Hit: A Thriller (The Codename: Chandler)

by J. A. Konrath

  Heath spotted me and abandoned the cab search, instead running down the sidewalk.

  We were in a footrace now and I sprinted flat out, fast as I could. As long as I could see him, I was okay. He wouldn’t be able to get away or hide and get the drop on me.

  Heath dashed into the street, angling his way through traffic. I lost sight of him for a second as he crossed the median, his silhouette obscured by palm trees and other foliage, then he appeared in the oncoming lane, a dark form against the glare of headlights and glowing neon. He crossed into an area of strip malls advertising dream car rentals, discount show tickets, and helicopter tours.

  I pushed my tired muscles to move faster, my breath roaring in my ears. There were few places to disappear in the area flanked by the big resorts, but in this hodgepodge of smaller buildings he could easily slip through an alley, and I’d have a hard time tracking him down.

  I heard the faint sound of an engine while I was still several buildings away. A light flicked on in front of a tattoo parlor and oxygen bar, under a sign boasting the “Best Ever Tours.” Then in a streak, Heath buzzed out onto the sidewalk, riding a scooter.

  So much for our footrace, the cheater.

  I made a beeline for the row of red rental scooters. The business was closed, all the little bikes chained together plus individually fastened to the steel rack. Heath had already unlocked the larger chain’s padlock, and the smaller bike locks were no contest for me.

  I reached into my pocket, pulling the little wires I’d gotten from my panties from my pocket. Taking a knee beside the closest bike, I had her free in under a minute. A little jimmying with the ignition, and I was on Heath’s tail.

  Horns blared as I cut across traffic, jumped the median, and folded into the south moving lane. Heath was a good distance ahead now, and I pushed the bike to its limit, weaving between cars in an effort to catch up. I swept by the Monte Carlo hotel on the right, the light changing to red at the intersection with Rue de Monte Carlo.

  Sitting back on the scooter, I rushed the curb, yanking back on the handlebars just in time to thunk up onto the sidewalk.

  People scattered, and I narrowly missed a fire hydrant. Dropping my foot to the concrete, I pivoted the bike and accelerated, taking the crosswalk.

  Ahead, in front of the fake Manhattan skyline of New York, New York, I spotted Heath stuck in traffic. A glance back at me, and he swung off the road, too, dodging pedestrians and racing onto the replica of the Brooklyn Bridge.

  I followed. His failure to act sooner had cost him his lead, and as we raced past little Italy, a Broadway box office, and an upper east side brownstone, I pulled even with his back tire.

  He shot out a foot, bracing on the front of my scooter and giving me a shove.

  I swerved, nearly crashing into the pilings of a faux wharf before regaining control.

  He darted under a pedestrian bridge that spanned the boulevard.

  I followed, racing as fast as I could. Rounding the corner, I spotted him driving into an elevator that reached up to the crosswalk above. I gunned my scooter, flying over the first few steps of a staircase and jolting down rest. I made another corner and reached the elevator.

  “Too late, querida,” Heath called, smiling at me through the last open inches as the elevator door closed.

  Damn.

  I pivoted and gunned the scooter, making a sharp turn and racing to the end of the escalator. Twisting the accelerator again, I drove straight up the moving stairs. The bike bucked and strained and for a moment, I thought it was going to flip over on top of me and careen back down. Remarkably, it didn’t, and I reached the pedestrian bridge only a few seconds after Heath had buzzed out of the elevator.

  Heath raced across the bridge, me only inches behind. Reaching the other side, he opted for the stairs.

  I took the escalator.

  The way down was smoother than the way up, and with the extra speed the movement of the steps gave me, we were even when we hit the sidewalk, racing past the MGM lion and into the street neck-and-neck. He swerved around a couple of pedestrians, and I focused on the gold ring, still glinting from his finger.

  Heath kicked out with his right foot, hitting the main body of my scooter, but before he could push me into traffic, I leaped.

  I landed on the back of his bike, wrapping my arm again around his throat. This time he was ready, snaking a hand under my arm and prying me free, then he sent an elbow back, slamming me in the ribs.

  Gasping for breath, I held on.

  He thudded over the curb and swerved into the street, racing kitty corner across the intersection. Horns blared. A truck skidded to keep from hitting us, sliding sideways into a SUV.

  On the other side of the street, we bumped up onto the sidewalk, the spires of the Excalibur Hotel’s version of Camelot a blur. Heath accelerated, the scooter’s bumble bee engine whining, pushed to its limit.

  Scissoring his body between my thighs, I held on with my legs, clawing at his face with my left hand and trying to pull the brochette skewer free from my wet jeans with my right. The denim was tight and the stainless steel slippery, and every time I thought I had a grip, Heath hit me with an elbow or butted me with the back of his head. Finally it started to slide out, one centimeter, two…

  He swerved the bike hard. Then slinging his left leg over the seat, he flung himself off and into a cluster of plants.

  I lunged at the handlebars, but by the time I reached them, the bike was already starting to slide. I pulled my right foot up to the seat, staying on top as the scooter screeched flat on its side along the concrete.

  Jumping free, I landed on the sidewalk at a run, the hard surface jolting up my legs. I’d landed in front of the Luxor Hotel, a few meters from the obelisk that served as a sign post, but when I looked back at the spot where Heath had leaped, he was gone.

  Struggling to catch my breath, I scanned the area. Palm trees towered around me, and behind them, a giant sphinx guarded the mouth of a thirty-story glass pyramid. At the apex of the pyramid, a laser shot a beam into the sky.

  The area around the Luxor was relatively flat, composed of parking lots and a bulldozed lot across the street that was waiting for new construction. The only other big hotel was the Mandalay Bay complex further down the boulevard. But if Heath had headed there or anywhere else besides the Luxor, I should still be able to see him.

  My body shaking and my ribs aching where Heath had driven his elbows, I walked back to the spot where he’d bailed off the scooter. A path led from there to the hotel and I took it, walking between two rows of statues then angling to the front entrance.

  Doormen flanked the entrance to the hotel, an older man climbed from a cab, a clearly drunk couple staggered out the door, on their way to another casino. Like any other Friday night in Las Vegas.

  No sign of Heath.

  It wasn’t until I heard a woman walking down the sidewalk gasp and saw her point, that I looked upward.

  Twenty meters from the base of the pyramid, Heath climbed slowly up the slanting glass.

  I eyed the top of the structure, thirty stories high, tilting my head back to take in the view.

  Great.

  Since drowning hadn’t worked, it seemed Heath had decided to test another one of the fears on my list.

  Heath

  The chica bonita was everything he thought she would be and more.

  Brave.

  Strong.

  Fierce.

  Tenacious.

  Not to mention sexy.

  And now she was beginning to get on his nerves.

  He kept his eyes focused forward. Putting one foot in front of the other, he climbed one pane of glass at a time, up the 39-degree angle. He’d left his shoes at the bottom of the pyramid, nestled in a group of plants, his bare feet doing a better job of sticking to the glass than hard soles. He hunched forward, gripping the edges of the glass and metal framing with his fingertips, finding holds where there seemed to be none.

  The going was
meticulous and slow.

  Pane by pane.

  Story by story.

  The rooms inside the Luxor pyramid ran along the walls. Although he couldn’t see much through the dark bronze glass, he could imagine whatever guests were in their rooms on a Friday night would have quite a surprise.

  And he was sure there would be more to come.

  Whatever happened, as long as he got to the top before Simone caught up with him, his plan would work out fine. All he would need to do was buy a little time, and the problem would be solved.

  He kept climbing, his fingers aching, the bottoms of his feet already starting to feel raw. The light ahead grew blinding, filling the night and shooting into the heavens. Twenty meters away, he could feel the heat. Ten meters it burned his fingers, his feet. Five and it was almost unbearable.

  He kept going, kept climbing. He couldn’t turn back now.

  Sweat rolled down his back and stung his eyes.

  A cramp seized his back, his arms, his legs.

  The dry air and heat sucked the moisture from his body and parched his tongue.

  Finally he reached the pinnacle, the light too bright to see, the heat too much to bear. He slipped Bratton’s gold ring from his finger and tossed it onto the illuminated glass, the stone which wasn’t a stone taking the super-heated rays full blast.

  Then he turned back around and went down to meet his lovely Simone.

  Chandler

  “It isn’t over until you’ve won, escaped, or died,” The Instructor said. “Shoot for won or escaped.”

  I trudged up the pyramid’s steep incline, trying not to think too hard about how high I had scaled and the slick slope behind me. It was impossible for me to climb while looking up the glass. Not only was the light at the top blinding, but with every glance, I felt like I was tumbling backward, and I had to stop, trembling, to catch my breath.

  My last glance upward had told me Heath had reached the top. Why this was important to him, I couldn’t guess. From the first, his actions hadn’t made sense.

  If he knew I was an operative, why had he allowed me to board that plane?

  Then once we arrived in Vegas, why had he killed Bratton?

  And even more confusingly, why hadn’t he killed me?

  But the kicker was this pyramid stunt. When he’d raced down the Strip, I’d assumed he was trying to get to the airport, attempting to get away. That made sense to me. But this?

  Why in the hell would he climb the Luxor?

  I glanced up at him again. This time he was easing himself down the glass on feet and hands, facing up.

  “I’m coming for you, mamacita,” he sing-songed. “Did you miss me?”

  “Are you off your meds or something?”

  He laughed. “Do you not know why I’m doing this?”

  “I don’t know why you’re doing anything.”

  “Oh, you will. And once you do, you will see you have helped me immeasurably.”

  Not what I wanted to hear.

  Two meters from me, he pushed himself onto his feet and brought his hands up in a defensive stance, his legs bent, ass almost touching the glass.

  I readied myself for his attack. The slant of the pyramid was more suited to grappling and throws rather than the kicks, evasion, and trickery of capoeira. I wondered what other skills he had in his arsenal.

  I focused on his hands. In any fight, body language could betray the fighter’s plans. The shifting of weight here, angling the body to protect and injury there, all of it could give away the fighter’s plans and weaknesses. But the most important part of the body was the hands. Heath wouldn’t be kicking now, not on this incline. As long as I watched his hands, I’d be ready.

  Wait.

  I zeroed in on his left hand ring finger, but where Bratton’s gold ring used to be, there was nothing but a reddened mark.

  “What did you do with the ring, Heath?” I asked, watching his eyes.

  Unfortunately they were locked on me and didn’t give away his hiding place.

  “Be patient, bonita. I will give it to you in time. I’m sure The Instructor will be quite impressed with you.”

  “How do you know The Instructor?”

  “Many know him.”

  “Really? I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “Then you should count yourself fortunate.”

  “Who do you work for, Heath? The Venezualean?”

  “Pino? No.”

  “I know you don’t work for that group of Russians.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Then who? Why are you doing all this?”

  “I would tell you, my querida, but then I would have to kill you.”

  He sat down, sliding toward me, feet first.

  I tried to shift to the side, make him miss, but I couldn’t control the movement, and in a heartbeat, his right foot hit me and I was sliding too.

  “This is fun, no?” he yelled. “Like a children’s game.”

  “Fun?” I grabbed his bare foot, grasping his second toe with one hand and his third with the other, I pulled them in opposite directions until I could feel a crack.

  He bellowed, lashing out with his heels, hitting me smack in the head.

  Lights swirled around me. I flattened my belly against the glass and slid another three meters before I finally stopped, my head throbbing in time with my pulse.

  “This will all be over soon, bonita. You must have patience.”

  I looked up from where I was sprawled on the glass and shook my head. “You already used up my patience.”

  I started crawling on my belly, elbows moving in time with my knees.

  “And what are you going to do if you reach me? I don’t have the ring.”

  I peered up at the top of the pyramid, the beam of light shooting out of the top and into the sky like some sort of supernatural beacon. If Heath really didn’t have the ring, it was either up there or he had stashed it before he’d started to climb. Since no matter how nuts he seemed, I didn’t buy that he’d climb all the way up this thing for no reason, I decided to put my money on the top of the pyramid.

  I climbed to my feet as best I could.

  Then I scrambled up the glass to try to get above him.

  He reached for me, and I dodged his hand, pushing harder. Fear be damned, I was faster, more agile, and once I passed him I could—

  Something caught my ankle, making me gasp, causing me to fall forward my chin smacking the glass.

  “The view from up here,” Heath said. “Magnífico.”

  I stared down at him and saw he wasn’t admiring the Vegas strip. He was staring at my ass.

  I tried to kick his hand, and he yanked me down until I was alongside his body, his arm on my waist. A position strangely reminiscent of one we’d shared in bed earlier.

  The son of a bitch was smiling.

  “You think this is funny,” I said.

  “No, querida. This is a smile of admiration. I am in awe of your skill, your determination, and your beauty.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, we’re trying to kill each other.”

  “Indeed. But not trying as hard as we might, no? We have difficult jobs. Now we are at cross-purposes, and I truly do not know how this will end. But I do want to thank you for one of the most memorable days of my life.”

  His fingers stroked my thigh.

  I drove my elbow into his nose.

  That knocked the playfulness out of Casanova, and he pushed me away, hard.

  My feet skidded out from under me, and I plummeted down the glass. I spread my arms and legs, digging in toes and fingers until my momentum slowed… stopped. Then I gathered my feet and hands under me and started to climb once again.

  “Bring it on, chica.” He touched his nose, but unfortunately I hadn’t hit it hard enough to break it. “I can do this all day.”

  I moved my legs under me, ready to strike again, when something stiff running from my right hip half way down my thigh impeded my movement.

  M
y improvised weapon. With all that had happened since I’d procured it, I’d almost forgotten it was still stuck down the leg of my jeans.

  Staying flat on the glass, I reached into my waistband. My jeans drier now, I managed to loosen it but left it sheathed. Then I struggled to my feet.

  Heath loomed above me, master of the high ground.

  The problem with this high ground is that the footing was as bad as the spot where I stood.

  I stepped toward him. Then instead of attacking his face or torso, I dropped back to my belly and lunged for his feet.

  We both went down, skidding down the glass.

  I grabbed his legs, going for his crotch with my left hand.

  He blocked me, driving a heel into my chest.

  Gasping for air, I climbed up his body, hand over hand, until we were side-by-side again. But there was no flirtation this time. Heath looked as panicked as I felt.

  He grabbed my left hand, immobilizing it, then went for my right.

  Too late.

  As we slid down the glass, gaining speed, I pulled the brochette from my jeans. If he didn’t let go of me, we were both going to die. Pointing it in the direction of his head, I came down in one swift stab.

  The stainless steel blade plunged into Heath’s eye.

  He screamed and released my hand, clawing at the skewer. Now free, I splayed my hands and legs, using every part of me, even the side of my face, to stop my downward skid.

  My slide slowed and stopped.

  Heath slowed, but not enough.

  By the time he hit the pyramid’s base, hard, I could see police cars screaming into the Luxor’s entrance. Several onlookers waving their arms to direct them to his landing spot.

  I turned my attention back to the laser.

  My climb was tough. Story after story, slipping and making up the distance. But finally I approached the top. The last few panes soaked my hair with sweat and seared my skin where I touched the glass, and I hadn’t even reached the top.

  The heat was unreal. Over two hundred degrees Fahrenheit, easily. And staring into the light was impossible. This close, it was brighter than the noonday sun in a cloudless sky.

  The idea of reaching onto those lighted panes and groping around to find the ring, was comparable to sticking my hand into a blast furnace. Forty billion candlepower? No way in hell I was touching it.