The man’s hand went for his gun again, only to be stopped by Sam cocking his own.
A heavy, oppressive silence hung over the bar. Sam felt bad for the owner and clientele; this was not what they had come here for tonight. If he could get out of here without bloodshed, he would. He glanced up at the roof quickly; two lights. It was a risk, but his only way out.
‘How do you think this ends, Sam?’ the leading cop sneered.
‘Quickly,’ Sam replied, before lifting his gun and, in quick succession, shooting out both lights.
The bar was plunged into total darkness. Yells went up, and Sam dived from the booth towards the bar itself as the thud of people hitting the ground was swiftly followed by an eruption of gunfire and shattering glass. Sam vaulted the bar and ran at a crouch, past the hunched bartender muttering a prayer, all the way to the other side. He could hear the swearing and shooting as the gang of blind police moved forward, still trying to corner him, not realising he had passed them. He vaulted over the bar again, reached the front door as quickly as he could, knowing in a second everyone would know exactly where he was, he pulled open the door and ran out into the night.
Out in the alley, he kept low, as bullets tore the door apart behind him. He hit the street and turned left, arriving at his car. Keeping his breathing steady, he unlocked it and slid into the driver’s seat, in the rear-view mirror he saw the cops rounding the corner behind him. He turned the key, hit the accelerator, and he was off and veering deliberately to avoid the bullets.
He did not blame Sarah. The information she had given him indicated where her loyalties lay, such as they were, but she had to protect herself first and foremost, and if even a whisper reached the rest of the force of her meeting him in secret she would have a swift appointment with the bottom of a river. At least she had had the decency to warn him of what was coming.
He glanced in the mirror. Two black cars were right behind him, and as he pulled a sharp left onto another street, his tyres screeching in protest, they followed closely. So it was the cops. Now he just had to figure out a way to elude them; a challenge considering they had twice as many cars and five times as many people.
A bullet shattered his driver side mirror. Five times as many guns, too. That would be worth bearing in mind. He pressed down the accelerator as hard as it would go.
The road ahead was empty at this time of night, which was good. He could use that. He reached over and opened the glove compartment. Silently thanking his past self, he removed a brick that he had placed there for this exact circumstance. As quickly as he could, he removed his foot from the accelerator and put the brick on it.
What he was doing was dangerous and stupid, but choices were not a luxury he had at this time. He opened the door, stepped onto the edge, and, one hand hanging on to the seat, let himself hang out of the moving car.
He raised his gun and fired. He knew exactly where he was aiming. One. Two. Three. Four.
Shriek of tearing metal filled the night as sparks shot up from the fronts of the cars. Sam practically fell back into his own vehicle, kicking aside the brick and taking control of the wheel, which had been letting the car drift toward the sidewalk.
A couple more gunshots came from behind him, but a glance in the rear-view told him he was no longer being followed. It was hard to follow anyone in cars that no longer had front tyres.
He realised his heart was racing. He had never done anything like that before. Was he completely crazy? Perhaps. But he was also completely alive, and that was more important.
With a laugh and a whoop, he turned another corner. His night was not over yet.
Chapter Six
Like most cities, this one was home to a vast, sprawling graveyard. It was easy to get lost here, among all the stones from a hundred years ago and earlier, so many crumbling and uncared for, or the mausoleums of the long forgotten rich, or the more modern graves. An entire history could be found among these monuments.
Sam didn’t care about that history. And he never got lost. He knew where he was heading.
He visited Sally once a week. Usually, he said nothing; just removed weeds, left some flowers, let himself shed a tear before heading home. Tonight, however, felt different.
He sat cross-legged in front of her grave. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, but he knew there was something. He looked up at the sky. Overcast, with no stars. Everything was dark. He liked the city by night, but he wondered what that said about him. Perhaps the daylight was never his realm to move in. Maybe he had been the idiot for thinking otherwise.
‘I don’t know what to tell you, Sal,’ he said. ‘I guess if you’re out there somewhere you know I didn’t ask for this. If you knew me at all, you’ll know I didn’t want any of it.’ He took a long, deep breath. ‘I promised you it was behind me, and I was done. I meant that promise. But that’s the thing. A promise is made under the assumption that circumstances will let you keep it. My circumstances, well…’ he shook his head. ‘Maybe it is my fault. It probably is. I made a lot of dumb choices. But I was young and stupid and…’ he laughed. ‘You don’t need my excuses. You know them all. But you were never one of those bad choices. You were the best choice I ever made. Not that you gave me much choice. You were the first person who believed that I could be better than I was, and somehow you tricked me into thinking it too. But lately, I haven’t been doing much to fulfil that faith you had in me. Easier to just disappear into the night than live in the day when you feel like you don’t deserve it.’ He looked up into the dark sky. Some of the clouds had cleared a little. He could make out the outline of the moon.
‘I’m going to make you another promise Sally, and I will do everything I can to fulfil this one. If I can survive this, I will live. No more rubbish construction jobs, no more feeling sorry for myself, no more drifting through life. I will be the person you always thought I could be.’ He couldn’t see his own smile, but he knew it was grim. ‘If I survive, that is. It’s a pretty big if.’ He exhaled. ‘But, and this is the first time in a long time I can say this for sure, I do hope I survive. I really hope I survive. Because I’m not done yet. But if I don’t… well, I’ll be with you. Wherever you are. And there are worse places to be than that. There are much worse places to be than that.’
He could feel the prickle of tears in his eyes, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. He stood, looking down at her name in the cold stone.
‘I love you, Sal,’ he said. ‘Always will. No matter what happens tonight … or tomorrow, or the next day, if they do come.’
He closed his eyes and imagined her smile. Then he turned and walked through the graveyard. As he neared the gate, he looked down at his watch. Almost 3am. Almost time to go to work.
He removed the battered packet of cigarettes from his jacket. There was only one left. Maybe that was a sign, maybe it wasn’t, but he had never been a man to believe in signs. He lit it and took a long deep breath of the smoke. He smoked as he walked from the graveyard over to his car. As he went to open the door, he looked up at the sky.
Maybe he was mistaken, but it seemed some more of the clouds had cleared. He was sure he could see the barest light of a star or two. He took one last, long drag, then dropped the smoke and ground it out with his foot. He opened his car door and got in.
Time to go to work.
Chapter Seven
Hector O’Neil lived on the outskirts of the city on a large estate that you could be forgiven for calling a compound. A towering fence surrounded the estate and Sam was sure there were guards on the inside circling O’Neil’s mansion, but somehow avoiding whatever secret entrance at the back O’Neil used for the kind of business that was too unsavoury for even his ‘presumably’ well-paid guards to know about.
Sam was aware that the back was his way in, but he still drove past twice, taking in whatever he could. The more of an idea of the place he had, the higher his chances of surviving. He knew what he was doing was tantamount to suicide, but he saw no other way
forward.
He parked his car up the road, in the shadow of several towering trees. Then checking to ensure the gun was loaded and he had extra ammunition, he began making his way down the road. He let go of all thoughts of Sally or the past or the future. He allowed himself no fear or guilt or doubt. The job left room for none of them, and at that moment the job was all that mattered.
Hector O’Neil only ever listened to jazz when he felt like celebrating, and tonight he felt like celebrating.
Leaning back in his plush armchair, he rested his glass of scotch on his ample, bathrobe-clad belly and lit his cigar as the soothing sounds of the saxophone backed by tinkling piano filled the room along with the smoke. He inhaled and let himself smile at the strong taste.
This, he thought, was how life should be. Alone in the library, surrounded by his awards and the many photos of crowning achievements, marking the occasion of another with the finer things in life. Part of him wished this was his every moment, that his retirement would just be a non-stop barrage of cigars, scotch, jazz and beautiful women, but then, a treat was not a treat if you enjoyed it in excess.
A phone call just under an hour ago had confirmed that things had gone as he had hoped. Sam Stevens had escaped the bar and stopped his pursuers before disappearing into the night. That meant, almost certainly, that he was en route here because where else was a wanted fugitive to go but the one place he might find answers?
Hector knew that any good plan was crafted with multiple contingencies, and this was a masterpiece. He had ensured that Kayden Armstrong’s links to him were obvious, to set a secondary trap in case the boy failed to kill Stevens and make the frame obvious. Hector had had a feeling that would not work out the way he hoped, so he put time and energy into his backup plan, based around what he knew of Stevens. Shape him like a conductor shaping an orchestra, convince him that his target was the corrupt chief of police, and give him an easy, obvious way in; an unguarded back door. An unguarded back door that at this very moment was being watched by several armed men hidden in shadows. Maybe one or two of them would die, but they were being paid enough to make for a lot of rich widows. Stevens would try to enter and find himself facing a barrage of bullets, fired from the guns of professionals, not the angry amateurs that had tried to shoot him up in that bar, or the fumbling, trembling hands of Kayden Armstrong. A sad story; the former criminal driven mad by the loss of his wife, killed a poor young woman and a cop before gunning for the chief of police and being shot down in self-defense. The world would be too glad to be rid of Stevens to worry themselves about the details, and Hector would receive a handsome reward for his efforts. Enough to maybe allow himself that comfortable early retirement he was dreaming of more and more. Maybe then he would throw concerns of excess to the wind and let himself indulge in all of the things he enjoyed. He would have the money, and the pride of a job well done would get him through any fears of indulgence.
He knocked back his scotch and exhaled. Yes. Yes, that would be a very good life indeed.
Part of James Carney hated what he was reduced to, but the rest of him loved money, so that internal conflict was put to bed fairly swiftly.
He knew that Hector O’Neil was a filthy, corrupt pig. His time in the army had meant to be standing for some sense of decency, but had also resulted in the sort of wounds that left you more physically capable than ever, yet unable to sleep, He wasn’t about to let a misguided sense of honour push him in the wrong direction. Still, being a bodyguard for a bad man wasn’t how he liked to spend his time, especially not when he wasn’t even doing the real work.
Only four of them remained to guard the front of the house while the rest waited to spring the trap around the back. James had thought that at the very least he would be chosen for the real work, not relegated to merely a glorified decoy, but he supposed that when all was said and done the pay remained the same. He had just always preferred to be doing something than nothing at all, and he had been instructed that even if he heard a huge amount of gunshots he would hold his position. O’Neil was very proud of the little trap he had constructed, and it would be delicate in execution. There was no room for any heroes blundering in, no matter how many gunshots they heard.
As it turned out, James Carney did hear a gunshot that night. But it took him a moment to register the quiet pop of the silenced pistol and by the time that moment was over understanding was not about to hit him. The bullet did that first.
Hector looked down at his watch. Almost 5am. The sun would be rising soon, and he had heard nothing. Had Stevens perhaps not come tonight? That seemed unlikely. He had been told that the man liked to get things done quickly, often to the point of recklessness. Would he be stupid enough to come during the day? Again, unlikely. The man moved in the dark and the shadows.
Perhaps, Hector thought, he had grown smarter in recent years. Perhaps he had decided to extract himself from this situation and disappear into the night, heading to another city with another name in another doomed attempt to put his past behind him.
No. He had to know that wouldn’t work.
Hector’s cigar had burned down to a stub now. Perhaps the time had come to check on his guards. If Stevens hadn’t taken the bait, then the plan would have to be altered. Not ideal, but doable. One always had to be flexible with one’s ideas. After all, people scarcely did what you expected of them.
Grinding out his cigar in an ashtray on the small table beside his chair, Hector heaved himself forward, pulling his considerable bulk up out of the chair, ready to head down and get a report. He turned to make for the door.
He was stopped in his tracks by the man standing in front of him.
Some part of Sam that existed outside the job he had to do relished the look on O’Neil’s flabby, moustached face. The Chief, he realised, thought himself clever. Thought that Sam would take the bait of the conveniently unwatched backdoor. Assuming that was a lie might have been a risk, but Sam was unafraid of risks. And now here he was, alive, gun in hand, facing off against the man who had set all of this in motion.
Well, one of them.
‘Hello Chief,’ Sam said. ‘Sorry to interrupt your morning.’
O’Neil had gone pale. ‘My guards?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Four dead. Not how I wanted it to go, but I didn’t have much choice. The ones you put at the back door are probably still there, waiting for me to come bursting in.’
O’Neil’s hand moved towards one of the pockets in his bathrobe, but Sam levelled the silenced pistol at his head.
‘I’m a cop,’ O’Neil spluttered. ‘You can’t kill me.’
‘You’re a criminal,’ Sam said. ‘People might be sore at first, but the truth is a pretty potent salve.’
‘You kill me, there’s no going back,’ O’Neil said. ‘You understand that, right? You’ll be hunted forever. No more peace.’
Sam smiled. ‘I don’t think peace is in my future Hector. I don’t think peace comes with the choices you and I have made.’
O’Neil closed his eyes. ‘What do you want?’
‘The truth. About Kayden Armstrong, Jane Nelson; all of it.’
O’Neil opened his eyes with a laugh. ‘You think the truth will save you?’
‘Won’t know until you tell me, will I?’
‘The truth is that you’re a liability,’ O’Neil said. ‘There are moves being made, moves that you could get in the way of. You’re too dangerous to too many people. A quick frame job, you’re out of the picture. Armstrong was supposed to kill you and claim it was in self-defense, after getting Kent’s meddling girlfriend out of the way.’
‘I was out,’ Sam said. ‘I had nothing to do with whatever moves you’re referring to.’
O’Neil shook his head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. You have more to do with this than you know. Alive, you’ll get dragged into the orbit no matter what, and we can’t have that. Not after last time.’
‘Except you screwed up,’ Sam said. ‘I’m alive.’
‘For now,’ O’Neil replied. ‘One way or another, you’ll be with darling Sally before too long.’
‘At least I’ll have someone to be with,’ Sam said, and pulled the trigger.
It didn’t take him long to find what he needed. Files on O’Neil’s computer, emails that he would not want seen, cash in the drawers, several firearms in his closet with serial numbers filed off. Sam ensured the right doors were left open, the right things were obvious. When the police arrived to investigate their fallen Chief, they would soon realise exactly who they were mourning. Maybe that would take the pressure off Sam. Maybe.
Under the last vestiges of the night, he snuck back the way he came, past the bodies of the guards and back over the fence. It was only then that he called the police from O’Neil’s phone, before dropping it in a nearby bush and continuing on his way to his car. He arrived just as the sun began to creep over the distant horizon and the sounds of sirens rang from the direction of the city.
He allowed himself only a moment to sit and think. O’Neil was dead, his crimes exposed, but there was more going on here. The Chief, for all his corruption, was only part of the puzzle, a momentary victory, if that. Exposing the truth about him and Armstrong might make the police less dogged in their pursuit of him, but it wouldn’t end it entirely. And besides, the police were the least of his troubles if O’Neil had been suggesting what he suspected he was suggesting.
He started the car and was just pressing down on the accelerator when his phone rang. Not his phone; Kevin Jackson’s phone, a burner he kept just in case. A number nobody should have.
He stared at it, then reached out and answered.
‘Hello?’
For a moment there was silence on the other end. Then–
‘We are coming for you.’
The line went dead.
Sam ignored his rising heart rate and the flutter of fear in his chest. Neither were any good to him. Instead, he hit the accelerator and shot off up the road as the sun turned the dark streets bright and heralded the start of a new day. We are coming for you.
City By Night: A Sam Stevens Mystery Page 3