Before Sam could argue, the sound of an automatic weapon rang through the air, and several bullets whooshed over their heads.
“Get on!” Alex yelled at Sam and opened the bike’s throttle, almost throwing Sam off the back. A succession of bullets rained through the air, exploding through the windows of several parked cars on the side of the road. Sirens and horns set off a cacophony of noise in its wake.
The bike sped off away from the fast-approaching black vehicle behind them. Alex dropped a gear and was just about to turn the corner when the second vehicle surprised them from the front.
“Watch out!” Sam yelled. “Over there! Turn right!”
Alex followed his instruction and turned up a narrow side street. The motorbike’s powerful engine roared between the buildings as she gained speed halfway up the road. In her wing mirror, Alex spotted the black car behind them. Directly ahead a civilian car slowly rolled down the street toward them. Alex searched for an out when she realized she had been riding against the traffic down a one-way street. She swerved onto the pavement, missing a parked car by a fraction and almost hit a young student who, with his back toward them and his headphones on, was oblivious to the danger unfolding around him.
Behind them, the chasing vehicle had been blocked off by the approaching car and, with nowhere to go, was forced to cease the pursuit.
“Can you see the third car anywhere?” Alex shouted back at Sam as she maneuvered the bike back onto the street and prepared to take a left.
“There’s a third car?”
Sam had hardly uttered the words when the third black sedan turned in behind them and fired off several gunshots in their direction. The roads were crammed with pedestrians as they approached the busier part of the City along the River Thames. Panicked screams echoed through the air. Being there placed every one of those innocent people at risk. Not to mention that the commotion would undoubtedly attract the police. She had to divert and get out of there.
“Hold on!” she yelled, barely giving Sam enough notice to comply before bringing the bike to a dead halt. Almost as suddenly, she spun the bike around on its front wheel, stopped, and faced the chasing vehicle head-on. With one hand on the handlebars, she pulled her gun from her waist and fired a bullet directly into the front wheel of the shooters’ car. As intended the tire exploded rendering the vehicle out of control and crashing it sideways into a parked car.
Police sirens shrieked through the air as the law finally caught up with them, and Alex sped off away from the scene. But they were outnumbered and out of time. Law enforcement vehicles had already surrounded the entire block. Out of options, she brought the bike to a slow halt and stopped, her eyes frantically searching for an escape route, but there was none. Behind them, more police chased after the shooters who had bolted in the opposite direction. Nearby, onlookers stood huddled around the first responders, already offering their account of the events they’d witnessed, and it wasn’t long before a few of them pointed at Alex and Sam.
Panic engulfed Alex’s insides as her eyes skimmed over the people and surrounding police vehicles for a way out.
“There’s no way out, Alex,” Sam said, sensing her plan to escape. “You do know the police are on our side. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I don’t know that, Sam. No one can be trusted.”
“You can trust me.”
“That’s not in dispute here, Sam. It’s bigger than any of this.”
“What is, Alex? You’re not making sense.”
“Switch off your engine and place your hands above your heads!” the police shouted from behind. A quick glimpse in the side-view mirror confirmed they had sneaked up behind them.
Sam’s hands immediately lifted above his head while he started his dismount.
“I said, switch off the engine and put your hands above your head!”
But not even the second warning made Alex respond.
“Do as the man says, Alex,” Sam urged while backing away from the motorcycle toward the police officer.
With the policeman’s attention now on Sam, Alex seized the moment and dropped the bike’s gear into first before launching the machine forward. Within seconds she blasted through a nearby small group of onlookers, forcing them to scatter out of the way. Knowing full well the police couldn’t shoot into the crowds, she continued along the sidewalk between the panicked people and further away from where the policeman was arresting Sam.
Sam’s eyes remained pinned on Alex as he watched her swerve the bike in between the crowds and eventually around two police cars that tried to barricade her in at the bottom of the street. Livid at her foolishness, he couldn’t help but be equally proud of her audacious escape—the very quality he most loved about her. He should have seen it coming. But amidst his love and admiration, he felt overwhelming fear not knowing what secret she felt compelled to keep from him or who she was so desperate to get away from. All he knew with certainty was that he’d never before seen her quite as determined or as scared.
And as Alex disappeared around the next corner, leaving Sam to explain it all to the police, life on London’s streets carried on as if nothing had happened.
Chapter Three
Sam sat squashed between two vagrants on the narrow steel bench inside the holding cell. They reeked of alcohol, and their clothes carried a stench so foul it permeated the tiny four by four lock-up.
The rest of the cramped space didn't offer any better company. Three guys dressed to the rafters in studded black leather jackets and pants, tattoos covering just about every exposed part of skin on their bodies, sat staring at Sam from the opposite bench. It was apparent Sam's skin-tight bulletproof jacket had caught their attention. One of them, ostensibly the ringleader, flicked his pierced tongue in and out of his mouth mimicking that of a lizard's tongue when he'd be sensing his surroundings. Sam shuffled uncomfortably. The last thing he wanted now was to have to deal with three snot-nosed twenty-somethings stuck in an identity crisis. He'd have to play it cool and pray that his turn to make his one phone call came round quickly.
"Nice jacket," the young thug commented.
"Thanks."
"Looks like you're too old to wear it."
"Ok."
The thug smirked and turned to his buddies to rally some support.
"Take it off."
"Yeah, I don't think so mate."
"You don't think so?" He laughed, looking over his shoulders to his two sidekicks. "He doesn't think so," he said, encouraging the other two who laughed mockingly.
He flicked his tongue again and got to his feet, his two friends in tow.
"Take it off, mate."
Sam ignored his demand.
It angered the guy, and Sam watched as he took the two steps toward him, joined a second later by his friends. Sam remained seated and continued to ignore him.
"You should've taken it off when I asked nicely."
"Or else?"
The punk wrapped his fists below the collar on either side of the zip in Sam's jacket. In a weak attempt to pull Sam to his feet, it was apparent that the thug had underestimated Sam's height and athleticism. Annoyed, the bully heaved and shoved his flat hands against Sam's chest before falling back in line with his cronies. Sam, who was still seated, smiled and looked dead into the pierced punk's eyes. It was then that the guy came face to face with Sam's towering height as Sam stood up and met the clique in the center of the cell, rising a full head and shoulders above all three of them. Conscious of an audience and having to maintain his pride, the gang leader looked at his sidekicks.
"Show the old man what happens when people don't obey me."
At the end of the bench, a short, stocky man dressed in a grey business suit spoke. "Give it up, boys. You can see this 'old man' can run circles around you."
"Shut up, fool. No one asked your opinion. Unless you also want a piece of me?"
"Don't say I didn't warn you," the businessman added.
"What are you waiting for?
Show him not to mess with me!" The punk shouted to his entourage, who stood frozen with hesitation in front of Sam.
The first youngster flicked his long, bleached, side-swept bangs out of his eyes as if it somehow gave him more courage. Two tattooed fists moved in front of his face as he readied himself to throw the first punch.
As with his leader, he too was much shorter than Sam. Nonetheless, acting on his orders, he courageously threw his fist out toward Sam's face. It took hardly any effort or preparation for Sam to casually move his head sideways, ducking the pathetic attempt at a punch with ease.
Another punch thrust forward, and again, Sam ducked.
"Told you," the amused businessman piped up from the corner.
The two drunk vagrants started cheering for Sam joined in by an apron-wearing hawker who, until now, had sat quietly observing.
"My money's on the tall guy," the hawker shouted in a strong Hindu accent.
Excitement filled the holding cell as the second punk joined his friend, entirely missing Sam's face when Sam sidestepped again to escape his incoming punch.
"Idiots!" the gang leader scoffed.
Several more attempts were flung toward Sam, who maintained his calm composure and didn't fight back.
Each time the two leather-clad punks missed or fell to the ground as Sam dodged their attacks, their small prison audience roared with laughter.
"Give it to them, lad. These kids need to be taught a lesson," the toothless vagrants cheered Sam on. But true to Sam's unaggressive nature, he never once raised his fists, resolved to only defend by blocking the punches and stepping out of their way.
The trio soon tired, and their lack of support from the fellow inmates didn't help.
"Told you so, knucklehead. Give it up and get back on your bench," the businessman intervened.
His rebuke infuriated the troublemaker who, by now, had not a shred of pride left in him. Without warning, he turned and punched the businessman full on the nose.
"Who's an idiot now, huh?"
"Back off, kid.” Sam spoke for the first time and gripped the young man's arms firmly behind his back. "You've had your fun now sit down and give it a rest."
Defeated and stripped of all dignity, the punk straightened his jacket and grudgingly complied.
"You ok?" Sam asked the businessman who wiped the blood from his nose and answered with annoyance. "Bloody punks. Streets are full of them."
"Sam Quinn," said Sam, holding out his hand.
"Fitz. Actually it's Dennis Fitzgerald the third, but everyone just calls me Fitz."
"Nice to meet you, Fitz. What brings you here?"
"My ex. The woman is hellbent on destroying my life. Accused me of stalking when all I wanted to do was watch my boy play football."
"That's a tough spot. Sorry to hear.” Sam took a seat next to Fitz.
"Take it from me, my friend. Never get married. Women are trouble.” Fitz wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead before continuing. "So what are you in for?"
Sam let out a chuckle. "Ironically, also a woman."
"How else? I tell you, my friend, I've had it with women. Never thought I'd say it, but I'm done. Here, take my card. I'll hook you up with the best divorce attorney in the country. I sold his London apartment some time back. One of the best I tell ya," and handed Sam a business card.
Sam studied the platinum embossed realtor card and slipped it in his pocket.
"So you're a realtor?"
"High-end residential apartments— the best in the business. I have clients from here to Dubai. I don't ask where their money comes from and they like that. Keeps me in business and helps me keep the ex off my back. As long as I pay each month, she lets me see my boy. What do you do? Let me guess. Judging from how you handled these punks I'd say you're some socialite's head of security or something."
Sam laughed. "Now there's an idea. Afraid not though."
"Quinn, you're free to go," a policeman interrupted as he summoned from the cell door, surprising Sam with the announcement.
"Good on you, mate. Ring me up and don't let her mess you around, you hear me?"
"Cheers, Dennis Fitzgerald the third. I'll see you around."
Sam followed the constable down the long hallway.
"Who posted bail?" he asked.
"No one, You're free to go. After your interrogation, that is."
Confused at his last words Sam followed the guard into a nearby interrogation room where he was told to sit at a small white table in the middle of the floor, after which the constable disappeared closing the door behind him. Across the room, Sam's reflection stared back at him from a mirrored wall. He had watched enough crime programs on the telly to know this was a one-way mirror. He didn't yet know who was on the other side of that mirror and why, but he was sure to find out soon enough.
The door opened, and a slim brunette in a tight black suit sat down at the table opposite him. She placed a yellow folder marked 'classified' on the table but kept it closed and folded her hands on top of it.
"Mr. Quinn, can I get you a cup of coffee, tea, maybe some water?"
"Coffee sounds great, thanks. And it's Dr. Quinn."
"Yes, of course, sorry. Force of habit. I'm DC Morgan. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about the incident earlier?"
"I'd rather speak to Chief Inspector McDowell from Scotland Yard."
Sam's request left her pausing briefly. A glance in the mirror behind her confirmed Sam's earlier suspicions.
"Chief Inspector McDowell. Right, and what might your interest be in speaking with him?"
"He'll know."
"Dr. Quinn, perhaps I can be of service in the interim. Can you tell me what you were doing chasing through the streets this morning?"
"I wasn't aware I was chasing anything?"
The detective constable’s eyes revealed her annoyance at Sam's smart answer.
"Can you tell me why you were being chased this morning?"
"Miss Morgan, I mean no disrespect, but chasing or being chased, hypothetically speaking, isn't a crime. What are you charging me with?"
"We're not charging you, yet, Dr. Quinn. This is merely an investigation as to what happened this morning and why you were involved."
"Well, in that case, I'm free to go."
"Not quite, we also arrested two other men involved in the chase known to be involved in several open Interpol cases."
Sam's heart skipped a beat. He assumed she was referring to the shooters who had been after Alex.
"Do you know them?"
"No, should I?"
"Perhaps."
"I don't."
"We have several reports from witnesses saying they were shooting at you."
"Not that I know of. I'm very much alive, aren't I?"
"Then why were they chasing you?"
Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Who said they were?"
"All right." She cleared her throat and continued. "Who was with you on the motorbike?”
"What motorbike?”
"Quit playing games, Dr. Quinn. You were seen being chased and shot at through the streets of London on the back of a motorbike. One that wasn't driven by you. Who was it?"
"I don't know. Someone who offered me a lift to work."
"A lift to work," she repeated.
"Uh-huh."
"How did it come about that this person offered you a lift to work?"
"I missed the bus and decided to hitch a ride."
"So this guy on the bike stopped and picked you up."
"Precisely."
DC Morgan sat back in her chair and crossed her arms.
"And this happened where?"
"Outside my apartment, I told you. I missed the bus, stuck my thumb out, and hitched a ride."
"You know you could have called a taxi or an Uber. Why didn't you?"
"I didn't think of it."
A policeman entered the interrogation room and placed a cup of coffee on the table in front of Sam.
&nbs
p; Detective Constable Morgan flipped open her file and pulled out a color photo from the inside flap, placing it down in front of Sam.
“Are these yours?”
Sam took a sip of the coffee without answering.
“Why were you carrying these two Berettas?”
“I wasn’t. They’re not mine.”
“Dr. Quinn, these are untraceable. Their serial numbers have been removed and we found them at the scene.“
Caught off guard by the information Sam took in another mouthful of coffee. He had no idea why Alex had untraceable guns hidden under her floorboards. He remained silent.
"Where did you get the guns, Dr. Quinn?"
"DC Morgan, they’re not mine and since I haven't committed any crime or am I under arrest, I'd like to leave now."
The detective slipped the photo back into the file and slammed it shut.
"You're free to go Dr. Quinn, but so that you know, we're watching you."
Sam rose from his chair and walked toward the door, briefly looking back to see DC Morgan staring, arms folded, into the one-way mirror. There was a lot more to this interrogation than he’d learned today. Someone behind that mirror was pulling her strings.
He closed the door behind him and paused outside in the passageway. The door to the next room opened, and a medium built man in a three-piece suit holding an antique silver cane stepped out. Their eyes met, and Sam got the distinct impression the man had every intention of being seen. The intimidating look in his eyes was every bit intended to be a silent warning. To what, remained to be seen.
Chapter Four
Sam walked briskly toward the nearest subway entrance—his mind laden with unanswered questions. Alex was in trouble, real trouble, and he wasn’t even sure she knew just how much danger she was in. Or did she? Could it be the very reason she didn’t want to tell him? To protect him from getting involved? In the back of his mind, he wondered if the police were in on it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come face to face with corruption. Who was the man with the cane, and why was he part of the police investigation team?
The Dauphin Deception Page 3