at the hostess as she leaned over and pressed the paper into Dorian’s hand.
Without checking, she couldn’t check, she walked across the room, fully braced for a shot in her back. She made it to the hostess stand. Relief flooded her. She turned to speak to the girl, ensuring all the while that she could look back at the booth. Dorian shook his head slowly left to right. No, he mouthed as Tara glanced away. Andrea nodded up and down, hoping he would get the message, forcing the big smile onto her lips while all she really wanted to do was run as fast as her legs could go.
How could this be true, Dorian thought as he crumpled the paper. All it said was, Run, Tara is with them. He looked at Andrea and, waiting until Tara looked away, shook his head left and right. No. But Andrea nodded up and down, smiling ridiculously. What the hell did Andrea know? She was full of shit.
But then why would she travel all the way across the country to tell him his girlfriend, who she didn’t even know about, was with the killers? That was weird. It could be true, but it didn’t square with their conversation. And why had Tara shown up that quickly. No. He looked over at Tara, his mind racing. She had been rather eager to be a part of this.
His churning mind leapt through all the moments in his and Tara’s extremely brief relationship. Had he been blind?
What did he actually know about Tara? The question popped into his consciousness with a shock. Wasn’t she Federica’s best friend? Did Federica ever talk about her? Didn’t Tara call him? Had he ever heard of her before the day she called? And wasn’t she pretty easy to get into bed? His heart jumped into his throat.
He had to know what was going on.
“Did my sister have a boyfriend?”
“Why are you asking now?” Tara said, looking bemused. She caressed Dorian’s hand.
He stopped himself reflexively pulling away. “Just wondering. Federica never really talked about it.”
“Well, sort of. It wasn’t that serious.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“Why are you asking all these questions? It’s like you don’t trust me.” Her face opened up and zoomed in. He felt enveloped in her attention. The restaurant around them disappeared for a moment.
He had to keep his nerve. “No, not at all. Just making conversation. I’m curious. Federica never mentioned anyone to me.” He controlled the shake in his voice. “But she liked boys.” He winked. Instantly he regretted it, sure the wink looked fake. Anyway, I’d like to contact him.”
“There were a few on-again, off-again guys. Right?” Tara looked at him quizzically.
He tried again, cracking a wickedly fake smile. This girl was full of shit. He knew for a fact that Federica had never broken up with Cieran. And she would have told him. “Yeah.”
He felt cold all over, deep into his bones. He needed to control himself.
Clearly Tara was lying. Why would Federica’s best friend be so evasive otherwise? And not know the real situation? He should have asked her questions a long time ago. He’d been such a fool.
He’d made love to her. He’d kissed her. He’d thought he was protecting her. And all that feeling because of her connection to his sister.
All she’d really ever wanted to do was kill him. That was the probable truth. No, he couldn’t think right now, he had to move, now now now. “One moment, please. Bunny is saying something but I can’t hear her.”
He got up out of the booth and started walking towards Andrea.
Run
To Andrea, it felt like forever as Dorian slowly walked across the restaurant towards her. He’d barely made it halfway to her when Tara began to slide from the booth. Tara’s face had contorted into a snarl, teeth bared, eyes compressed into slits. Something was very very wrong.
“Run,” Andrea screamed in a voice she’d never used before, a voice she had no idea lived inside her. She could see Dorian jump. He launched towards Andrea and Andrea turned, running straight to the front door ten feet ahead. She could feel, rather than see Dorian racing a few paces behind her. Up and to the right, a panel of wood exploded. A high-pitched female voice yelled, “get down, get down.” Another voice, it must have been Tara’s, yelled “Freeze. Don’t move.” The coldness in her voice froze Andrea’s insides.
Andrea turned, pulling Dorian’s hand to yank him towards the door. “Our lives,” she gasped. “They…backup.”
The next seconds seems like hours, as if stuck in molasses. Surely they were running too slowly. The door approached at much too slow a pace. Andrea expected to feel a sharp pain. It would happen at any moment. Somehow, in the chaos, her feet had taken over, leaving her mind to survey the situation with a general’s calm. She calculated the odds: bad, evaluated the options: if they were still alive when they got outside, they needed to turn right.
She heard a hoarse voice shouting, “They’re on to me,” into what must have been a phone and an instant later, “Cover, cover them now, they’re running out.” Andrea burst into the afternoon sunlight, Dorian’s hand locked in hers.
“Turn right,” she yelled, yanking him roughly around the corner. She expected bullets, but no bullets came. They ran, pushing through lunchtime pedestrians. “Faster,” she shouted. They reached Fifth Avenue, then immediately cut right. Andrea launched them across the teeming lanes, dodging between screaming taxis, a towncar with tinted windows and two trucks, finally steering them to the sidewalk and left onto West Seventeenth. They ran, most of the block passing in a throat choking burn, with the air never quite getting deep enough into Andrea’s lungs. She was never sure how close Tara might be behind them, and didn’t dare turn, since her feet felt like they just might get tangled together. She couldn’t afford to fall.
They rounded the corner to where, if her investigations earlier had been correct, there should be an alley. Andrea looked around. Where the fuck was it? Panic tried to take over. She pulled Dorian, barely slowing down. If it was in the online maps, it better be here. A few more steps and they would definitely need a new plan. They would be screwed.
They passed an antique shop with glass windows, full up with a jumble of furniture. She pushed them into the recessed entryway, but the door wouldn’t budge. Must have been closed for the afternoon. And if they broke the window?
Dorian looked at her and smashed his fist through the glass, fortunate not to cut his hand. “We can hide inside,” he said, panting. He looked worse than Andrea felt.
“No, it’s a sure sign to Tara,” she gasped. “Look how obvious it is.”
She didn’t wait for Dorian’s grunted reply, running back into the street. Andrea’s legs felt heavier with every step. It had to be here. She worried that she’d forgotten the contents of the map, then tried to calm herself. How many times had she turned around because she was sure the directions she’d been following were wrong, when really she’d been almost there. This time, it was only one block.
Wait! There! That was it.
An alleyway appeared at just the moment she had pretty much up. It was there after all. The map hadn’t lied. It was just as she’d studied. It had to be the right one.
She pulled Dorian in, but immediately they hit a roadblock. The alleyway only went back about ten feet. That wouldn’t protect them. Definitely not from a murderous woman with a gun. Not to mention the friends Tara must have been talking to.
“This isn’t it.” This time the panic wouldn’t go away.
Andrea glanced back down the street towards the restaurant that now seemed impossibly far away. No sign of Tara.
She turned the other way, with Dorian gasping after her.
Twenty feet further another alleyway appeared.
“This better be it,” Andrea yelled, grabbing Dorian’s hand again. He seemed ready to collapse.
They cut in, the narrow entrance clawing at them as they stumbled through. Twenty feet further, the opening spread into a slightly larger courtyard. Toward the back a jumble of dumpsters provided potential cover. Andrea led them further in, following a few bends to where it
lead out the other side. Hopefully the little detour would give them a few minutes even if Tara managed to see them, though she hadn’t seemed to be behind them. Andrea let herself breath an extra breath, though never refused to stop running. Their lives depended on them running.
Suddenly a tall, barbed chain-link fence blocked the way. “Shit,” Andrea looked around wildly. “This wasn’t in the maps satellite image I looked at. Shit. We’re screwed.” She could feel her insides folding. This time it was over. They were done.
She felt Dorian’s arms under hers, pulling her to her feet. “We’ll go back over there,” he panted. He pointed at an overflowing brown steel dumpster. He grabbed what looked like the lid of an oil drum, the biggest thing in the narrow space that could be picked up. Andrea wanted to laugh. “That won’t help against a gun,” she gasped. This really would be it.
They ran back, retracing their steps to the dumpster. The smell of putrid food filled her nostrils.
“Are you ok?” Andrea asked.
He nodded a gasped “Yes.”
“We need to stay absolutely quiet, just so that if she followed us and poked her head in here, she won’t see or hear us.” Andrea shocked herself; she sounded like she knew what she was doing. “And we still don’t know where her buddies are.”
“Yes.” Dorian looked like he couldn’t say much else.
Colonel fumed in the plastic surroundings of his NYC Taxi. He looked over at Lieut,
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