Devil's Run

by Frank Hughes

  I stood to go after her, but my foot tangled in the legs of a stool and I grabbed the edge of the bar to keep from falling again. When I looked over, Cory was on her stomach, next to the faux logs, the gun already in her grasp. She rolled on her back to point it at me. I looked around for something to throw and saw the remote lying on the bar. I pressed my thumb against the fireplace button.

  Orange and yellow flame sprang through the logs, igniting Cory’s liquor soaked clothing. She shrieked in horror and rolled over the edge of the fireplace, her parka and hair on fire. She got to her feet and ran madly towards the door, wailing in agony, the melting nylon parka trailing oily black smoke.

  The door opened, and Imperatrice was standing there, a pistol in his hand. I dove behind the fireplace. There were two shots as I hit the carpet. The screaming stopped. I snatched up Canfield’s pistol and continued rolling, ending up on my knees and immediately firing two rounds at the door, but it was closed. Imperatrice was gone.

  His bullets had been for Cory, not me. Her still burning body lay on its back in a growing pool of blood. Merciful, but I doubted that was his intent. With everyone dead he could spin this any way he wanted. The only person who could discredit him was a disgruntled former subordinate with a checkered past and an axe to grind. The truth might eventually come out, but by then he’d have disappeared, along with the money he’d stashed away.

  He was headed for the cable car. I ran out the door and down the hall towards the center of the building. Over the crackle of flames I heard a steadily ringing bell. When I reached the lobby, the cable car station elevator doors were closed. The indicator showed the car was at the bottom. Imperatrice must have pulled the alarm, locking it below. I went to the emergency stairwell and started down. Halfway to the bottom I heard scraping metal followed by a loud bang. Just as I reached the bottom, two heavy bolts were thrown on the other side of the huge fire door. I tugged in vain on the handle.

  “That you, Nick?” said Imperatrice. When I didn’t answer, he said, “You always were a step behind me. See you in hell someday.”

  I banged my fist against the door in frustration. Then an idea came to me. I went back up the stairs, two at a time. I ran into the bar and towards the far end, emptying the pistol into the window. The bullets punched a rough circle in the thick glass, but the pane held. Tossing the pistol aside, I seized a bar stool and flung it at the damage. It punched partway through, sticking in the hole it created. I picked up one of the heavy chairs and threw it. Chair and stool disappeared into the darkness, taking most of the window with them. A blast of cold wind sent a blizzard of cocktail napkins flying across the bar.

  I climbed through the hole onto the narrow ledge. The wind assaulted me, constantly redirected by the narrow, irregular confines of the canyon. The roof of the cable car station was directly below, but with the sun setting behind the mountains, the details of the rock face beneath me were hard to see.

  The brightly lit car was just passing the last tower, so I didn’t have a choice. I began climbing down to the roof of the station, feeling for dimly seen handholds and footholds. I was a quarter of the way down when the car slowed and began its final approach to the station. I started moving faster, but that had immediate consequences when an outcropping of rock simply crumbled beneath me. I fell about ten feet before my fingers grabbed a thin projection. Hanging only by my fingertips, my feet searched for purchase. I found a crack in the rock and jammed my toes into it, stopping for a moment to catch my breath.

  I was counting on Imperatrice having difficulty operating the cable car by himself, enough to give me time to climb onto the cabin and get into the station, but a minute later I felt a tremor in the rock and heard the distant whine of machinery. I glanced over my shoulder to see the cables, bathed in light from the station, begin to vibrate. Then the transport cable began to move.

  I let go and dropped the last ten feet to the station roof, bending my knees like a parachutist to cushion the landing. The pitch was steeper than I thought and I fell forward, sliding face first towards the edge. I lifted both legs and slammed my toes down hard. The soft Uggs had little bite, and I continued towards the chasm, digging with my hands in the snow to slow myself down. I finally stopped with my head and shoulders already over the edge.

  At that moment the cable car emerged from the station. Extending my hands towards the carriage, I released my feet and fell.

  58.

  I landed on the cables, just behind the carriage and its rows of spinning wheels. The transport cable dragged me along with it, pulling me across the guide cables, which bit into my parka and sliced open the fabric of my pants. I grabbed the tow cable and began pulling myself hand over hand towards the carriage, legs spread on the guide cables for stability. When I reached the carriage, I realized I was on the wrong end. The exposed wheels blocked me from reaching the safety cover. There was nothing but blackness ahead, but I knew we were approaching the first tower. If I wasn’t off the cables by then, the guide wheels would slice my fingers off.

  My only chance was to jump for the ladder rungs welded to the hanger. I lowered myself from the tow rope, swinging my legs back and forth to gain momentum. The first tower loomed out of the darkness. I made a final swing and let go.

  I hit the hanger and caught a rung in one hand just as the carriage crossed the tower. The sudden vibration caused me to lose my grip on the ice-covered metal. I fell several feet before hooking my arm through another rung. I was hanging there, trying to get my breath, when the coating of ice cracked and gave way. I fell to the roof and slid down the sloping side of the cabin, stopping myself by grabbing one of the encircling support pipes.

  The glass around me exploded and something burned along my right thigh. I used the vertical pole to pull myself back up on the roof. Bullets continued to puncture the skin of the cabin as I scrambled up towards the hanger. The shooting stopped just before I reached the top. As I approached the access hatch, a thin crack of light appeared. I stood up and stomped it closed, kneeling on it and throwing the dogs to lock it down.

  I stood up and there were two more muffled shots. I felt the impact against my feet, but the hollow point bullets weren’t penetrating the thick metal of the hatch.

  Holding onto the hanger to keep the howling wind from blowing me off, I checked my leg. There was a deep graze, bleeding a little too freely. I didn’t need loss of blood making me any more lightheaded. I sat down on the hatch and used my belt as a tourniquet, wrapping it around my thigh just above the wound. When I cinched it down the pain caused me to double over. That saved my life.

  A bullet sang off the metal right where my head had been. I threw myself down and behind the hanger as three more rounds ripped the air near me. Sneaky bastard. He’d climbed out a window or gotten one of the doors open. Now the question was: what was he going to do next?

  I raised my head quickly. Nothing. I chanced a longer look, a little higher. Nothing. Which meant he was behind me.

  I threw myself around the hanger just as two shots rang out. One plucked at my jacket. I slipped and fell on my back, sliding head first towards the edge. Once again, a support pipe for the rotating platform stopped me. I jammed my right foot under it and held on with both hands. As I did, something caught my eye far below; a caravan of law enforcement vehicles tearing up the road towards the mouth of the canyon.

  They were too far away to help me. I needed to take the high ground again, before Imperatrice got there. I began pulling myself up, feet first, keeping one foot under the pipe and pulling with my hands. I had just reached the access hatch and hooked my good leg around it when Imperatrice appeared from behind the hanger. He braced himself on the thick steel and looked down at me. The orange glow of the flames behind us added a demonic dimension to that maddening smile.

  “You always were more lucky than smart, Nick,” he said, shouting over the scream of the wind.

  He held up his pistol and waggled it in the air. The slide was locked back on the empty magaz
ine. The smile changed to a snarl and he threw the gun down at me. I put my hand up and the pistol bounced off my forearm, clattering down the roof and over the edge.

  “Guess I’ll have to use this,” he yelled, pulling the stiletto from his sleeve.

  He fell on top of me, steadying himself on the pipe with one hand and plunging the knife towards my throat with the other. I grabbed his hand in both of mine, holding back the knife, the same knife he’d use to kill my wife. The thought sent a surge of strength through me. I began to move his arm back. His eyes showed surprise. He let go of the pipe and used both hands. Now my foot hooked around the hatch was the only thing keeping us from sliding over the edge as he pressed down with all his strength. Imperatrice was a big man, and I’d had a rough day, so this could only end one way. Imperatrice’s smile broadened as the point touched my skin. I felt a needle prick of pain and the wetness of blood.

  “Say hello to Mary for me, Nick.”

  “Let’s both.” I said.

  I released my leg and threw my body in a reverse somersault. Imperatrice fell forward and we tumbled down the roof and over the edge.

  That’s when my survival instinct kicked in. I grabbed for anything. My flailing left arm struck and I stopped abruptly. At the same instant I heard a sound like a stick breaking. An electric jolt of pain shot through me. I looked over to see my upper arm jammed in the junction of the vertical and horizontal support pipes, bent at an impossible angle. A wave of nausea swept over me.

  I also felt as if I weighed a ton. I looked down to see Imperatrice staring back at me, his eyes wide. Somehow he’d grabbed my left leg as we went over and was now climbing it, taking fistfuls of my pants to pull himself up.

  Something was partly blocking my vision. It was the handle of the stiletto, stuck deep in the muscle above my collarbone. I reached up with my right hand and ripped it out. Blood gushed from the wound, splattering Imperatrice’s face. I slashed down at the hands that had reached my waist, but he recoiled, sliding back down my leg, jerking to a stop by wrapping his arms around my calf. I screamed, nearly fainting from the pain.

  The scream gave him an idea. He began swinging back and forth, forcing the broken bones in my arm to move. The wider he swung, the greater the agony, until I was close to passing out from the pain. I couldn’t reach him with the knife. Once I was unconscious, he could climb to safety and dump me into the canyon.

  In the fog of dimming consciousness, an idea came to me. I slid the knife inside the waist of the borrowed pants, the pants that were a size too big, and sliced outward about where the seam should be. I sliced down to the belt, feeling the point cut my thigh as the blade slid under, but not caring. The razor sharp blade parted the leather like butter and his weight did the rest. The seam opened all the way down and the whole pair of pants just slid right off. He fell, the trousers still tight in his grip, his shriek fading quickly in the howl of the wind.

  Something landed on my shoulder. Jesus, I thought, now what? Turning my head with great effort, I saw that Cossack hat of his. I reached up with the knife and flicked it off.

  “Don’t forget your hat,” I yelled, laughing hysterically until everything went black.

  59.

  I woke up in a hospital bed. The first thing I saw was Catherine Masterson standing there in her police uniform.

  “I know,” I said, although the voice sounded more like an octogenarian’s than mine. “I didn’t call. Just between you and me, the guy rule is to wait three days, so you don’t seem desperate.”

  “Nice to know you’re okay.”

  That was one woman’s opinion. I raised my head slightly and took careful inventory. My arm was all trussed up, both legs heavily bandaged, and I felt like I’d drunk an entire bottle of Jamesons.

  “How long?” I said.

  “You’ve been out since last night. Some of that was due to medication. They’ve been giving you a little morphine.”

  “Well, keep it coming. I could get used to it.”

  She smiled again, but her face was drawn.

  “You look tired. You must be pretty busy.”

  “Not really. The feds have taken charge, and the staties. I even had time to go to the rink.” She smiled. “You’d be proud of me. I did the Three Turn by myself.”

  “Didn’t seem so scary anymore?”

  She laughed. “No, not after the past couple of days.”

  “How do you raise this thing?” I said.

  “There’s a controller somewhere. Hang on.” She searched the sheets near my right arm and found a rectangular control box connected to the bed by a thick black wire. “This one makes it go up and down. The others are for the TV.”

  I pressed the appropriate button. With a muted whirring the back half of the bed slowly raised so I could look her in the eye.

  “How’s Tim?” I said when the bed stopped moving.

  “Okay,” she said. She gave me a lopsided grin. “Just a flesh wound, he says. How’s your whole body?”

  “Thinking of trading it in. How did I get here?”

  “By a strange coincidence the FBI was waiting down below.”

  “That was no coincidence.”

  “I was being sarcastic. Roma wants to talk to you, by the way. When you’re up to it.”

  “He’s the prick who got me into this bed.”

  “You’re right, which saved your life. They got you off the cable car and managed to stop the bleeding from several holes.” She pointed at the door. “He’s got one of his men outside.”

  “Why?”

  She gave me a sober look. “Looks like Imperatrice and the blonde got away.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Imperatrice, he’ll turn up.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “When might that be?”

  “The smart money is on late Spring.”

  “Good.”

  “What about Ricasso?”

  “There’s an international manhunt for her. They think she got out by hiding in the water tank of the cable car.”

  “She killed Raviv.”

  “And God knows how many others. Roma says Interpol is very interested. Someone fitting her description is wanted for contract murders in three European countries.” She patted my good arm. “Don’t worry about it now, they’ll get her.” She smiled. “I understand from the Feds you were quite the sight, cruising into port on that cable car, pretty near bare assed.”

  “Yeah. First time taking my pants off ever got me out of trouble.”

  She laughed, which made me laugh. I winced at a sudden pain.

  “My god,” she said, “are you okay?”

  “Hence the cliché,” I said, through clenched teeth.

  “I better let you rest. The doctor said I should only take a few minutes.”

  “Wait. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Her expression turned serious. “The boy. Ken Boyd.”

  “They found him?”

  She nodded.

  “Dead?”

  She nodded again. “Yes.”

  “Where? How?”

  “The sinkhole. The one that opened when the cavern collapsed. Some of the old mine shafts nearby collapsed into it. His body was one of the first ones the recovery team found when they went in.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “The ME gave him a preliminary. Can’t be certain at this stage, but he thinks he’s been dead for a couple of months. That takes us back to the night of the fire.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Fractured skull and severe internal injuries. It looks like he fell into the shaft. A lot of them are overgrown and unmarked.”

  “So,” I said, “he died that night, while they were chasing him.” In my mind’s eye, I saw him running through the dark woods, pursued by men with guns, desperate to get away. The earth suddenly giving way, a terrifying fall into darkness. “Poor kid.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” she said.

  “What is?”

  “They destroyed
their whole operation chasing a phantom.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said.

  She nodded soberly. “I’ll let you rest.” She smiled. “Get your strength up, so you can get back in that Jacuzzi of mine.”

  “Will there be company?”

  “Jury’s still out.”

  “Don’t go far,” I said.

  “I won’t.”

  She turned towards the door.

  “Hey, Cat.”

  She turned back.

  “What?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but we just looked at each other.

  “I know,” she said. “Me too.”

  Then she was gone and the room seemed very empty. I pressed the down button on the control box and fell asleep the moment the bed was flat.

  Next thing I knew was that thing where you’re not quite asleep, but not fully awake. It must have been late, because the lights in the corridor were dim and it was deathly quiet. I sensed someone moving around. I forced my eyes a little ways open and saw it was just the nurse adjusting my IV. I closed my eyes, ready to drift back again, aware of the hospital smells of alcohol, disinfectant, and White Satin.

  In a flash I was fully awake. Ms. Ricasso was inserting a needle into my IV. I grabbed her wrist with my good hand, pulling her down and away from the tube. The needle came dangerously close to my chest. I twisted her wrist, trying to snap it, but I was too weak.

  Growling like an animal she leaped on top of me. She bit my thumb, deeply. Blood spurted into her mouth and onto her face. I couldn’t help it, I let go. She pinned my good hand against the bed and plunged the hypodermic towards my throat.

  I threw my left arm up. The needle penetrated the cast a little before snapping in two. I jerked my arm sideways, ripping the syringe from her grasp. It flew against the wall and fell to the floor behind the bed. With another growl, she reached up with both hands to unhook that fucking necklace of hers. I heaved up off the mattress, tossing us both over the railing and out of the bed.