by wade coleman
She wipes her eyes and turns towards me. “It’s about fucking time you showed up.” Kim walks out onto the patio, looks over the balcony, and I hear her quietly weeping. With all the brutality around this night, I can’t imagine her crying. After a time, she turns around, takes my shirt and blows her nose. Damn, I didn’t bring a change of clothes.
She walks up to the sink and puts her leg on the stainless-steel basin. “How come your shirt is so clean?” Kim splashes water on herself. “We ran on a hot night and crawled under a house. And your top still smells like laundry detergent.”
I shrug. “I don’t sweat at night.”
With her leg in the sink, she uses my shirt like dental floss to clean her crevasses. “You’re the Cheshire Cat. All I see are two eyes and a smile in the darkness.”
She puts down her leg and wipes her armpits. “My angel said you’d find the ones who killed Cindy.”
“An angel told you?” I smirk.
“Yeah, an angel. Kukan calls you the Shadow Walker.”
The hairs go up on the back of my head. The base of my skull tingles.
She finishes drying herself. “She said the Shadow Walker would have my back. Kim turns and shows me her tattoo. “And look at that…your staff is on my back.”
Kim gets a brush out of her pack and looks herself over in the full-length mirror. She’s thin, too thin like she’s been on the run too long.
She looks at me, and I know she knows what I’m thinking.
“Yeah, I’ve been on the run since I took the tablet computer.” She sits down and brushes her hair in front of the mirror.
My eyes are drawn to her yellow stripes winding down her back that meet at her butt.
“Been in North Frisco for six weeks. The South Frisco is run by the Inner-City Gang.” She brushes her yellow-green hair. “Vory and Inner-City don’t get along. Normally those clowns from the Inner-City would have been shot on sight in Vory territory.”
She gets her pack, sits on the bed, and takes out a tablet computer. “I took Cindy to the free clinic downtown when she got sick.” She looks at me with her big yellow dandelion eyes, and asks, “Could you look at this?”
I look it over. “The electric port is filled with dirt. Otherwise, it looks okay. I need to take it to my shop to be sure.”
She puts it back in her pack, getting into bed.
I get a dime out and turn on the TV, I pull up Casablanca and mute the sound. After turning off the light, I lay down, and Kim burrows into me. “You skin is nice and cool…What are you watching?”
“Casablanca, the best movie ever.”
“There’s no color.”
“Yeah, this movie predates color film. I like to unwind by watching an old black-and-white movie. The slow pace and lack of color are calming to me. And I like all the shadows.”
“What time do we get up?”
“One am.”
She says something, but I don’t know what. I’m already immersed in Bogart and waiting for Ingrid to make her entrance. Now, there’s a woman who’s not too skinny.
CHAPTER TWO
My watch alarm goes off. Kim turns on the desk lamp, the red LED light illuminates our small hotel room. A sink stands alone in one corner. The only furniture is a bed and small nightstand. I don my work clothes: a shirt, black jeans, gloves, shoes, ball-cap, and a spider-silk vest.
“What’s the plan?” Kim’s large eyes are gathering light.
I find my vest, get out my red LED penlight and turn it on.
Kim stares at me, waiting for an answer. “I go inside the Superstore. You stand watch. If something happens,” I reach into my jacket pocket and tossing her a penlight—one of many I keep in my vest pockets. “Flash the light on the window and run.”
She tosses the penlight back, “Great, then everyone in a two-block radius knows that some stupid ass is walking the streets.”
She sneers. “Any moron knows that, college boy.”
I hold up my hands, “Alright, no light. Throw a rock at the window; I don’t care, just be a look-out and let me do my job. And by the way, I never went to college.”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight. But you applied for college and got the grades,” Kim pokes her finger in my chest.
I gather the bedding and put it in a trash bag. “Notice that I’m wearing gloves and a ballcap to shield my face from cameras. Over my cap is another hat that covers my hair and ears. Everything is covered except my face. I would shave my eyebrows if it didn’t draw attention.”
I point my finger at her head, “Your shedding skin and hair like a trail of breadcrumbs. Everyone’s DNA is on file. You leave one hair, and you’ll spend ten years in prison.”
“Alright, but why are your pockets full of penlights?”
Kim is a telepath, so I think about the Cheshire Cat and let it fade into the shadows. “Why does anyone need anything anyway?”
“That’s a good mental block, but you can’t keep it up forever.”
I put my backpack on and pick up two containers of bleach.
“What’s the bleach for?” She reaches for her rucksack.
“Just in case I do leave an eyebrow at the scene, then the bleach will frag the DNA.”
Kim tucks the Beretta in her back pocket.
“Why do you need that? You're out of ammo.”
“The bartender at Alexander’s is a friend. I can get ammo there. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes,” I say. “We exit the room, take the stairs to the rear exit and make our way west through a lane between 16th and Colfax.
“Silver coins are heavy, so we need to lighten the load. Ditch the bedding and towels and travel as light as possible. Since you’re here, I might as well load you up.”
Kim leads me through a series of alleyways and abandoned backyards. At a window well, she dumps the trash.
“Do you know the area?” Kim asks.
“North Frisco is Vory territory. They’re gun-runners, and they own Alexander’s.”
I squeeze through the slats in a rotting fence. A dog whines when we pass.
In twenty minutes, we cover the seven blocks to our destination and lurk behind a dumpster.
I point to the back entrance of the Superstore. “Wait a few minutes. Then I’ll open the door for you.”
The back entrance has a single bulb over the entry.
When I turned thirteen, I could manipulate shadows. It was summer, after dark, I was playing capture the flag in an apple orchard during a full moon. I walked into the shadow of a tree, and everyone passed me. I was invisible until a flashlight pierced my hiding place.
The light from the entry casts a shadow across the bin where we skulk. I step in, wrap the shadow around me, and pass unseen across the street. Letting go of the shadow, I approach the metal security door.
There’s a quarter-inch crack between the concrete landing and the door. I put my hand under the door, and meld into the shadow. I reform on the other side of the entrance to the Superstore loading dock.
I look over the area and see no changes in security. Above the door is a switch held in place by a magnet. Putting my gloved hand on the switch, I turn on my penlight.
My index finger casts a shadow on the switch. Where light and dark meet is a cold edge that leads to the void. With a thought, I can enter the void, merge with the cold nothing, and then come out on the other side.
Instead of going into the emptiness, I open a gate a little bit and let the cold into our world. Where the shadow crosses the switch, I look at the switch and the cold moves towards it. In seconds, frost forms and the switch freezes into place. I open the door and let Kim in.
I point at her chest, “Don’t touch anything. Stay here.”
Kim looks at my finger and sneers. “Just do your thing.”
Walking towards the north wall, I stand on the steps leading to the upstairs office. The motion sensor at the top points down the steps.
Moving into the shadow, I slide on its edge and refo
rm under the motion detector on top of the landing.
I pull out a jammer from my vest, a one-inch cylinder, and place it on the sensor. The jammer mimics the wireless signal that’s sent to the main computer, telling it that everything is okay. I cut power to the sensor. The jammer sends its false signal, and the main computer is fooled. I smile, proud of my little homemade device—what I consider my homework before a heist
Picking the lock on the office door, I enter. The room is fifteen by thirty feet, four desks in the center. Along the north wall is a six-foot cabinet safe with three doors. Windows to the west overlook Colfax Avenue and dimly illuminate the office.
I open my pack and sprinkle hair collected from the barbershop next to my work area. Just in case I leave anything behind, it will be mixed in with dozens of other peoples’ hair.
Removing the angle grinder from my pack, I start cutting, the spinning blade laying down a trail of sparks. The sound is muffled through my earplugs, and burning metal fills my nostrils.
Halfway through I take a break, checking out the small safe with a UL high-security rating. The letter “V” is written in spray paint at the top.
The safe belongs to the Vory. They are running guns out the back of the store. This must be where they’re keeping their books and cash. I could blackmail them with the contents of the safe, but if you cross the Vory, they go after your friends and family until you give yourself up.
The Inner-City Gang is run by mutants of Japanese descent, and they have a code: they only come after you.
I’ll be content with fifty pounds of silver, the most I can safely carry. There’s an old saying among thieves, “Pigs get fat, but hogs get slaughtered.” I’m greedy, just not greedy enough to cross the Vory.
Within an hour, the angle grinder cuts an eight-inch square hole through the cabinet safe. Reaching in, I pull out twelve cloth bags filled with silver coins. One bag is smaller and feels heavier. It must be gold. What I’m holding will pay off my parents’ mortgage.
Kim kicks upon the door and walks through.
“You set off the silent alarm!” I yell.
“Doesn’t matter, we have company.”
I throw her my pack. She stuffs the bags of coin inside while emptying Clorox onto the floor.
An armored pickup truck parks under the windows. In the bed is a troll. The giant picks up a Browning fifty-caliber machine gun and places it on a mount welded into the bed.
A man with a ball cap and Kevlar vest gets out of the truck and loads the ammo. The troll heads for the back entrance.
Kim puts on her pack filled with half of the silver. I stuff the grinder and battery under the desk. Putting on my pack, I hear heavy footsteps come up the stairs.
After putting my hands on Kim’s shoulders, I draw her close, shifting, and take hold of the darkness. It coils around us. The world turns to shades of violet, and we disappear.
“Hermes, where am I?” Kim is panicking. “I’m cold and dizzy; everything looks distorted.”
“It will pass, focus on your breathing.”
A troll walks through the open door. Slung over his shoulder is a metal sledgehammer, the head like a cinder block.
He sings, “I wanna be an airborne ranger, live the life of guts and danger...”
He notices the hole I cut and looks around, but shadows obscure us.
The door near the handle buckles on the first hit. The Troll drops the hammer, grabs the edge of the metal, and peels the door off its hinges. Out the window, he tosses the door like a Frisbee. Metal and glass hit the pavement.
“Shit!” someone yells from below.
The troll continues to punch, peel off, and toss the other two cabinet doors.
Walking to the window, he sticks his head out. “The bitch and her John got away!”
“That’s too bad,” the man below says. “Blaming the dead would make this a whole lot easier.”
The giant walks back to the safe, tossing sacks out the window. He sings, “I’m gonna be a forest ranger! Chipmunks are my greatest danger!”
Giddy voices below pick up the cash and sing along.
The giant finishes and calls out, “Blue Dog, do you want the small safe, too?”
“Does it have a V on it?”
“Oh, yeah,” the giant’s voice ends in a low growl.
“Those bitches been spoiling for a fight,” Blue Dog says. “Time to put their panties in a knot.”
The troll walks over to the metal cube, sits down, braces his feet against the concrete wall, and grabs the safe. His back muscles fan out. Timbers snap, and the four bolts connecting the safe to the floor rip free.
The giant stands up, tossing the safe out the window.
The sound of metal on metal tells me the strongbox hits the bed of the truck and bounces out.
“Goddammit!” someone yells from below.
The giant heads for the exit, and I release us from the shadows.
Kim drops to her knees. “I think I’m gonna to be sick.”
I find a waste paper basket, getting it under her before she retches. After a few minutes, she stands, wipes her mouth, and coughs, the smell of bleach dizzyingly potent.
I hand her the trashcan, “This is evidence. Take it with you.”
She nods, the color returning to her cheeks.
I pick up the equipment, leave the office and go down the steps. The back door is hanging from one hinge, and we step over it to get outside. I walk to the corner of the alley and scan the area.
To my right, the troll picks the safe off the pavement and places it in the truck bed. To my left is a police cruiser, cherry lights flashing and closing fast.
The pickup opens fire. Fifty caliber rounds shatter the windshield and rip through the police car, which veers to the opposite side of the street, bleeding fluids, then rolls to a stop just past the alley.
Someone from the pickup yells, “Hoorah!”
Two men get into the truck, the troll getting in the back, removing the machine gun from its mounts, and off they go, disappearing into the night.
From our corner hiding place, I hear a weak groan coming from the policeman in the cruiser. After crossing the street, I put the grinder and battery by the dumpster and walk towards the car.
“What are you doing?” Kim asks.
“Helping; what do you think?”
She pushes me. “Don’t be stupid; we’ve haft to go right fucking now!”
I push back, “That’s not gonna happen.” I pull the bill of my cap low. “I’m an EMT; I know what to do.”
“If you live, I’ll see you at Alexander’s.”
I look up. Kim disappears, her footsteps retreating into the darkness.
This was not the way it was supposed to go, but then again, it never does.
CHAPTER THREE
The windows of the cruiser are blown out, blue console lights illuminating the cab. The cloying sweet smell of blood is in the air. The passenger is dead, his right shoulder missing. The driver is alive, holding what’s left of his arm above the elbow. His eyes go wide, and he tries to speak, but only vowels come out.
“Don’t talk. I’ll take care of you.” I reach into my vest and pull out an auto-injector. It’s filled with trauma meds for pain and bleeding. Jabbing the needle into his arm, I press the button, then leave the injector on his lap, so the EMT knows what he was given. I look down at his name tag; his last name is Cohen. I take off his belt. “Cohen, my friend, you are one lucky cop. You’re going to Mercy Hospital. The surgeons there have a lot of experience in transplants. You’ll be tying your shoes with your new arm by Christmas.”
The drugs are taking effect, the bleeding has slowed down, and his eyes are dilated.
“Who are you?” his voice just above a whisper.
Your best friend in the whole world,” I cinch the stump. “Keep it tight.”
I look him over, his face cut from the windshield but otherwise okay.
“Am I gonna make it?”
“Yes,”
I reply with confidence. “Just sit still and wait for the ambulance.”
Leaving the scene, I cut my shirt on a jagged piece of metal of the cruiser. In the distance, a pair of headlights illuminates the car.
Not wanting to stay a minute longer, I head down the alley, pick up the equipment including the battery and grinder. I don’t want to leave evidence close to a crime scene.
I move as fast as I can with the load.
Two men with AR-15s boil out of the cruiser and give chase.
Rounds from a twenty-caliber whistle past me. One hits me square in the back, but my vest protects me, and the force of the bullet shoves me forward. The only thing I feel from the impact is like being poked hard with a finger.
Ducking behind a pile of trash, I listen while footsteps approach.
A sewer manhole is covered half in shadow. I shift deep and enter the darkness. Sensing the manhole, I find a crack between the cover and lid and slip through, reforming inside the sewer pipe, boot steps run past on top of the metal lid, making it clank.
Walking bent over, I move along a four-foot sewer pipe to the next manhole. Exhausted, I drop the battery and grinder, then stand up and catch my breath. I try to think about what went wrong. How did the Sons of Chaos get wind of my plan to rob the Superstore?
After getting a penlight from my vest, I attach it to the Velcro on my hat and turn it on. Ahead is a four-foot sewer manhole. Bent over, I wade downstream through the knee-deep sewer water, the going is easier without all the extra weight. I always research the layout of the sewers when I plan a job. I picked this location because the sewers were big enough for me to crawl through, just in case something when wrong.
I continue downstream and count the manholes until I find my way to the sex club: Alexander’s. After an hour underground I find the spot, gather my strength, lift the cover, then pull myself up.
Replacing the lid, I stand up straight for the first time in an hour, heading for the entrance to a pawn shop. Sitting against the door covered in shadows, I wait for Kim.
Across the street, a neon sign flickers. The letters, Alexander’s, light the parking lot with a glow. Cars fill a third of the lot, a few women working the drive-in; a bouncer smokes in the doorway. My head pounds like I’ve have a migraine coming on.