Deep Dark Night

by Steph Broadribb

‘I don’t get how that caused the blackout and everything,’ says JT. ‘The security must be—’

  ‘I never forgot what happened. And I made a vow that I would avenge my family.’ She meets JT’s gaze. ‘It took years of planning and a hell of a lot of money. One by one I got the people with the skills I needed on board. I used our shared history to persuade a couple of the most bitter people from my old neighbourhood to help me. To get the rest of the help, and the access I needed, I bribed the people who worked the right jobs. It wasn’t cheap: over half a million dollars for an engineer to sabotage the power; a few hundred thousand to alter the alarm system. I paid a couple of gangbangers to say they’d heard a new boss – Herron – had come to the city.’ She smiles ruefully. ‘It’s lucky that running poker games has been so lucrative, because I needed a lot of cash to pull tonight off.’ Her expression and voice harden. ‘And it was worth every penny to see the people responsible for my parents’ deaths suffer.’

  JT nods as he takes it in. A kid whose life was ruined by the greed of already-rich men, driven in adulthood to take revenge. ‘You plotted to murder all those responsible for what happened.’

  ‘At first I wanted to get the development syndicate into a room and confront them, but the more I studied these men, I knew they didn’t care about others. Otis and Mikey might have put on a good penitent act, but the rest would’ve probably laughed. They knew what they did. They were all complicit in murder. So I wanted them to murder each other. And those left – the ones who did the killing – they’d be arrested and jailed for homicide.’

  ‘But the lack of oxygen would have killed us all if we hadn’t escaped.’

  Carmella shakes her head. ‘No it wouldn’t. The oxygen level would have run down to a level low enough for everyone to pass out, but not so low to kill them. I’m not a murderer.’ She meets his gaze. ‘Or, at least I never meant to be.’

  JT stares at her. She set a chain of events in motion to intentionally cause the deaths of nine people, including him. ‘You killed those people as surely as you would have done if you’d pulled the trigger.’

  ‘I guess I’ll have to live with that.’

  JT studies her expression but she’s got one hell of a poker face. Her story is sad, real sad, but what she’s saying about tonight isn’t consistent; first she said she wanted to kill them all and was happy to die to make that happen, in the next breath she’s saying the oxygen wouldn’t have run out completely. He doesn’t know what to believe, but he’s sure he can’t trust her.

  58

  We’re halfway across the bridge as the looters start across from the opposite side. Flaming torches held aloft, baseball bats and already-looted products in their hands, they look like the cast of The Purge. Their march is purposeful, their posture threatening. These people are out to get whatever they can.

  ‘Stay close,’ I say to Cabressa.

  There’s fear in his expression. Panic in his eyes. I’m guessing that all of a sudden he doesn’t feel so safe here in the city he controls.

  We keep moving along the bridge. Keep to one side. Watch the mob of looters advancing towards us.

  They’re shouting, yelling. Some have carryalls filled with loot slung over their shoulders. Baseball bats slam down onto the metal railings of the bridge. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Next to me Cabressa flinches. Starts to slow.

  ‘Keep moving,’ I say. ‘Make yourself look non-threatening. No eye contact.’

  He does as I say. Unpuffs his chest. Looks at the ground.

  That’s when the crowd spot us. Catcalling and whistles.

  ‘Where you going?’

  ‘You running the wrong way.’

  ‘The best stores are back the way you came.’

  ‘Got nothing to say?’

  They swarm around us. Blackouts are when all the usual bets get voided. Law enforcement can’t cope. And in the darkness simmering frustrations boil over into anarchy. These people are a pack; they move as one, think as one. Determined to take whatever they can for as long as the lights stay off.

  Someone pulls me into the crowd. The fug of sweat and adrenaline feels like it’s suffocating me. My vision blurs, and I trip and fall against a big guy in a Chicago Bulls shirt. Get spun around. Lose sight of Cabressa.

  The looters keep moving. I try to fight my way forward, but the surge of people is too strong and I find myself pulled back along the bridge the way we’ve come. Again I try to turn back around, but the crowd is too tightly packed. Scanning the bridge behind us I see more looters behind this group. We’re not going to be able to get to the other side, to the hotel. There’s no room. A stick is thrust into my back. A carryall filled with electronics equipment hits me in the side of the head.

  Gasping from the pain, I turn and scan the faces in the crowd for Cabressa. I spot him a little ways off, sandwiched between two muscular guys who are carrying a huge flatscreen television. If I want to run, this is my chance. I weigh up my options. Try to decide whether to attempt to get away and leave Cabressa.

  Much as I want to run, to get clear of Cabressa and everything that’s gone down tonight, I can’t. If I let Cabressa out of my sight, law enforcement might never get this chance again. I need to finish this job, end my alliance with Monroe. And Cabressa needs to pay for all that’s gone down tonight; all the people he’s killed. I can’t allow him to disappear in the wind. So I change tack, and push sideways through the looters towards Cabressa.

  As I reach him the shouting starts behind us. A second group of looters have caught up with this one. They’re pulling carryalls from the first group’s hands. Trying to wrestle the flatscreen televisions away from the people who have them.

  I look at Cabressa. ‘This is going to turn nasty. Come with me.’

  For a moment he looks confused. But as fighting between the two looter groups breaks out around us there isn’t time to explain. I turn and yell to Cabressa, ‘Run!’

  We sprint to the side of the bridge.

  Grabbing Cabressa’s arm I pull him towards the railings. ‘Climb,’ I shout.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re fighting. We need out.’ I climb the railing fast as I can. Put my leg over the top rail, straddle it. Ready. ‘Come on.’

  He takes another look at the two groups of looters clashing over their stolen goods and climbs over the railing. ‘What now?’

  I put my other leg over the rail. Take hold of his arm. ‘Take a deep breath.’

  As he opens his mouth, I jump. Pulling him with me.

  We fall, straight and fast. Disappear into the water’s inky blackness.

  59

  He can’t trust Carmella with Cabressa, but JT doesn’t believe she’s a threat to him or Lori. Her motive is vengeance, pure and simple. What he’s struggling with is his own ethics. She’s a killer, or she meant to be, no matter the technicalities. He should hand her over to the authorities, he knows that, but something is holding him back. ‘Tell me: how did the poker come into it?’

  ‘I didn’t get to go to college. Instead I spent my time trying to survive. Like I said before, I did a lot of things, but one guy I met taught me how to play poker. I was a natural, best he’d taught, and for a long time we travelled from place to place and played in underground clubs and private games. All the while I was researching who was behind the enforced purchase of my parent’s apartment building – I wanted every single person involved to pay for what they did. And as I studied them, I realised they were just like the people I played at the poker tables – people prepared to gamble far more than is decent, on odds that are often against them, for the chance of winning big. It was my way in to their world. But first I had to reinvent myself, give myself a new name and a new backstory. Then I was ready to set up my own games.’ She takes a breath. Shakes her head. ‘It was easier than I thought. Men like that, they’re all egos and bravado. As soon as I started making a name for myself they came crawling out the woodwork, and once you’ve got one big name – Cabressa in my case �
�� all the others clamour for a seat at the table. After that it was just a question of getting all the members of the development syndicate in the room at the same time. That time was tonight.’

  ‘One thing I don’t get,’ JT says, ‘is how the recorded voice knew I was in the penthouse. I shouldn’t have been, I was an extra person because Lori had to make that call. You couldn’t have predicted that.’

  ‘I didn’t predict it. Just after the blackout happened, when we realised the cell service and wi-fi was out, and I went to the study to see if the landline was working so I could call the concierge – that was when I changed the recorded message and added you in. I used auxiliary battery power to keep it running, and had the controller in my pocket once I’d changed the messages. Whoever they’d said was Herron would never have been right. I just played the appropriate message – I’d pre-recorded one for every eventuality. It was easy enough to do without being seen, what with all the drama going on. The whole point was to turn them against each other.’

  Smart.

  ‘What about your security detail in the room downstairs, and the players’ close protection?’

  ‘We fitted gas canisters in the air vents. Nothing lethal, just something to make them sleep the rest of the night.’ She holds his gaze. ‘You missed out on that by just a few minutes.’

  JT keeps the eye contact. He can’t tell from her expression whether she regrets that he escaped the gas or not.

  ‘So now you know the truth, what now?’ Carmella says.

  JT looks down the emergency stairs. They’ve still a lot of floors to go and time is ticking. He understands why Carmella staged tonight. What happened to her papa and her mom was horrific, he gets that she’d crave revenge. But laws have been broken, and a lot of people have died. JT knows he should cuff her and hand her over to the cops, or the FBI. But he doesn’t. He feels oddly conflicted, and anyways, he can’t stop and divert now. He needs to get to Lori.

  ‘Those men, they all deserved it.’ Carmella’s voice cuts into his thoughts.

  ‘And me and Lori?’

  ‘That was a mistake. I didn’t—’

  ‘If Lori got them out of the penthouse, Cabressa will try and force her to get the last chess piece for him. I know where it is. I have to help Lori.’

  ‘I put you both at risk,’ Carmella says. ‘I’ll help you stop him.’

  He runs his hand across his stubble. ‘You can’t attack Cabressa. The FBI have to arrest him. That’s the only way this’ll work.’

  Carmella holds his gaze. Frowns. ‘Okay.’

  JT stares at her a long moment. Thinking. She wants revenge, that hasn’t changed, so he knows he can’t trust her. But if Cabressa fights back she could be useful to have onside. He makes his decision. Nods. ‘Come on then.’

  60

  The frigid water punches the air clean out of me. It closes around my head, dragging me down into its icy depths, twisting and turning me over within its clutches.

  I try to hold on to Cabressa, but the water forces us apart. Opening my eyes I try to look for him, but the river is dark and murky, and I can barely even see my own hands in front of my face. There’s no light. No way to tell which way is up.

  My lungs start to burn. I need air. Thrash against the water, turning, searching for a sign of life, light.

  High above me I think I see the looter’s torches. My heart races as I kick hard, forcing myself up towards the light. Hope it’s not a trick; my oxygen-desperate mind playing games with me. Keep kicking.

  My head breaks the surface, and I gulp down the cool, fresh air. On the bridge, high overhead, the looters are still fighting. Ignoring them, I scan the surface of the river for Cabressa.

  There’s no sign of him. Damn.

  Taking a breath, I dive down beneath the surface. See nothing. It’s too dark, and the river too dirty. Bob back up. Swim a little ways. Try again. Still nothing.

  I can’t have lost Cabressa. He can’t get away with what he’s done that easily.

  Swimming a few more strokes, I search again. Then I swim a little further. Try again. Keep trying.

  It takes me over a minute to find him. My stomach flips. He’s floating face down just below the surface, ten yards or so from where we jumped. I swim to him. Turn him over. His eyes are closed. It doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

  Shit.

  I feel his neck for a pulse. There’s a faint one, real weak. I have to get him breathing. Hate having to touch the murderous bastard, but this death is too good for him, too easy. He has to pay for what he’s done.

  Fighting back the revulsion, I pinch his nostrils closed and blow two breaths into his mouth. It’s not easy in the water, but I can’t leave it until we get to the shore. I wait a long moment, then repeat the process. Then I watch his face, but he doesn’t respond. I try again. Wait. And have another attempt.

  Still nothing.

  The cold is leeching into my bones. I feel stiff, my fingers and toes are turning numb. I need to move, we need to move. I inhale again and breathe two breaths into Cabressa. His eyelids flutter and he coughs, hard, wracking coughs that make it sound as if he’s choking.

  ‘Cabressa?’ I say. ‘You back with me?’

  He splutters. Pushes me away. Then flails against the water, too weak to stay afloat. ‘What the fuck did you…’

  So much for a thank-you. I grimace, and look up towards the bridge. The crowd has moved on, marching across the bridge in the direction of the Skyland Tower. We’re safe from them at least. I point towards the far side of the river, in the direction of the hotel, and say, ‘We need to swim.’

  He glares at me. He’s struggling to tread water. And angry, for sure.

  Ignoring the look, I start swimming. My feet and hands are numb. My face feels weird, kind of rubbery. I need to get out of this water. Warm up.

  Suddenly the far bank of the river seems a hell of a long way off.

  I push on. Grit my teeth against the cold. Try to keep to a steady rhythm. Every few strokes I glance back over my shoulder and check on Cabressa. So far he seems able to keep up.

  We keep swimming.

  The cold in my bones intensifies. I fight to catch my breath. Have to keep going.

  We’re a few hundred yards from the bank when Cabressa cries out. Stopping, I turn back and see him floundering. As I start back towards him, he disappears beneath the surface.

  ‘Cabressa?’ I yell.

  He doesn’t resurface. Shit.

  I dive down, scanning the murky water for him. See him struggling against the water – he’s kicking with his legs, but his arms are wrapped around his body. I swim towards him, grab him around the shoulder and heave upwards, kicking my legs to try and propel us both back to the surface. He doesn’t help. Let me do the work.

  We break the surface. ‘What the hell?’ I yell at him.

  ‘The chess pieces,’ Cabressa shouts. Still clutching his jacket to him. ‘I can’t lose them.’

  I realise then, he’s trying to stop the pieces emptying out of his pockets. He sinks beneath the surface again, and I have to fight to pull him back up. The choppy water splashes over my face, and I swallow a mouthful of water. Coughing, I spit out the water. ‘Swim, goddammit, or you’re going to drown.’

  He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t listen. Keeps his arms wrapped around himself, using only his legs to try and stay afloat. It doesn’t work, and he sinks beneath the water again. Cussing under my breath, I put my arm around him and swim towards the bank, pulling him after me. Monroe had better give me a goddamn medal for this.

  The swim to the bank takes what feels like an age. I reach it, panting and exhausted. Take a few deep breaths, then heave myself onto the concrete platform at the base of the bridge, before turning to haul Cabressa up after me. He’s still breathing, still alive. I am too. And for that I’m real thankful.

  Then I collapse onto the ground. I’m freezing. Soaked through. My arms and legs feel as heavy as iron set in concrete. Every bit of me ac
hes.

  ‘You dead?’ Cabressa asks.

  ‘No.’ I open my eyes. See him sitting a few paces from me. Watching. ‘Nor are you, thanks to me.’

  He doesn’t acknowledge what I’ve said. ‘We should get moving.’

  There’s no thank-you, no apology for his behaviour, just an instruction. I clench my jaw. Anger blooms in my chest. ‘I need a minute.’

  Cabressa pushes himself up to standing. ‘A minute, sure. Don’t make it longer.’

  Ignoring him I do a mental check of my body. Everything seems okay, moving still, but I’m cold. So very cold. Much as I hate to admit it, moving is no doubt the best thing for me to do right now. I need to get warm, put on dry clothes.

  I push myself up to sitting. Look at my feet and grimace. The soles are red raw and covered in cuts from running along the blacktop and sidewalks. I need bandages and shoes. None of which we’ve gotten here.

  ‘You ready?’ says Cabressa. There’s no trace of empathy on his face. No gratitude.

  I glare at him. The asshole. And wish I’d left him in the river to die.

  He looks away first, fiddling with his jacket. When he turns back towards me the gun is in his hand.

  I stare at the weapon. ‘Why didn’t you use that on the bridge?’

  He holds my gaze. ‘There were a lot more of them than I’ve got bullets.’

  I don’t know how many bullets he has left, but the Glock 21 holds ten so he must be almost out. ‘A warning shot would have scared them. They weren’t hardened criminals, just people going a little crazy in the anarchy of the blackout.’