by I N Foggarty
Ramone said nothing. Instead, he slowly forced the van to move forwards once more. Out in the distance, the first rays of sunlight were slowly creeping across the sky. Guiding the vehicle back onto the actual dirt track he remained silent until they were back at the garage. When Roca climbed out he made a decision.
“Look after the bitches, I’m heading into town. We’ll talk when I get back.”
The big man stared at him blankly as he threw the van into reverse and spun it around. Without another word and not waiting for a reply he headed back down the dirt track. One hundred thousand dollars was good but what would be the point without Maria? He had nowhere else to go, no family to speak of and no clue what to do with it by himself.
Turning on the radio in an effort to distract himself Ramone began the long drive back to Chicago. It was a stupid risk but people often did stupid things… when they were in love.
Alone
Dylan’s heart still hammered and his mind raced as he tried to control his breathing and make less noise than a corpse. The cool and fresh air entering his lungs should have felt good after having been locked inside for days on end.
Numerous video games over the years had taught him that running straight ahead when being pursued would be a one-way ticket back to captivity, especially when you were on foot and your opponents had access to a vehicle. In that vein, his immediate thought had been to run round to the other side of the building. Even in the darkness, he had been able to tell that there was nowhere to run. All around the building sat an expanse of long grass and he had not been able to see any obvious roads or paths. Though again they would have been the obvious place for his pursuers to check first.
He could have taken a chance and ran through the grass at the back of the building but had his captors decided to circle it he would surely have been caught in their headlights. It had been at this point, while he had frantically been turning this way and that looking for some way to evade capture that he had saw the large metal dumpster lying against the back wall. He had quickly ruled out jumping inside to hide as a possibility. However, the broken iron drain pipe dangling above it led directly up to the roof.
Somehow he had managed to force himself up onto the side of the dumpster and cling to the pipe for dear life. It had been a struggle to get his feet to stay on the protruding parts of the brackets long enough to shimmy up to the next one. Each passing second had been agonising, old flakes of paint jagging into his hands. Every time his foot slipped he had been sure light would pass over him followed by a shout from one of the two men. Unbelievably, he had reached the top and managed to roll over the edge of the wall onto the roof.
Dylan lay stiff, silent, the sound of an engine grunting sluggishly into life echoing out of the building beneath him. Moments later he had heard the shutter falling and the van driving off. His nerves shot to pieces he forced himself to crawl into the centre in order to reduce the risk of being seen from distance. At no point did his courage allow him to move any further, let alone climb down to see if he could get back inside and rescue the others. Until they returned he was marooned.
How long he lay there, he did not know. However down below he had heard the van pass within close proximity twice already. Would either of the men have the thought to check under their own noses or to be more exact above their heads? Surely if they had the slightest inclination that he had not run they would have checked all around the building first? Or perhaps one of them had already done so on foot but had not thought to check the roof. Either way, he knew it would be far too dangerous to attempt to leave until they had given up and daylight returned.
But what then? What should he do once things were as safe as they were likely to get? Anna had told him to run and to find help. He had ignored her on the first count, though he knew she would have likely had the same thought processes when confronted with such an open landscape. In fact, he was certain of it. How he could possibly achieve the second part he did not yet know. He would have to wait until the sun came up so he could see the landscape better. Maybe there was some sort of road that led to a town or out onto a highway.
The sound of the van drawing closer filled Dylan’s ears once more and he stiffened slightly. Control your breathing he told himself, the noise of tyres compacting dirt drawing near. When the vehicle stopped he could hear the sound of a voice. “Look after the bitches, I’m heading into town. We’ll talk when I get back.”
Which of the two men had spoken he did not know. However, that man’s words were quickly followed by the harsh revving of the engine and the crunching sound of tyres on dirt. As the noise from the van got increasingly distant the heavy rumbling that must have been the shutter opening caused him to jump. A stomping of heavy footsteps followed before it closed again.
Letting his breathing return to a steady rate Dylan waited for what he reasoned must have been about half an hour before standing up. The first rays of orange sunlight were beginning to strain across the sky. Slowly he looked around him in all directions only to see nothing. He edged towards the front end of the roof from this vantage point he could make out a set of tire tracks leading away from the shutter and through part of the grass. It had to be the road the men used to go back and forth he reasoned. It was risky; nevertheless, he had no other option but to follow it. With no landmarks in sight, the dirt track would be his only guaranteed way to reach any other form of man-made road or structure. He would have to be careful. Though unlikely that the man inside would come back out and follow in his footsteps, there existed a real danger that the one who had left in the van would drive back down the track and catch him. He would have to be extra cautious and try to hide in the grass should he hear anything that sounded remotely like an engine.
He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking it out logically like it was a plan for one of his games. If he thought about it in real life terms… the paralysing fear threatened to engulf him again. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to focus on his plan again, systematically.
When he felt a semi-state of calm and slightly detached again, Dylan cautiously made his way back across the roof towards the drainpipe. Kneeling down he took hold of the top and swung himself around so that he straddled it. Ignoring the creak it gave in protest he slowly inched his way down; hands still stinging from the minute cuts obtained first time around. When his foot made contact with one of the bracket edges the metal gave a louder creak and then… SCREECH... The pipe broke free of its bracket at the top end.
Helplessly Dylan flapped his arms as he lost his grip and crashed down into the rusty old trash compactor below. The air whooshed out of him on impact and he had a seconds worth of blurred grey sky above him before the lid slammed closed. Game over.
Consequences
Walker burst through a pair of double doors with a resounding crash. His coat flapping wildly, almost akin to how Matt’s heart pumped in his chest. At breakneck pace, the pair hurtled along the hallway. From somewhere behind, Matt could hear voices yelling and the sound of doors being kicked open. Beads of perspiration formed all over his skin and he forced himself to catch up with the old man. Of all the stupid things he had ever done in his life only one other, wiping out in front of a car after attempting a jump on Janine’s skateboard, had come close to costing him it. If he and Walker were caught, then they were surely dead.
Between panted breaths, he called out to his partner, “how do we get out of here?”
“Working on it,” Walker grunted back as they turned a corner and burst through another door. “There!” he exclaimed suddenly, pointing in the direction of an elevator door halfway down the new hallway.
Matt reached it first and skidded to a halt. Thrusting his hand forward he stabbed at the call button. A moment later and he heard the dull clunk of machinery grinding into life from somewhere inside the shaft.
“Fuck!” they said in unison on realising that the elevator was not on their floor.
The voices they had been trying to outrun were now getting
closer. Matt had never quite been sure where he stood on the whole god issue. However, if the lift arrived in time to save them he swore he would go to church every Sunday for the rest of his life.
“THEY’RE AT THE ELEVATOR!”
Panic flooded over Matt like a cold bucket of water chilling him to his very core. He spun his head in the direction of the voice. At the end of the hallway, a man had just appeared. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, he just stared as the man raised a handgun and pulled the trigger. Pain erupted through Matt’s left arm. He staggered sideways, struggling to regain his balance his eyes involuntary screwed up and he grabbed at the source of the burning with his other hand.
“Do that again and I might let him take your head off,” the voice came from in front of his face. Opening his eyes, he could see Walker bearing a look of concern. The sight tarnished metal walls told Matt that somehow he was inside the elevator.
“Is it bad?” Walker demanded.
Matt looked at his arm and found a blood-stained rip in his sleeve. Peeling away the flap of his jacket and t-shirt, he could see a bloody patch where the bullet had torn across the surface of his skin. “I don’t think so. It just caught the surface.” A stab of pain akin to a hundred tiny white-hot needles piercing his skin coursed through his arm and forced him to clutch at it once more.
“Good, but you’d better keep your head down. We’re not out of this yet.” From inside his coat, Walker withdrew a semi-automatic handgun. “Was hoping I wouldn’t need to bring this out. Get behind me.”
The elevator shuddered to a halt and Matt forced himself to ignore the pain and do as instructed. With a loud creak, the doors began to judder open. Slowly the crack between them began to widen and over the top of Walker’s head, Matt could see that someone waited for them on the other side. A brief glance at his dark eyes and bloodied face told Matt that this was the man he had knocked out earlier. However, that brief glance was all he saw.
Walker’s gun sounded like an overhead thunderclap as it echoed around the metal box. In front of him, blood exploded from the back of the man’s skull, the bullet ripping through his brain and bursting out the back. For a split second the man hung in the air, a look of shock smeared across his face. Then he fell backwards to the floor with a low thud.
On autopilot, Matt followed Walker out of the elevator. On the wall opposite, he could see the newly formed spatter pattern but could not bring himself to really accept what he had just seen. When he had agreed to this, he had not really understood what he was getting into despite what he said and now… oh god now… his eyes followed the path down to the dead man’s still warm corpse. Blood already beginning to pool on the checkerboard-tiled floor and slowly creeping towards his feet, he felt rooted to the spot. Walker pulled him away.
“You just killed him,” Matt whispered, allowing himself to be led down the hallway. For now, the pain in his arm forgotten, though he could still feel his ears ringing from the shot.
“Him or us,” Walker grunted coldly.
Nothing that had happened to him since meeting the man had prepared him for what he had just seen. Janine had told him stories about people she had seen gunned down but none of them had come close to the horror of seeing it first-hand. No. He could not dwell on it right now; they were not out of the woods yet. He had to stay focused. Despite this, a fluttering thought told him he was running out of room to put things to deal with later in his head.
In silence but with haste the pair made their way through the ground floor and back to the room that they had originally broken into; it felt like an aeon ago. On their way, they heard the sound of voices giving chase but they encountered no one. At one point, a loud yell had been heard and Matt had not needed to hear the words to know they had found the body of the man Walker had just killed.
The first rays of sunlight were just beginning to appear when they burst back out into the alleyway. Only once they were a good few streets away did Walker allow them to slow to a walking pace. Even then he made them jump the first bus they found that was heading in the opposite direction. Only when he sat down did Matt finally take a normal breath. His arm slowly began to throb.
“How’s the arm now?” Walker asked as the vehicle pulled away from the curb.
After what he had just witnessed Matt did not know if he wanted to be within a mile of the man let alone sitting next to him on a bus. Was this what it would take to save Anna? For the first time, serious doubt began to cross his mind. Was he willing to risk his life to save hers? He gazed at the bullet wound in his arm. He had thought it would be a rip but this looked more like a burn.
Walker took hold of him suddenly and turned his arm to look at it. His brain felt like someone had hit pause. Unsure what to do or say Matt simply stared at the old hobo while he made his assessment.
“It’s not bad. Bet it hurts like a bitch but once it’s cleaned and dressed it should be ok,” he looked up at Matt’s face and frowned. Rummaging in his coat, he procured a small silver hip flask and handed it over. “You’re in shock Matt, drink this, you’ll be fine just sit quietly for now,” he said nothing more for the rest of the bus ride.
Matt swallowed a mouthful of the strong smelling liquid. It seared his throat on the way down but surprisingly afterwards it left a warm feeling in his chest. He had not realised he felt cold.
Walker made him drink another mouthful from the hipflask when they got off then magicked it away again, not without taking a nip or two himself Matt noted. They walked and the pink colour of the sky made Matt frown. He glanced at his phone, it was now after five in the morning.
“Shit,” he stated, his throat hoarse from the hip flask's contents. He had no idea where they were but the chances of him making it home before his mom came to see if he was all right were slim. Should he phone her he wondered? Walker directed him towards a second bus.
The thought was almost laughable. How could he possibly explain the situation? Matt let off a small humourless laugh. He doubted anyone had been in a situation where their worst lie would still be more believable than the truth. Either way, truth or lie a new realisation dawned he would either be able to go home or chase after Anna. Not both.
He made his decision. “Sorry mom,” he whispered to himself and pocketed his phone. He had come too far to turn back now. Not when he knew where the men who had taken Anna were supposed to be. He had taken a bullet and watched a man die to get that information. If Anna had been in his position, he knew she would not stop and he could not either.
“Where are we headed?” Matt asked Walker as they sat down at the back of the empty bus.
The man sat watching him carefully. He did not bother to look away or pretend he had not been. “Somewhere safe. You need to recuperate before we even think about getting out to wherever the hell Kedron valley is.”
Matt didn’t argue. His arm hurt like hell and he felt exhausted. A few hours downtime sounded like a good plan. He rested his head on the bus window and closed his eyes.
Two hours and three bus rides later, they had arrived back in South Chicago and Matt’s weary eyes slowly began to recognise places. When Walker led him down a somewhat familiar street, the first and second phone calls from his parents came. It had been difficult to ignore the first and even harder the second, but he had no choice now.
Walker had said that naivety was his fatal flaw, yet it had led him to the hobo in the first place and kept him coming back and, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind he was sure, had been the same thing that had caused all of this mess in the first place. Now, he had to deal with the consequences. Hesitantly, he did the only logical thing. He turned off his phone.
Money talks
By the time Ramone Gonzalez made it back to the city of Chicago the sun had well and truly risen. The trip had taken him longer than expected, a stop for fuel and tobacco had been a requirement. Between his teeth, he took a draw from a roll up as his fingers drummed irritably on the steering wheel. His frustration aimed at a set of r
oadwork’s that had materialised since he had last driven through this part of the city. When a bus chose to pull out in front of him, he blasted his horn in protest. It was drivers like this moron that caused accidents he cursed. Though in no rush it irked him none the less.
Taking the next left, in an attempt to circumvent the city council's latest hare-brained diversion, he made his way through a series of side streets and onto an alternate route. Though it may not save him time, he would rather be driving than stuck at a standstill. Throwing the butt of his smoke out the window, his ears pricked up at the early morning news report on the radio.
“Now on a more serious note, we can confirm that Police today are on the lookout for a group of men in connection with a suspected case of trafficking and forced prostitution.”
Hastily Ramone turned the volume dial up. Life had never been kind to him but if it were about to dump this on top of him, after everything else that had happened over the past week, then it was clearly taking the proverbial. Intently he listened to what the overly cheery broadcaster had to say next.
“Though a full description of the suspects is not available at this time, a statement released to the press detailed a Hispanic man in his mid to late-thirties by the name of Ramone or Rae as he may be better known.”
Right on cue, there came the piss. Raining down on top of him from a dick shaped cloud in the sky.
As always folks more information as and when we have it here on Channel Five, Alive in Chicago.”
Ramone battered his fist off the steering wheel. Nothing ever went right for him. He had been born into a life with precious little yet the fates had deemed it fit to take even that, including his family, away; when the slums of Juarez were set ablaze. Since that day life had continued to shit on him as he took orders from one boss or another. He and Sergio may have been mejor amigos but that had never quite made them equal partners. Even before the ill-fated pier five incident, back in the early days of Los sin techo, his friend had always taken the lead.