But there's one that catches my eye more than any other. It's the type I'm trying to avoid, but I can't help but run my eyes over it. It starts:
The Final Confession of Robert Pullman
3/8/2010
My name is Robert Pullman, and I'm about to start a new life. I cannot tell you how relieved I am that this is the case. As with other letters in this book, I am truly blessed to get a second chance. But, unlike others, I don't deserve any of it.
I have lived my life in a selfish way, not caring about the fortunes of others. I have no qualifications, no job. I have lived from meal to meal, doing whatever I can to make money, often by breaking the law. I'm not proud of any of it, and I've lived an unhappy life for as long as I can remember.
I feel this is the only place where I can tell the truth. I want to start again, try to be a good person. If I stay as Robert Pullman, I'm dead. I'm dead because I made a mistake, and now I know my life is in danger.
I am responsible for the deaths of two people. There is no other way to put it. I realize, now, that sooner or later something like this would have happened. I didn't intend it, but I didn't ask questions either. I just did what I was paid for.
I burned down a house. I've done this before a couple of times to help people get insurance payouts. But this time was different. This time it was only meant to teach someone a lesson. I didn't know that there were people inside. I wasn't told.
It eats me up every single day. The guilt I feel makes me want to take my own life. It's not the woman I think of most, but the little girl. I killed a little girl, and I'm going to have to live with that forever.
I'm scared. Always scared. I know I made a mistake and deserve to pay for it. But I'm too much of a coward to face it. People want to kill me now. The police want to catch me. So I'm running and hiding. This is my final hiding place. Tomorrow, Richard Pullman will no longer exist. Tomorrow, I can start doing something good with my life....to make amends, if I can.
My heart begins to beat a little faster, and it takes me a moment to put two and two together. A fire. A woman and a little girl. I check back at the date – 2010 – and remember the news story of the woman and her daughter dying in a house fire. Colt's family. His wife and daughter. I've just read the confession of the man who killed them.
It's deathly silent now, as if the wilderness around me has suddenly hushed. I return to the top of the page and read over the confession again, then again, as if I'll find more information. This man – Richard Pullman – was the man who killed Colt's family. It was an accident, not intended. He was paid to do it, so who was his employer?
I tear the page out of the book and shut it tight. I can feel myself shaking, my mind tumbling from side to side with the revelation that's just hit me. Colt. He has to know. Then another thought occurs to me. Does he have to know? Will this information merely reopen old wounds? The man might well be dead, and if not, he'll have a new identity now. How will Colt ever find him?
Dale! Dale might know. He's the one who gives you the identity. Surely he'll know who this guy has become, what his new name is? I make a plan to ask him when he next comes to the cabin. Then I begin to wonder if he knew in the first place. Does he know all of his clients' stories? Surely he'll have told Colt if that was the case. Does he even know my story? Does he really know why I'm running?
I decide that he probably doesn't. In fact, I doubt he wants to. It would be too much baggage to know too much, to have these clients pouring their hearts out to him and using his shoulder to cry on. I can start to see why Dale is as he is now. Why he's so cold and disinterested. It's a defense mechanism. A means of distancing himself from the people he helps. I'd imagine it's just easier that way.
Now all I can do is wait, and I can tell it's going to be excruciating. But there's nowhere I can go, nothing I can do. I have to play my part in all this, and my part is backstage. Sit, wait, and hope for the best. That's my role.
Chapter 13 - Colt
Colt
It takes me the best part of two days to return to LA after leaving Kitty in the shack. That's a lot of time to think, to plan how I'm going to get to Michael Carmine. The closer I get, the more my nerves begin to stand on end. It occurs to me that Carmine isn't going to expect me to run and hide, so he's probably on high alert. Suddenly, the hunter has become the hunted, and I'm back to what I do best.
I get back to the city without incident. I have no concerns that the police will be looking for me and, now that I don't have Kitty in tow, I'm a lot more free with my movements. That said, I know how deep Michael Carmine's influence goes, and expect him to have people watching out for my car.
As soon as I get back, I decide to change cars. I own a garage in the city where I have a replacement just in case my current vehicle becomes compromised. This car is similar – another basic looking sedan - although I've modified it significantly on the inside. It's most obvious external difference is the color, which is a navy blue, rather than black, and the windows are not blacked out. They are, however, bulletproof, which is something that has come in handy before.
On the inside I've altered the backseat to fold down to create a sort of bed, just like in the other car. In fact, all internal modifications are a carbon copy of my black sedan. In much the same way, the car's performance has been supercharged for potential high speed getaways and chases. This gives it a power that belies its fairly mundane external appearance, which is just the way I like it. I also have a selection of number plates that can't be traced to me. So, all in all, there's no way Carmine's men will know what to look for.
By the time I've reached the city and changed cars I'm exhausted. My right shoulder is also particularly sore, and after so many hours behind the wheel, I think I might have made matters slightly worse. It's stiffer and tighter than it was before, and the mobility I have in my right arm is starting to worsen.
I have an apartment in LA under another name which I doubt even Michael Carmine will be able to trace me to. However, owing to my extremely suspicious nature, I choose to play it safe and go to a hotel to recuperate. I find somewhere simple in Central LA and pay for my room in cash up front. I spend the first hour tending to my shoulder. Since I left Kitty the bandaging hasn't been changed, so I set about the task myself, with some difficulty. It takes a while but I get it done. Then I take some painkillers before going straight to bed.
I don't expect to sleep well, but surprise myself when I wake at 8 AM feeling fully refreshed. Somehow I feel less burdened now, like I have a single focus and my body and mind are working in tandem to get it done. So, no troubled nightmares, no waking up in the dead of night in a cold sweat. Even my shoulder feels better in the morning and, after a few stretches to improve mobility, I feel ready to go.
I consider calling Rick to get some intel, but would prefer to keep him out of this. Regardless of our relationship, I don't think it would be smart to involve him. He's helped me for years, running credit checks and tracing cars, but this is more than that. Here he'd be an accessory to murder, and I don't want to burden him with that.
I step out of the hotel and into my car down the street. I know that Michael Carmine owns the bar that Kitty worked at, and it appears to be somewhere he conducts a lot of his more shady dealings. I also know of a nightclub, a couple of restaurants, and various other projects he's involved in. He has all these businesses to give him a public face and to launder the money he generates from his criminal activities. As far as I know, these include racketeering, extortion, loansharking, bribery, kidnapping, and murder. The criminal depths of this man knows no limits.
The obvious place to start is the bar. I've been there before, more than once, and know the layout. I also know, however, that infiltrating the place will be nigh on impossible. Scoping it out, on the other hand, should be simple enough.
It doesn't take me long to drive there. I park down the street, hidden inside my blue sedan wearing a cap and sunglasses to help conceal my appearance. From the outside the
place is nothing to look it. It's a simple brick building, covered in graffiti, with a single, metal, door leading to a staircase inside. Down the stairs is the main bar, with Carmine's office in the back. I know that there is another staircase at the back that leads up the alley. I can see the entrance to the alley now, about 20 feet down from the door.
As I look at it I imagine Kitty running out on the street, eyes wide, head spinning after seeing what she saw. I think of the girl I've come to know, and wonder what even lead her to work at a place like this. All I ever do is read the file, find the 'runner', and either return them to the client or tell them where they are, depending on what they prefer. I get details from those files, but never let them sink in. If I'd never spoken to Kitty, if I'd just done what I've been doing for years, I'd have a different opinion of her. In some way, I tend to think the worst of people just to make the job easier. The worse I make them in my head, the easier it is to do the job. Eventually, everyone becomes a bad guy, and I get to sleep more peacefully at night.
But Kitty's changed things. Whatever happens with Carmine, I don't think I can go back to what I've been doing. Something has broken inside of me. Or maybe something's gotten fixed? It's as though my moral compass has suddenly been adjusted and I'm seeing clearly again. I've lived for so long in anger, dreaming of revenge, that I've lost my own way. Perhaps, finally, it's time to let go of the past and move on? It's been years and I'm no closer to knowing about Sophie and Ellie. Maybe I never will. So what's the point in torturing myself like this. My life has hit a wall that I'm unable to break down. It could be time to turn around.
But not yet. I won't have a life – Kitty won't have a life – unless Michael Carmine pays for what he's done. And Rugger – if he's still drawing breath, he needs to be put down too. Maybe, just maybe, if I set us free, I can finally start living again, start looking to the future, rather than turning back to the past. I've spent years with my neck twisted backward, never quite knowing where my next step will land. Should I look ahead and move on? Is it time to let Sophie and Ellie go?
My mind is so filled with such thoughts that I hardly notice when the door to the club opens and a man steps out, dressed smartly in a suit. I quickly remove my sunglasses and peer forward. The form of his body grows into focus, and my quickly beating heart begins to slow. It's not him.
This happens several more times over the course of the day, but mostly I can tell it's not Carmine at a glance. The sort of guys you get down in that bar don't exactly dress like him, and I begin to wonder who the suited man is. A lawyer? A business associate? He left alone and doesn't look like the type to stop down there for a casual drink. I convince myself that he must have been meeting with Carmine, which means he's down in his office. All I have to do is wait and he'll appear. It's just a matter of time.
I begin to lose my resolve as the hours tick by. By the time the sun begins to set I'm seriously doubting myself. Perhaps he's not down there after all?
It's about 8 PM when the same man as I saw before – the suited man – returns. Once more he's alone and seemingly in a rush. He storms past the two burly doormen without even looking at them and disappears quickly inside. Now I'm intrigued by this man. He's clearly of some importance, and certainly not a customer. I wait now, ever patient, for him to return, and he duly obliges.
It's only about half an hour before he reappears once again, emerging through the heavy metal door and stepping quickly into his car. I start my engine and prepare to follow, pulling off the side of the road and up behind him as he drives away. I keep my eyes on the doormen as I pass, suspicious that they might have clocked me earlier, but they don't seem to notice.
I follow him through the city, trying to keep at least a car between us, but never letting him get out of sight. I get no impression that the guy knows he's got a tail, so I don't employ the same level of caution that I usually would. Instead, I drive more casually, keeping a close eye on him, but never afraid he's going to suddenly bolt off at a red light in an attempt to lose me.
There are two reasons for following this guy. First of all, he's clearly important, and most probably works for Carmine. In that case, he could lead me straight to him. If not, there's another course of action I can take: interrogation. It's something I've used many times before to coax information from a subject, often going to lengths I've never been proud of.
It soon becomes clear that I'm not going to be lead straight to my target. I shadow the mystery man northwest towards West LA where he stops outside a small house on a quiet street. I pull up on the side of the road a couple of hundred feet away, making sure I have a good enough view of him as he enters the house.
I wait and watch for a moment. The house was completely dark before the man stepped in, suggesting that no one was home. Now I see a light flick on inside a downstairs window. A few moments later, another flicks on on the first floor. The last thing I want is to go inside to find an entire family.
I once did something similar, breaking into someone's home to question them, only to find that they were engaged in a family dinner. Those were the early days, when I was driven by grief and lacking experience. Now things have changed. My grief remains, but it's hardened me, made me stronger, and I certainly don't want for experience any more.
I check my watch and see that it's nearing 10 PM. It's time to move. I step from the car and move around to the trunk, thankful that the street is so quiet. I instinctively shift my eyes up and down the road, searching for any potential bystanders, but see none. A couple of cars cruise by slowly, but they take no notice of me. I pull a hooded sweater from the trunk and put it on. Then I open a compartment which contains several weapons. I choose the one most suitable for this particular task: a stun gun.
Now I go into infiltration mode, darting across the road and into the shadows provided by a tree outside my target's house. I assess my potential routes inside, but end up deciding upon the most direct: through the front door. As I move towards it I notice a peep hole. If I knock, he'll either recognize me or, if my hood obscures my face, be too suspicious to let me in. Then my eyes dip down and settle on a mail slot. Perfect, I think.
I walk to the front door and knock, removing my hood but keeping my head ducked down slightly in an attempt to conceal my appearance. I hear footsteps beyond and slowly reach towards the mail slot in front of my waist. I lift it, as carefully as possible, and aim my stun gun right through the middle.
I shoot before the man even has a chance to look through the peep hole. The electrodes fire off the gun and attach to the man's abdomen, immediately sending a current through his body. I watch as his eyes widen in shock and his body convulses, before dropping to the floor. I slip the gun through the mail slot now and slam my foot against the door lock. It splinters and the door swings open.
By the time I'm in, the guy has curled into a fetal position, the electric current still raging through his body. I reach down and pull the barbs from his stomach, before coiling them back up to reset the gun. The man continues to shake on the floor, twitching wildly, but he's conscious.
I lift him to his feet and drag him into a the living room, then set him down on a sofa. He looks dazed and confused, his muscles refusing to work properly. I walk through the house and into the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and bring it back to him. I help him drink a few gulps as his mental facilities start to return.
“Who are you?” he manages to get out. I can't tell if his voice is shaking through fear or through the lingering effects of the electric charge.
I have my hood back over my head, concealing my appearance for now. Chances are he'll work out my identity as soon as I tell him what I'm after, but that doesn't concern me now.
“What is your role in Michael Carmine's organization?” I ask, standing intimidatingly above him.
“I...I help manage his affairs,” he yelps.
“Like his bar near South Central?”
He nods. “Only recently...”
“What do you mean by
that?”
“I mean I've only just started helping down there.”
I stare at him for a moment. The man's been running the bar. Has it been in Carmine's absence?
Now I get right to the heart of what I'm after. Frankly, I don't have time to mess around and I can tell this guy's going to spill what he knows without much prompting. “Where is Michael Carmine?” I growl. “Right now, at this very minute. Where is he?”
The man shakes his head quickly from side to side. The color has all but disappeared from his face now and it looks like he's about to throw up. “I don't know, I swear.”
I ask the same question, stepping forward this time and drawing the reset stun gun back out from my belt. He eyes it with fear and repeats his answer, only this time louder and more desperate.
“No one knows where he is,” he says, quivering at the sight of me. “He's gone into hiding.”
Fuck it. My concerns are realized. I can't decide in my head whether he's a coward or just smart. Now it's going to be almost impossible to find him, and ever harder to get to him if I do. He'll no doubt have armed guards with him at all times as protection. Clearly he's taking this threat more than seriously.
“Mr Tanner, please don't hurt me.”
I look to the sofa and into the cowering man's eyes. Despite the hood shrouding my face, he knows who I am. I remove it, slowly, purposefully, for effect.
“I won't if you tell me what I want to know,” I say menacingly.
He shakes his head even more violently this time. “I told you, I don't know where he is!”
“Then what do you know?” I ask.
Run With Me Page 13