Sleight

by Tom Twitchel

  The gun had a bulky attachment at the end of the barrel. It must have been a silencer because the gun made a ‘chuff’ sound instead of a loud bang. If it had been the first time I’d faced someone trying to do me bodily harm with a gun I’d probably have ended up in the hospital again. As it was, I instinctively used my knack to nudge his hand wide and the bullet whizzed past my head. Meanwhile my telekinetic whammy had made contact. His head snapped from the impact and he fell, landing awkwardly, his ankle twisting unnaturally as it crumpled beneath him.

  But he wasn’t out. Moving faster than I would have thought possible under the circumstances he rolled and came up on one knee, his face grimacing in pain. The gun came up for another attempt to end my life, just as I unloaded a series of telekinetic bursts at his face and the muzzle of the gun.

  His aim was better the second time, whether it was because I didn’t have the element of surprise or because I was having trouble focusing my knack on two different fronts, I don’t know, but my head exploded in pain and I went down.

  My vision blurred, but I could see that most of my knack influence had missed. At least some of it must have hit home because he was grabbing his face as he lurched toward me. I felt something hot and wet trickling from my scalp, running down my face. He was standing over me in seconds, his good foot stomping down on my arm as I tried to reach for my stun gun.

  “You little prick! This little witch wasn’t been selling Girl Scout cookies! You’re done!”

  He levelled the gun at point blank range.

  THIRTY-FOUR: THAT’S GONNA LEAVE A MARK

  TIME SLOWED DOWN. As he squeezed the trigger I reached out with my knack and attempted to do something I’d never done before. Exerting my talent I focused on keeping the bullet in the chamber, hoping to jam the gun.

  The gun went off and the result was dramatic. It exploded. Hot air and bits of metal spattered over me, but my attacker took the brunt of the blast. At the same moment a familiar twisted rope of electricity sliced through the air, striking him in the face. The combination of the energy flash and the explosion from the gun threw him backward. He flew into a wall and collapsed in a heap.

  I frantically slapped at my face and shirt, swatting away hot gun fragments. Turning to look at the source of the electrical blast I saw Sawyer running up to me.

  “Dude! Are you alright?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. I think. Maybe,” I groaned. Running my hand over my scalp I hissed in a breath and pulled my hand back. It was covered in blood. “Maybe not.”

  “Let me look at it,” Sawyer said, craning his neck for a better view. He sucked in air through his teeth. “Benny, that doesn’t look good.”

  “Uh, hullo? Um stug in this shair. Anybody care?” Justine slurred, from behind us.

  Getting to my feet and gently pushing Sawyer’s hand away I turned to her. Despite what she’d been going through she looked remarkably good. The left side of her face looked less fresh-burn-victim. Her clothing was as revealing as ever, but there was something else. She looked fuller, healthier. Her complexion was less washed out. And she also had a more sultry appearance, possibly created by her doped up heavy-lidded gaze.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her as I knacked all of the chair’s restraints at once. Sawyer nodded in grim approval.

  “Ya’m ‘kay,” she mumbled, leaning forward and almost falling. I reached for her and she curled an arm around me as I helped her to her feet.

  “My hero,” she mumbled as she nuzzled my neck.

  I gingerly touched my head again, and more blood smeared my hand. My scalp was on fire.

  “You’re hurt,” Justine mewed. “Lemme fitzit.”

  She started to reach her hand to my temple.

  “Benny,” Sawyer said, standing over the assassin.

  “What?” I asked, but the way he was looking at the killer’s body gave me a queasy feeling. Justine touched my scalp with the tips of her fingers.

  “Lemme help…” she said in a sing-song voice.

  Gently disentangling myself from her embrace, I walked over to Sawyer.

  “What?” I asked again.

  Tiny beads of sweat had broken out on his upper lip. “I’m no doctor but I think he’s dead. We have to get out of here right away. That doorman downstairs is going to be found. We’ve got a potential massive screw up brewing. Kenwoode is going to be pissed.” Considering the fact that this whole ill-advised mission had been his idea I understood his concern, but I was more worried about the possibly dead guy at our feet.

  I groaned as I bent down to look at him up close and immediately reeled back. Either Sawyer’s blast or a piece of shrapnel from the gun had torn a hole in his right eye socket. Charred flesh and red and white pulp filled the space where his eye had been. The other eye was bruised and swollen shut. His face was torn and bleeding in a dozen places and pocked with burn marks. His model-perfect good looks were a thing of the past. Although, if you’re dead I guess that wouldn’t be your biggest concern. I tasted bile in the back of my throat.

  “Watcha guys lookin’ at?” Justine asked, walking shakily in our direction.

  I moved to block her view. Sawyer was staring at our unmoving assailant. “Oh man.”

  Grabbing a fistful of his jacket I shook him to get his attention. “We need to focus. We’ve got to get Justine and this guy out of here and we’ve got to do it without anybody seeing us.”

  “Yeah? How’re we gonna do that Benny? How’re we gonna do that? I should have listened to you. This totally blows.” He looked like he was going to be sick.

  “Pull it together. Okay?” I nodded at Justine. “Justine, we need to get out of here quickly. Are you okay to walk on your own?”

  She waved her hand lazily in front of her, swaying slightly and said, “Sure. No prollem.” Yeah, none of that inspired any confidence.

  I looked back at Sawyer. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to help Justine so that she keeps up and doesn’t fall and break her neck.”

  “Benny yer so sweet. Yer allus thinking of me,” Justine purred.

  “I’m going to carry the hitman and together we’re going to sneak downstairs. We’ll leave him stashed somewhere and then we’ll figure out how to get out of the building without being spotted.”

  Sawyer looked even sicker. I hoped he wouldn’t spew. We had no time to clean up puke and I didn’t want to leave any clue that we had been in the condo.

  “Yeah? We’re in some pretty serious crap, Benny. Big time! How are you gonna carry that guy downstairs, huh? Tell me that?”

  In answer I focused my telekinetic knack around the prone figure at our feet and then grabbed an arm. Between my knack and a lot of effort I got him upright and threw a shoulder under him, staring meaningfully at Sawyer.

  He just shook his head, his face white as the proverbial sheet. “Okay, okay.”

  Looking back over my shoulder I grimaced at the mess we were leaving behind. Then again, considering what had been going on in there I couldn’t see anyone calling the police.

  We made our way out of the room and back through the luxurious living room.

  When the four of us, three living and one probably not, got to the front door of the condo I opened it with my knack and peered out. The fact that the residents paid for security and privacy was to our advantage. I hadn’t seen any cameras on the way in so our only concern was avoiding anyone exiting the two other condos or the elevator.

  Directly across from the elevator was a blank doorway that had to be the emergency access to a stairwell.

  We hustled as quickly as my burden and Justine’s drug-slowed pace would allow. When we reached the door I saw a security crash bar with ‘alarm’ clearly labelled next to an integrated speaker grill. Sawyer didn’t hesitate and stretched a hand toward it. Electricity flowed from the space in front of his hands and into the device. There was a soft popping noise and he looked at me.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  Knacking the lock and
pushing the door open we stepped into the stairwell just as I heard the bell on the elevator signal its arrival. The door had barely closed behind us when we heard voices.

  A muffled voice filtered through the door. “I’m telling you, they have to be up here. They were following a registered guest of Ms. Weller.”

  Using my knack doesn’t cause fatigue in the same way that using the muscles in my body does. It’s an issue of how complicated the foci are and how many different ones I’m...well...focusing on. Imagine staring at a complicated design for an extended period of time. Your eyes and mind get tired and your attention may begin to waver. That was my challenge as we descended twenty flights of stairs. Silver was big and heavy, which was not a huge problem, but his bulk made maneuvering him tricky.

  Justine, on the other hand was a literal handful for Sawyer. Which was something that I discovered I didn’t like. I tried to ignore where his hands were supporting Justine. The trials of hero work are complicated.

  By the time we got to the ground level I was sweating and Sawyer was running out of patience with Justine. She kept trying to walk on her own, which would have been fine, except that she continued to stumble and slow us down.

  As we neared the bottom I scanned for cameras and sure enough, there was one mounted to the wall about fifteen feet below us. Extending my hand and using my fingers to help me focus my knack I reached out and twisted the camera on its mount so that it pointed at the ceiling. When we reached the bottom of the stairs we found ourselves on a concrete landing about eight feet square. There was a metal door, complete with another alarmed crash bar that presumably opened out onto the street.

  Sawyer zapped the crash bar alarm and I knacked the locking mechanism without either of us exchanging more than a glance. Despite the less than ideal circumstances we were developing a rhythm for working together. Using my knack to keep the hitman upright, I slid my shoulder out from under his torso, invoked my camo and pushed the door open a crack. Looking in every direction possible I surveyed our potential exit route. Leaning back into the enclosed space I rolled my shoulders to ease the muscle strain from half carrying the heavy man.

  “What’s the story?” asked Sawyer.

  “Yeah, wass story? ‘Cause your unvisible. IN-visible,” Justine burbled happily. I wondered how long she was going to be loopy.

  “There’s another camera above the door,” I said. “The good news is that the exit is completely screened from the street by a hedge. The bad news is that I can hear a lot of cars. So no matter what you’re going to be seen. We’re two blocks from a bus stop so it will be tricky not getting noticed with Justine being as goofy as she is.”

  “Hey!” Justine complained feebly.

  “Let me see,” said Sawyer, as he stepped forward and opened the door a couple of inches. He was careful not to expose his face. Pulling back he nodded at me.

  “You think you can finesse the camera or do you want me to fry it?” he asked.

  “I’ll get it,” I said.

  Keeping my camouflage in place I opened the door just wide enough so that I could see the camera. A second later it was providing someone with a view of the clouds overhead.

  “Okay. Let’s try this: you and Justine curl your arms around each other like you’re a couple. You go out first. Don’t wait for me. Catch the first bus possible. I’ll wait two minutes and then I’ll follow. I’ll try to use my camouflage and telekinesis to make it look like this guy’s a drunk stumbling on his way home.”

  “I thought we were going to leave him here,” said Sawyer.

  Shaking my head, I said, “No. If we do they’ll find him and we might be connected to him. He needs to come with me at least until I can stash him somewhere. My camo will protect me but I can’t hide the two of you.”

  Sawyer swore under his breath, but nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  I opened the door for them with my knack, juggling the focus between the door and Silver the no-longer-handsome hitman. It bothered me more than a little when Sawyer and Justine snuggled up to each other until she looked back at me and made a face. Comedy under duress. It made the whole situation seem even more surreal. Two minutes seemed to take forever. It wasn’t helped by the sound of footsteps on the stairs above me. I couldn’t wait. It was time to go.

  Camo in place, using the combination of my knack and pulling one of his arms over my shoulder I got us out onto the sidewalk. To any passing cars he must have looked strange with one arm slung out in midair and dragging his feet. I could see Sawyer and Justine ahead, almost a block away.

  I began to worry that the charade wasn’t going to work when Silver violently twisted out of my grip and stumbled away from me. How he had survived the damage to his eyes and the explosion was beyond me but the guy was strong. Swinging a blind punch that just missed my temple, he staggered back a few feet from me and teetered on the curb. One hand reached behind him and dang if he didn’t whip it back around with another gun. Should have searched him, but you know, we thought he was cashed out. The guy’s near superhuman speed and resilience was getting old.

  And dangerous.

  Blind, he wiped at his eyes and then growled in pain. He swung the gun back and forth, trying to target me, his head cocked, listening. Even if he’d been able to see he would have had a hard time locating me as I had kept my camo in place.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. He was an enemy we wouldn’t want to face again, and couldn’t risk having him tell Sonja about us. She might disappear again.

  While I wasted seconds sweating over what to do Fate intervened.

  The emergency exit door banged open behind me. The doorman and a security guard burst around the hedge and spotted my gun-toting buddy immediately. The doorman might have recognized Silver if the damage to his face hadn’t made him look like a crash victim. The gun pointing in their direction didn’t help Silver endear himself to them either.

  “Hey! You! Stop right there!” yelled the security guard. He had nothing more than his open hand to threaten Silver, who couldn’t see it anyway.

  Silver had been waiting for some sound to focus on and the guard’s panicked command was enough. He whipped the gun in the direction of his voice and shot him. At the same time he back pedaled off the curb.

  Into traffic.

  And the path of a delivery van.

  THIRTY-FIVE: BREAKING EGGS

  TAKE IT FROM me, it doesn’t matter how many violent movies or video games you’ve seen, witnessing someone being struck at full speed by a truck in real life is a shock, and disturbing to a degree that’s hard to describe.

  Those stories about people getting knocked out of their shoes?

  Yeah, that’s really a thing.

  I stood there with my mouth hanging open, and for a moment my camouflage slipped. My need to escape and not be seen snapped it back in place in a heartbeat.

  “Help! Help! Someone call 911!” screamed the doorman, his voice cracking. His breath puffed in small vaporous wisps in the cold winter air. He was down on his knees, hands pressed to the chest of the security guard. Steam rose from the wound while he tried to stop the flow of bright blood that was spreading on the guard’s shirt, dripping onto the sidewalk.

  The delivery van had barreled into Silver, throwing him high in the air and into oncoming traffic in the other lane. The squealing of tires, screeching of metal on metal, collisions and horns blaring was deafening.

  Then screaming from the onlookers started. Any thought I had of allowing myself to be seen vanished when several people emerged from cars and started pulling phones from pockets and purses. A woman had joined the doorman on the ground, trying to staunch the flow of blood from the bullet wound in the security guard’s chest. A small crowd materialized out of nowhere and several people held up their cell phones and started recording video.

  Shaking badly, I started walking slowly, moving in the direction opposite of the one that Justine and Sawyer had taken.

  Several mind-numbing minutes later I dropp
ed my camo ansd stumbled onto a bus. The driver looked at me strangely as I slunk by and headed to a seat near the rear doors. As I sat down a woman sitting in the aisle across from me stared at my jacket, and then averted her eyes. I looked down. My jacket was smeared with blood and I remembered the head wound I’d suffered. As nonchalantly as possible I reached up to my head and felt for the gash that had been so painful less than thirty minutes ago.

  Other than some crusty congealed flecks, my hand was unbloodied. And no pain. I couldn’t decide if that was good news or not. Keeping my head bowed I tried to be as inconspicuous and inoffensive as possible. I didn’t need anyone contacting the police about a kid covered in blood boarding a bus a few blocks from a multiple car accident and a shooting.

  I changed busses three times which wasn’t necessary for travel but it allowed me to turn my jacket inside out and splash water on my head from a public fountain. The water was incredibly cold but it was the only easy choice for a quick rinsing. Afraid to touch my scalp again I just dowsed it with as much water as I could cup in my hands. The reversed jacket looked stupid and I’m sure the water made me appear bedraggled and sketchy, but at least I wasn’t a bloody mess.

  I was reluctant to call Sawyer figuring that it would be all he could manage just to keep Justine in line, so I texted him that I was heading to Goodturn’s. I saw that my earlier text to Kenwoode had timed out and failed. We needed to come clean with him, whether it was comfortable or not. Constance would be able to help Justine and Kenwoode could reorient our plans around the mess we had just made. Sawyer didn’t text back. He was probably trying to keep a low profile too. If Justine was still out of it there was no telling what she might say or do.

  Thinking about her made me groan. Danton was going to be seriously pissed that I’d been the one to find her again. I didn’t want to outright lie to him. But how could I tell him what had really happened? Answer: I couldn’t. Too many others would have their secrets revealed.