We escape toward the back of the hotel, heading through the dining room and kitchen, hearing gunplay continue behind us. Everything is an electrified blur, sights and sounds soaked in adrenaline, rapidly passing to the beat of our thudding hearts. Eventually, I crash through an exit door and drag Ryoko into the rancid air of a back alley where dumpsters and garbage cans are scattered about. We stop for a moment, trying to catch our breath, casting nervous glances behind us. I hold Ryoko’s chin in my hands, make her look me in the face.
‘We have to split up,’ I say.
She shakes her head. ‘We have to stick together.’
‘They’re after me, not you.’ I look at her arm. ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood. You need to get that taken care of.’
My eyes inadvertently lower to her stomach, to what is beginning to grow within. She won’t go to the hospital. There are many private practices in Manhattan where money ensures confidentiality. Ryoko knows how to take care of herself. We dash further down the alley and cut through another, looking over our shoulders for any sign of our pursuers. We finally stop in a darkened alcove. I slip the clip out of the Beretta, make a quick bullet count, slam it back in and hand the gun over to Ryoko. She takes it reluctantly, giving me an unimpressed look as she tucks it in the back of her pants.
‘Eleven rounds left,’ I say. ‘Use them if you have to.’
‘You need protection too,’ she protests.
‘Don’t worry, I got a plan. I know where I can get a gun.’
‘You do?’
I nod, not even sure if it’s a good plan, but it’s the best I can think up under the circumstances. I lead Ryoko out to the street and around the corner, where I flag down a cab. She grabs my hand, squeezes it hard.
‘I’ll contact you as soon as this is settled,’ I say. ‘Lie low and wait for my call.’
‘I will,’ she replies. ‘And Rhodes …?’
I turn to her as she slips a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me close. The kiss is tense and long, her lips trembling slightly against mine. Next thing I know she’s getting into the cab and leaving me standing on the sidewalk. Once the car door closes, the window rolls down.
‘You make sure you come back to me in one piece,’ she says.
I nod again, look her in the eye. ‘I love you.’
She only mouths the words back and turns to the cabbie. Whatever she says makes him pull away from the kerb with a screech. I cross the street and walk southwest for a while until I come to a discount tourist store near Times Square. Inside, I buy a memory card for the camera, and a cheap knapsack in which I stuff the lady’s handbag and all of its contents. At another store I purchase an NY hoodie and ball cap. I put them on as I venture out again, brim pulled low, hood over my head to conceal my face as much as possible from the CCTV cameras and their facial-recognition software.
As I walk the streets, the horror and guilt over accidentally murdering my friend tie my intestines in knots, making me hunch over and moan aloud. People on the sidewalk cross the road to avoid me, assuming I’m some drunk or lunatic. I can’t get the thought of Phineas out of my mind, the image of his eyes changing a second before I put a bullet between them. The only silver lining, is that Phineas died never knowing the horrors he’d committed, would never be haunted by it. I figure there must be peace in that, for him, and maybe a little for me too.
Ryoko would have called me crazy if I’d told her where I was planning to go. It’s the only place I know of where I can get my hands on a gun. In the unending Manhattan lights I try my best to stick to the shadows as I make my way back to my apartment in the East Village on foot.
30
In the dark, I sit on a bench in Tompkins Square Park and watch the front door of my building from a distance. Everything appears normal, but I look for irregularities, people out of place, stationary when they should be moving, maybe someone on the street or in a car casing the entrance to my home. For a long time I wait, uncertain. Eventually two girls sit on the stoop and smoke cigarettes, laughing aloud at each other’s jokes. I’m so focused on them that I don’t notice the dark figure approaching through the trees and bushes on my right. By the time he’s upon me, I have barely enough time to react.
‘I thought I recognized you,’ he says.
I close my fist, readying it as the man sits down beside me. He turns his head and I’m relieved to see the unshaven face of Javier. He holds out his fist. I pound it with the one I was about to strike with, getting a whiff of bourbon and body odour as I do. In his other hand is a bottle of Jim Beam.
‘What are you doing in the park at this time of night?’ he asks, taking a swig. ‘Don’t you have a nice warm bed to go to?’
I shake my head. ‘Not sure it’s safe to go home right now.’
Javier laughs. ‘Girl trouble?’
When I don’t laugh in return he infers correctly that it’s nothing so trivial. He looks to where I’m looking, squinting to see anything that might give him a clue as to what’s bugging me.
‘It’s been quiet, tonight.’
‘Not for me.’
‘Drink?’ he says, offering the bottle.
‘I’ll pass,’ I reply, though I could really use a shot of the stuff.
‘Suit yourself. Are you on duty or something?’
‘Just staying vigilant.’
‘What is it exactly that you do for a living?’ Javier says, looking me over with suspicion. ‘If you don’t mind me asking?’
‘It’s complicated,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ he chuckles. ‘Ain’t everything in this world?’
‘You ever heard of Husking?’
‘Husking?’ Javier considers a moment. ‘You mean the rumours you sometimes hear about those downloadable hookers for the rich?’
‘It’s kinda the other way around, but yeah.’
‘Thought that stuff was all science fiction?’
‘It’s not science fiction,’ I say. ‘Hey, can I still get in on that drink?’
Javier hands me the Jim Beam and I get some liquid courage in me, feel the bourbon burn all the way down to my writhing guts. I’ve waited long enough, haven’t seen anything to be concerned about. I hand the bottle back and stand, slinging my knapsack over my shoulders.
‘Gotta grab something from my place,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘I’ll be right here, man.’
Five minutes is all it should take. I make my way through the park and cross the street to my stoop. The two chuckleheads don’t even look at me as I weave past them and let myself into the building. Three flights of stairs and I’m at my apartment door. Before I can pull out my key, I notice the scratched and splintered wood around the doorknob. The lock is broken. The door is closed, but has evidently been kicked in at some point. I push it inward to reveal darkness beyond.
Every light in the apartment is turned off. Stepping inside, I try my best to negotiate the dark, peering through the gloom for any sign of trouble. I tread carefully across the living room until I’m able to flick the main light switch on. The apartment is illuminated, revealing everything in its usual state. A window to our fire escape is open, letting in a cool breeze. I circle the living room cautiously, listening and looking for any sign that someone may still be here. On the coffee table is a pair of night-vision glasses Craig must have brought home from the Rochester. I swipe and pocket them. My roommate’s bedroom door is closed. I call his name as loud as I dare and approach. No response. The Glock is most definitely in there. Carefully, I turn the doorknob and open the door. The scene inside makes me whimper.
‘Oh, God.’
Craig lies slumped on the bed in his boxer shorts, dead. His eyes are open and glazed, staring at the ceiling. In the middle of his chest is a hole the circumference of a tuna can, cut almost perfect, cauterized on impact, not a trace of blood; the kind of damage made by an M-6 Rapier at close range. I can see bed sheets through the wound on the other side. On the floor in front of Craig is his open gun
case, the Glock missing from it. Two magazines are discarded nearby, bullets scattered around them. He must have been trying to load it when the assailant broke in and shot him. I’m about to turn and run when I hear the front door of the apartment open with a bang behind me.
‘Don’t fucking move.’
I freeze, my hands held where they can be seen. ‘I’m unarmed.’
‘I don’t care. Make one wrong move and I’ll core you like an apple.’
‘Whatever you say, just don’t shoot.’
‘Turn around slowly.’
I do as I’m told. Two men stand in my apartment doorway. I recognize both as members of Winslade’s security detail. Each has a Rapier trained on me.
‘Get on your knees, now.’
I drop to my knees. The guy doing the talking holsters his weapon and reaches for his Liaison to make a call. There is a sudden shattering sound as liquid and glass explode over the head of the goon standing in the doorway. He drops to reveal Javier standing behind him in the hall, the neck of the broken bourbon bottle gripped in one hand. The first goon reaches for the gun inside his jacket, but Javier lunges forward, stabbing the jagged remainder of the bottle into his shoulder, causing him to yowl with pain. Javier and I both tackle the guy to the floor, pinning him with all our weight, working to keep him subdued. I drive my fist into the back of the man’s head, knocking his face off the floor. His struggling lessens enough for me to shoot Javier a quick look.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Saw these two assholes follow you into the building. Thought there might be some trouble.’
The guy underneath me tries to say something, but I deliver another rabbit punch and silence him. I look up again at Javier, only to see the second operative starting to get to his feet behind him.
‘Watch out –’
The goon stumbles forward and throws all of his weight at Javier’s back, knocking him into me and both of us off the guy we have pinned. Our advantage is lost in seconds and we find ourselves grappling with an assailant each. The guy that was below is now on top of me, trying to draw his gun. Javier and his opponent wrestle madly for control of the other Rapier. Amid grunts and shouts one of the weapons suddenly discharges. I watch as a streak of projectile and propellant shears my enemy’s right arm off above the elbow. I kick the screaming amputee off me as Javier throws his attacker over the couch. The goon loses his grip on the Rapier when he hits the ground. We hear it clatter across the floor and come to rest on the far side of the room. The operative is on his feet in seconds, scrambling toward it. Javier and I glance at each other. No time to stop him. All I can do is hit the lights.
‘Fire escape,’ I say, looking at the open window nearby. ‘Go.’
I flick the switch and the apartment goes black, leaving our attacker to search blindly in the dark for his weapon as we scramble out the window. By the time we’re two floors down I hear the Rapier fire from above, sending rounds streaking past us in the night.
‘Quick, get to the park.’
Javier kicks the latch, releasing the last ladder to the sidewalk. We practically slide down, then race into the traffic crawling along the street, using slow-moving cars and trucks for cover as we make our way across. Rapier rounds slam into the vehicles and concrete around us, causing mayhem, becoming less accurate as we distance ourselves and disappear into the dark of Tompkins Square Park.
31
‘Christ, who were those guys back there?’ Javier asks as we slip into a cab on 10th Street. ‘And what the hell kind of pieces were they packing?’
I shake my head. ‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You don’t want to get involved, trust me.’
Javier throws up his hands. ‘Well, fuck, I’m already involved now, aren’t I?’
I say nothing. The cab driver watches us warily in his rear-view mirror, already regretting picking us up. His voice wavers slightly when he speaks.
‘Where to, sir?’
‘Take me to Washington and West 13th Street,’ I say. ‘And step on it.’
Javier and I sit in silence, watching the nightlife slip by our windows, letting the adrenaline drain from our systems as we try and digest what went down back in the apartment. He must be so confused, so scared. A part of me wants to tell him everything, but I don’t say a word. Guilt over getting Craig killed doubles down on the remorse I already feel over Phineas. I don’t want anyone else’s blood on my hands.
‘Why are we going to the meat-packing district?’ Javier finally asks.
‘We aren’t going anywhere,’ I say. ‘Tell me where you want to be dropped off.’
‘There’s nowhere to drop me off. You know I ain’t got any place to go.’
‘Then you should probably get out at the next corner.’
‘Well, I don’t want to hang out on street corners no more either.’ Javier shrugs and tries to smirk. ‘Sorry, you’re stuck with me, man.’
‘Javier …’
‘Look, when I was at my worst you bought me food, gave me money,’ Javier continues, looking me in the eye. ‘Hell, you even donated your smokes. You’re a good man, Rhodes.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.’
‘Haven’t we all? Everything’s shades of grey, man, now more than ever.’
‘Shades of grey,’ I mutter.
‘Shades of grey,’ repeats Javier, looking down at his dirty hands. ‘Good and bad, right and wrong. They’re just compass points. No one travels in a straight line. Life’s never as simple as we think it should be. There is darkness between the stars in the heavens, and even the fires of Hell shed light.’
He’s stone-cold sober now. I don’t know what he’s reciting, but his wisdom surprises me. I mull it over, feeling the truth, reconsidering my own recent stance on the stars. Javier is far sharper than I originally gave him credit for. Having the guy at my side suddenly feels reassuring. Still, I don’t want him involved in my problems.
‘If you don’t get out of this car, Javier, I can’t guarantee your safety.’
‘Safety has been an issue for a good while now, my friend. I have a chance to repay my debt, help you out with your little problem. And shit, I got nothing to lose. So, I’ll ask again. Why are we going to the meat-packing district?’
‘I have to follow a lead … the only one I have left.’
‘And what are you hoping to get out of this lead?’
‘Evidence, leverage, truth … take your pick.’
I take the digital camera out of my knapsack and check it over, relieved to find it wasn’t damaged in the apartment attack. I insert the memory card I bought near Times Square and power it up. The camera is state of the art, too complicated for the likes of me. All the menu options and their abbreviations on the screen start to give me a headache. After five minutes of my dicking around with it, Javier holds out his hand.
‘Do you even know what you’re doing with that?’
‘Not really.’
‘Give it here.’
I pass him the camera and he handles it like a pro, scrolling through menus and changing settings, seeming to know all the ins and outs.
‘Bought one just like this months ago,’ Javier says. ‘It was the first thing I pawned for rent money when I lost my job.’
‘What was your job?’
‘Worked in advertising. I came up with campaigns to convince the masses to blow their money on products they didn’t need, selling crack to consumer addicts that couldn’t help themselves.’
‘What kind of products?’
‘Things like this,’ Javier replies, holding up the camera before handing it back. ‘All the latest and greatest gear, only to be replaced with new versions every six months. Advertising is a horrible, cutthroat business. Getting good at it … I’d say it’s the closest thing to selling your soul.’
‘I know the feeling,’ I mutter. ‘Ho
w’d you lose your job?’
‘How do any of us lose our jobs? They’re taken away.’
‘You got a wife, kids?’
‘Had a wife, she went soon after the job.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. For richer or poorer wasn’t a vow she took seriously. And kids …?’ he snorts, shaking his head. ‘Who in their right mind would want to bring a kid into a world like this? What future would they have?’
‘You have a point.’
‘Losing my job was a relief in a way. Getting fired from all that soul-crushing shit did me some good.’
‘I only wish I could get fired from my job.’
Javier eyes me. ‘Look, I don’t know much about Husking, my friend, but the rumours I’ve heard make it sound very unappealing.’
‘We all have our price, right?’
Javier nods and says no more. A few minutes later the cab pulls up to the corner of Washington and 13th, dropping us off in the meat-packing district, the last location I remember after fleeing the session in a panic earlier. I look around, trying to get my bearings, anticipating some sense of recognition. I had been too terrified to commit much to memory before. Ran blind out of there and didn’t look back, didn’t think to stop for one second. Returning to the scene of the crime would be the last thing anyone would expect me to do, my one and only advantage. I try to retrace my steps, try to remember where I’d escaped from. Slowly some sense of familiarity returns.
‘What’s the plan?’ Javier asks.
I start walking west. ‘We’re gonna follow my gut.’
My pace quickens, Javier jogging intermittently to keep up. Instinctively I know where I’m heading. Within ten minutes I find myself standing in front of an old six-storey, brownstone building. It is the one I ran from hours earlier, I realize, the one I left the murdered body of a young woman inside. Strangely, it feels more familiar than that. I’ve been here many times before. The upper floors look like they may be lofts or apartments. The first three floors are leased out to a business. The company name is displayed in large silver letters on a black sign over the main entrance: Modern Harvest NYC, Ltd.
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