am to call his counterpart in Florida PD as soon as he got into work.
He had bombarded them with calls requesting immediate updates. And every time he received the standard response.
‘I can assure you we are working hard on this, but if the file isn’t there I can’t send it to you.’
Mills had threatened to take things further up the line, which hadn’t gone down well. This had made Mills as popular in Florida as he was in Vegas. All he could do was wait, and make nuisance calls.
Jameson had also been hard at work finishing the initial planning phase of the job. He had pulled an all-nighter, which was not unusual for him. He often survived on two hours sleep and functioned perfectly well the next day.
He switched off his computer, shuffled papers into a large manila envelope and sealed it shut. He scribbled on the front and stuck a stamp in the corner. Tomorrow morning it would be sitting in P.O. Box 508 waiting to be collected.
The planning had taken less time than expected. The target had come to Jameson’s attention in the recent past when he had provided an intel report on the same man. Jameson’s men on the ground had done their homework and the intel was still current, so with a few minor amendments they were good to go.
Jameson had remembered the previous job as a summary execution, a killing that would send a message to others that said ‘I’m the new boss’. It would appear that things had not gone to plan. The target was obviously alive and well, and continuing to piss people off, and the previous client had not been seen again.
It was time for a shower and to head off to work.
Jameson threw the envelope onto the passenger seat and started the engine. In his mirror he could see a car parked on the other side of the road. The driver had his window down and was staring at him.
It was Lucas.
Jameson reversed from his drive and drew up next to Lucas. He nodded and pulled away. Lucas cruised in behind and followed. They drove out of the estate and onto the freeway. Four lanes rammed with morning commuter traffic, everyone in a rush, everyone in the wrong lane, everyone getting their day off to a bad start.
Lucas stayed well back. Jameson signalled and eased over to the nearside lane. Lucas followed suit. A junction came up and both cars ran down the exit ramp to join an old beat-up single lane road. As they travelled along it for about three miles, the road surface got progressively worse with sections of the asphalt crumbling way. Lucas could feel the suspension bottoming out as they crunched along. He noticed there were no other cars in sight.
Jameson pulled off the track and came to rest on a piece of waste ground under a railway bridge. Lucas swung his rental car around and parked next to him, facing the opposite direction. Both men buzzed down their windows.
‘Don’t do that,’ Jameson said.
‘Do what?’
‘Don’t turn up at my house like that.’
‘I like the personal touch. Do you have news for me?’
Jameson wanted to press the point but let it drop.
‘Yes, it’s done. It will be with my guy tomorrow.’
‘That’s fast.’
‘Let’s just say we got a lucky break.’
‘What happens next?’
‘I talk it through with my man and we agree the finer details.’
‘I’m impressed,’ said Lucas. ‘My client will also be impressed. But then you did come highly recommended.’
‘Do you have something for me?’
‘I do.’ Lucas handed Jameson a brown paper bag through the window. He looked inside. Twenty paper bricks, each containing a thousand dollars.
‘When will it take place?’ asked Lucas.
‘I will provide you with the details, as requested, when I have a confirmed plan with my guy.’
‘Sounds fair enough. Do you know when that will be?’
‘Tomorrow, maybe the next day. It depends.’
‘Okay, Jameson. I will be in touch.’
‘Don’t turn up at my house.’
It was too late. Lucas had buzzed his window closed, rolled out from under the bridge and rejoined the road. He would have liked a swift getaway but instead he had to trundle along trying not to burst his tyres. He was pleased with his performance but was full of nagging anxiety. The money drop had meant he had to leave Harper and Moran to their own devices, and he was worried that when he got back there would only be one of them left.
Jameson let him go. The money smelled good. He watched Lucas disappear into the distance. There was no point getting too close when there was no need. He waited ten minutes then swung his car onto the road.
He was already late for work but first he had to stop off at a post office.
Mechanic drove back with her hands clenched so tight around the steering wheel her knuckles were white. What the fuck was I thinking? It was madness to assume her father would behave any differently. He had always been a pig, and that’s what she got. What was she thinking?
She stared through the windshield with vacant eyes. Towns, road signs and traffic flew by but she saw none of them. She was numb.
Where do I go from here?
What impact does this have on the voices in my head?
The questions tumbled around her along with the picture of that knife as it slammed into the table.
At the one hundred mile mark she’d loosened her grip on the wheel and was paying attention to the road. By one hundred and fifty miles she had pulled over to fill up with fuel and get an extra strong coffee. She emptied the entire contents of the sugar dispenser into the mug. The massive rush of caffeine and sugar ensured she was buzzing for the next two hours. She began to feel human again.
At three hundred miles her mind was wandering onto other things.
I wonder who the target is on the latest job?
Where’s
it going to take place?
By ten miles from home she was thinking more clearly. She had been stupid to believe the trip would resolve anything. Her father was a monster who was never going to change. He would soon be dead and she would raise a glass on the day. Until then she had to draw a line under it and move on.
Mechanic marched through her front door. She ached from the journey and was hungry. She dumped her bags and headed into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. She took out a piece of cooked chicken and a carton of fruit juice and ate standing up. The red indicator on her phone was blinking – she had a message.
Mechanic pushed the button and a voice said, ‘Hey, Jess, wondered if you fancied a beer tomorrow. Call me back. Bye.’
The voice was light and cheery. It was Jameson. It meant she had mail to collect tomorrow morning.
She checked the time, four thirty.
She finished off the chicken and the juice and went into the bedroom to change. She decided to do what she always did when she wanted to blow away the cobwebs, she reached for her running shoes. Fifteen minutes later she was pounding down Sixth Avenue towards the harbour. This time she was taking it easy. The six-hour journey had sent her muscles to sleep and the run was waking them up nicely.
Mechanic crossed into Marina Park South and followed her usual route. The view across the bay to Coronado Island was spectacular. It wasn’t a real island, it was connected to the mainland by a spit of land which ran south to Imperial Beach. Coronado was one of Mechanic’s favourite places to go to chill out. The beach was amazing.
She left the park behind her and ran north parallel to the water until she reached Seaport Village, a bustling collection of tourist shops and restaurants. The sun was dipping in the sky and felt warm on her face as she chewed up the miles. She felt relaxed, endorphins coursing around her body.
Mechanic had chosen one of her longer routes, a distance of about eight miles. She would be back before six, in time for a long hot soak in the bath followed by a healthy dinner and an early night. She would sleep better tonight.
Moran’s jaw dropped open as Mechanic ran past.
30
‘I’m telling you, it was her,’ Moran said, her hands held out in front of her with her palms turned up, exasperated by her constant need to repeat herself.
‘Are you sure?’ Lucas asked again, pacing around the room.
‘For fuck’s sake, I was as close to her as I am to you now.’
Following his morning meeting with Jameson, Lucas had arrived back at the hotel to find that despite his worse fears Moran and Harper both appeared to be in one piece. However, they were not both in one place. There were two notes left on the table. One said Gone to find a bar, the other said Gone out. Neither was signed but it was clear which one was which. Harper had returned a few hours later stinking of beer, and fell asleep in the chair. Lucas wiled away the time watching TV, planning and speculating on what Jameson was doing. Moran had taken off into the city to calm down and find a different place to stay. She was still angry at Harper and wanted to give herself space. She had even done a little shopping, which was not like her at all.
After losing Mechanic, Moran had got back to Lucas and Harper as fast as she could. She’d burst into the room and blurted out what she had seen. The revelation knocked them sideways. It also had the effect of disarming the tension between herself and Harper. An uneasy truce had broken out between the pair of them.
Lucas paced around the room and the questions continued thick and fast.
‘What did she look like?’ asked Harper.
‘She looked like Mechanic. She had short dark hair. She was tanned and was wearing running gear. It looked like expensive kit.’
‘How short? How short was her hair?’
‘You know short, like a pixie cut. With a side parting.’ Moran fiddled with her own hair to mimic the style.
‘Could it have been someone who looked like her?’ Lucas said.
‘Yes, it could have been, but it wasn’t. It was her, one hundred percent.’
‘Did she see you?’ said Harper.
‘No, I don’t think so, anyway she doesn’t know who I am. I must have looked like any another tourist.’
‘Okay, what happened next?’
‘I was drinking wine outside a bar in Seaport Village taking in the view when she ran by. It took a second for it to register. But when it did, I left my shopping at the bar and took off after her. There was no way I could keep up. I followed for the next minute or so, but that was it. She was gone.’
‘You chased after her?’
‘I tried to, without giving myself away, but she burned the ground like an Olympian. I had no chance. She was really fast.’
‘Could you have got a cab and followed that way?’ Harper asked.
‘Give me a break, it’s a pedestrianised area, there are no cabs.’
‘What then?’
‘I went back to the bar and asked the waiters if any of them had seen the woman who just ran by. They all said the same thing, that loads of runners use this route, and none of them had noticed anyone in particular.’
All three sat in silence.
‘Okay, what do we think?’ Lucas said.
‘She could be resident here or passing through. We’ve given Jameson a job, so she could have flown in to discuss it with him,’ said Harper.
‘You said the kit looked expensive.’
‘Yes, I would say so.’
‘Would you take expensive gear with you when you’re travelling? Or would you take old stuff?’ Lucas asked.
‘Under normal circumstances, old kit, but maybe she only buys the best.’
‘We know she’s a runner. What else would she do?’ asked Harper.
‘Go to the gym,’ said Moran.
‘Yes, that’s what I figure. She keeps herself in shape, and we know she’s strong, so she must work out somewhere.’
‘How about we check out the gyms within a three-mile radius of Seaport Village, and if that throws up nothing extend the search,’ said Moran.
‘Back it up a while,’ said Lucas. ‘We have a sound plan to use Jameson to get to Mechanic. If we go blundering around asking questions, one of two things is going to happen. One: she will disappear, or two: she will kill us.’
‘I’m not saying we ditch the plan with Jameson. We carry that through, this gives us a second opportunity. We have to use this to our advantage. And you’re right we have to be extra vigilant when we’re out. You both need to cover up,’ said Moran.
‘It’s a dangerous game,’ said Lucas.
‘Like playing with Jameson isn’t?’ replied Moran.
‘There is another alternative,’ said Harper.
‘What’s that?’
‘Pick up Jameson and beat it out of him. Get him to tell us where Mechanic is living.’
‘Jameson is an ex-Navy Seal. Look at us, I don’t think that’s going to happen, do you? And if we try to blackmail him he will disappear along with Mechanic. He has a ton of money, remember?’
‘So what do we do? We can’t do nothing,’ said Harper.
‘I could go back to Seaport Village first thing tomorrow. There’s a chance she might train in the morning and use the same route. I have running gear with me, which would make it easier,’ said Moran.
‘I could make enquiries at the gyms,’ said Lucas. ‘I don’t have a picture or a name, but I can give a good description. See what falls out.’
‘That’s worth a try, I can do that with you,’ said Harper.
‘No, I have a different job for you.’
Lucas walked to the bedroom and returned with the Puma sports bag. He unzipped it and threw two bundles of cash to Harper.
‘We need to plan ahead. Which means we need gear.’
‘Does that include guns?’ Harper said with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ said Lucas.
31
All three rose early the next morning. They had agreed the most effec
tive way to keep in touch was to leave messages with hotel reception. It would probably piss off the staff but it was the best they could do. If anyone encountered Mechanic, they were to follow at a distance and wait for the others. That is unless she was running, then it was a case of forget it.
Moran had found a different hotel on Second Avenue a short distance from where Lucas and Harper were staying. She ran out of the main entrance along Market Street towards the marina dressed in running gear. She arrived at Seaport Village and found the spot where she had seen Mechanic. The bar was closed, as were most of the shops. Some restaurants were open offering breakfast. The place was alive with runners. Her watch said 7am.
She perched on a low wall and watched the procession of sweaty T-shirts and Lycra. Moran needed to conserve her energy, because if Mechanic ran by it would take every ounce she had.
Lucas trawled through the telephone directory in the hotel and, armed with a map, located ten gyms within a three-mile radius of Seaport Village. He mapped out his route and set off. The first one was across the street but first he had to go shopping.
Thirty minutes later he was standing outside the first gym on the list. The metal sign above the door said Marty’s Gym and underneath was a picture of a dumbbell with the words ‘The Ironmongers’ written across it. Lucas climbed the stairs. He was wearing a broad-brimmed hat and thick-rimmed spectacles –even by his own admission he looked weird.
Behind reception was a man with the face of a twelve-year-old boy, his muscles bursting out of his vest which was two sizes too small. He looked up as Lucas shuffled through the door at the top of the stairs.
‘Can I help you?’ he said trying to mask his disbelief.
‘I’m looking for someone, a woman, about five feet ten inches tall, short dark hair. She probably trains a lot. Do you have anyone like that?’
‘The boy shook his head. No, sir, it’s mainly men who train here. It’s not really a ladies’ gym. You might want to try Pure Fitness, it’s two blocks further down.’
Lucas consulted his map. Pure fitness was next on the list.
