Run Rabbit Run

by Kate Johnson

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Jack said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know bulls don’t like red?’

  ‘Actually, that’s a myth. It’s the flapping of the cape that angers them.’

  ‘Whilst cars running towards them make them so calm, right?’

  Canolti was revving hard, facing off, like a knight on a tilting field. Revving too hard – he was splattering mud all over. He’d get stuck. I’d seen it happen with my parents’ car in the mud at the end of their drive. This is why my car is so useful. I’m always pulling them out of the –

  ‘He doesn’t like that,’ Jack said, and I could see the bull pawing the ground like in a bull ring.

  ‘He really doesn’t like that,’ I said, watching white clouds of air snort from his flared nostrils.

  Canolti released the brake. The bull charged.

  ‘I can’t look,’ I said, but my eyes refused to close, and I watched as the bull charged the car, which was horribly close to the sloping bank of the river. Canolti swerved away from the bull. Towards the water.

  The bull hit the car, head down, with huge force, and the car was rammed sideways, much like some of the cars I’d hit earlier in the chase. Only none of them were on mud, nor so close to a river. The taxi hit a rock and started tumbling, twirling over, and the bull, still running, lost his footing.

  ‘Oh no,’ I gasped, and Jack flicked his eyes at me. ‘The bull. He’s going to go in –’

  I put my hand on the door, and Jack yanked my arm back. ‘Are you nuts? You can’t catch a bloody bull. It’d kill you. Even if Canolti doesn’t.’

  Canolti’s car slapped into another rock and flipped up in the air. It flew a few feet, rolling gracefully through the darkness, lights twirling prettily, and then it hit the water with a splash.

  The bull followed.

  ‘No,’ I said, and got out of the car before Jack could stop me. I raced over the mud to the riverbank, Jack yelling behind me, and skidded to a halt on the rocks. I could see a dark shape that was probably the bull, bobbing away downstream. Maybe it was still alive. Probably it wouldn’t be for long.

  Of the car there was already no sign. The lights had gone out, there was no more disturbance on the foamy surface of the river than there had been before.

  Jack ran up behind me. ‘I think he’s gone.’

  ‘I think he is, too.’

  ‘We need to get out of here.’

  I looked up at him. ‘Yeah. We do.’

  The first electrical store the taxi driver took him to didn’t sell phone chargers. The second one did, but didn’t have the one he needed. The third was in darkness.

  ‘It’s pretty late, buddy,’ said the driver.

  ‘I don’t care. I have to get this phone charged.’

  ‘Can’t you use a payphone?’

  ‘Could if I knew the number, which I don’t because she keeps changing it, and it’s stuck on this stupid bloody goddamned phone.’ A sensible government officer would have memorised such an important number, but what with the bullet wound in his shoulder, what felt like half-a-dozen broken bones, and the fact that his girlfriend was probably about to die, he wasn’t feeling very sensible right now.

  ‘Maybe you should back it up. My wife has this thing she uses to sync hers with the computer –’

  Luke actually snarled at him.

  ‘Or we could try Wal-Mart,’ said the driver, and pulled away a little too fast.

  We crossed the river and drove the few miles to the little B&B Jack had been staying in before. Where I’d got drunk and he’d got naked and I’d stopped trusting him.

  Did I trust him now?

  I truly didn’t know.

  He unlocked the door and I followed him in, blinking in the sudden light as he flicked on a lamp by the bed. He chucked the car keys on the Shaker table, kicked off his shoes and ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘You okay?’

  I shrugged. ‘Yeah, I’m … I’m all right.’

  ‘Let me see that arm.’

  He walked over, lifted my arm, and I winced. It was actually really starting to hurt now.

  ‘Can you take this off,’ he said, touching the sleeve of my hoodie, ‘and I’ll go and get some bandages and stuff.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Landlady. Be right back,’ he said, and left the room.

  I peeled off my slightly wrecked top. No; not slightly wrecked, totally. The sleeve was ripped where the bullet had sliced through, and there was blood all over. I took it into the little bathroom and started trying to rinse it in water, but I wasn’t getting very far. I squeezed it out and hung it over the shower rail. Probably beyond help, but right now the only warm clothing I had.

  I looked at the gash on my arm. It wasn’t very neat: the skin was torn and my whole arm ached, like when I had a measles jab and the stuff went into a muscle and sort of paralysed it and I couldn’t use my arm for a week.

  I dabbed at the blood with some toilet roll and went back into the bedroom. It was bright and cosy in here, with pine furniture and a bright quilt and watercolours of Maine scenes on the walls. A far cry from my dull hotel room.

  I took out the tape recorder from my pocket and rewound it a bit. ‘We need to get out of here,’ Jack’s voice said, and mine added, ‘Yeah. We do.’

  Well, at least it had worked in a technical sense. Canolti hadn’t told me anything useful. In fact, he’d been the opposite of useful: shooting me and then buggering off and drowning before I could figure out what the hell he had to do with any of this.

  Wearily, I got my phone out and tried to call Luke again. No signal. Fabulous.

  Jack came in just as I was checking my gun and clicking the safety back on.

  ‘Still gonna shoot me?’

  ‘Maybe later,’ I said, as he took my good arm and pulled me to my feet, led me into the bathroom and sat me down on the edge of the bath.

  ‘Think that’s ruined,’ he said, nodding at my bloody, wet hoodie.

  ‘You think?’

  He wetted a towel and started dabbing at the blood that was starting to dry on my arm. He was silent – everything was silent. I heard my own breathing and asked, ‘What did she say?’

  He didn’t look up. ‘Who?’

  ‘Your landlady. Didn’t she ask why you wanted the bandages and disinfectant and stuff?’

  ‘I told her I tripped and cut my arm while I was out hiking,’ he said, with a slight smile.

  ‘She didn’t want to see?’

  ‘Thankfully, no.’

  He finished cleaning the blood away, chucked the towel on the floor, and dabbed disinfectant on the wound. I flinched at the sting, but made myself watch. The layers of white skin, pink muscle, red blood. The world’s most obscene layer cake.

  ‘She told me to get a tetanus shot,’ Jack said.

  ‘Had one last year,’ I replied. He nodded and started opening packets of sticking plasters.

  ‘Uh, I think it’s a little bit worse than that,’ I said, but Jack gave me a look and started taping the plasters over the cut to hold it shut.

  ‘Clever,’ I conceded.

  ‘You must be an old hand at this sort of thing,’ Jack said, and touched the criss-crossed lines on my chest, visible above the scoop neck of my scruffy A&F tank top.

  ‘I didn’t actually fix them up. There was a doctor, and drugs.’

  ‘Always helpful.’

  ‘The doctor, or the drugs?’

  ‘Depends on the situation.’

  He was quiet a while longer, taping some gauze over the cut and starting to wind a bandage around it. He kept his eyes on his work, not looking up at me.

  I reached out with my free hand and touched the big purplish bruise that spread around his right eye and across his nose.

  ‘Did I do that?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You are freakishly strong for a girl.’

  I g
ave him a little smile. Luke said the same quite often. ‘So I’m told.’

  Jack finished tying the bandage and stood up to clear away the debris he’d left. I went back into the bedroom, rubbed my arms because I was cold, and then winced, because my right arm bloody hurt.

  ‘Don’t suppose you got any painkillers?’ I asked.

  ‘She was fresh out.’

  I searched his MP3 player, hit play, and the wonderfully familiar, gloriously comforting opening chords of Fall At Your Feet came on.

  Jack emerged from the bathroom, drying his hands.

  ‘You’ve got Crowded House!’ I exclaimed. He shrugged. ‘I’ve got lots of stuff, so what?’

  ‘They’re the greatest band in the history of the world!’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I maybe have lost some blood,’ I conceded.

  He nodded. ‘You should take it easy. You want a drink?’

  ‘Nooo.’

  A small smile. ‘I meant like water or Coke?’

  ‘Oh. Water. Please.’

  I sat down on the bed and listened to Neil Finn and the boys play my favourite song in the whole world. Luke’s a fan, too. He saw them live before they broke up, and still has the tour t-shirt.

  Jack brought me a glass of water and I sipped at it politely while I tried to figure out what I should be doing. Probably, going back to my hotel after the spectacle I’d made would not be a good idea. But all my stuff was there. I mean, I had the essentials: gun, passport (much good it’d do me, thank you very much, Harvey), money, bullets – but some clean clothes would be nice.

  Jack stood leaning against the door. Smart guy: he knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘Sophie,’ he said, and I looked up. God, that eye did look painful. I get strong when I’m drunk. It’s like spinach for Popeye. Only I tend to fall over more often. ‘When I first started out bounty hunting they sent me after this guy who ran a gay club. I forget what offence it was – something to do with drugs. I had to go undercover to get to him. He took a shine to me. He thought the handcuffs were for play.’

  I blinked at him. What the hell was he going on about?

  ‘Amie was a girl I met in Paris. She was a model and a student and she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever, ever seen. And she broke my heart.’

  Hold on a sec.

  ‘Once I shot a guy but he survived. I was fucking terrified I’d killed him.’

  ‘You never killed anyone?’

  ‘No. Not one. Unless you count Canolti.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  Shirt, sweater, jeans …

  ‘Do you think I’m guilty?’

  He blew out a sigh, and shook back his hair from his face.

  ‘After that car ride, I’m starting to think there’s nothing you’re not capable of.’

  I checked I had my gun close.

  ‘But I don’t think you killed Chesshyre.’

  I closed my eyes.

  ‘Or Sanchez. Or David-John and his sister. Or that security man. You’re one of the good guys.’

  ‘Damn right I am.’ I opened my eyes. ‘And you? Are you one of the good guys?’

  Jack walked the few steps to the bed and knelt down in front of me. ‘Right now I’m as good as you are,’ he said.

  I wasn’t holding out much hope, then.

  ‘I –’ I began, and then I jumped a mile when something banged on the door. Jack’s eyes met mine, he pressed his finger to his lips, and from under the drape of his shirt took a pistol with a silencer attached. He held it behind his back as he opened the door.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, too shocked to scream.

  Canolti stood there, white and dripping, stark, dark blood on his face. He raised a hand with a big knife –

  – and then there was a muffled phut, and Canolti fell backwards into the darkness as Jack stood with his gun still raised.

  ‘Be right back,’ Jack said, and walked out of the room, shutting the door.

  I sat there, frozen, and grabbed my gun for comfort. I stopped the music and listened, terrified, for any more noise. Goddammit. I know Canolti was an evil bastard who’d tried to kill us, but we really could have used some answers from him.

  But when, several long minutes later, the door opened again, I had my gun aimed right at it. I guess I’d have shot Canolti, too.

  ‘Don’t shoot me,’ Jack said, ‘I’m in a bad enough state as it is.’

  He shut the door and locked it, drew the curtains over the windows, picked up the Jack Daniels bottle and drank straight from it. Beneath his tan his skin was bloodless. He gripped the bottle so hard his knuckles were white. I thought he’d break it. He shook a little with each breath, his teeth rattling against the glass as he gulped neat bourbon.

  He looked at me.

  ‘You ever watch Butch Cassidy –’

  ‘& the Sundance Kid,’ I finished. I knew what was coming. ‘When Butch shoots that Bolivian guy on the mountainside?’

  The bottle rattled against the table as he set it down, his hand blurring a little.

  ‘They really do fall in slow motion,’ he said.

  ‘What did you –’

  ‘In the river,’ Jack said.

  ‘Again.’

  ‘Dead this time.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Bullet in the head.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He was still standing. His eyes were rooted on a patch of wall somewhere to my right. Out of nowhere, I heard Luke’s voice in my head. I just don’t think you can do it alone.

  ‘Jack –’

  He turned to me and grabbed me. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Sophie …’

  I stroked his hair. ‘It’s okay. He’s a certified bad guy. Even the courts agreed on that.’

  Jack had his eyes squeezed shut. I was frightened for him.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said again, uselessly, and kissed his forehead for reassurance. But Jack touched my face, eyes opening, kissed my mouth and held me tight with hands that trembled.

  And I kissed him back.

  Jack’s skin was cold, icy where I touched it. I shoved away his shirt, trying to warm him. Touched too much of his skin. I trembled too, and felt tears start, and kissed him to make them stop. Everything else was falling apart, the world was getting smaller and colder and darker – I’d lost Luke, I’d lost my freedom, I’d nearly lost my life. I didn’t know how much longer we had.

  It could all end tomorrow, and the only thing I had left in the world was this man, solid in my arms, needing me, wanting me. And I was tired. Of being alone, of needing someone to hold me and tell me it was all right, someone to be with me.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I told him, kissing him again and again. ‘It’s okay. Jack, it’s okay.’

  But it was not okay. I didn’t stop at just kissing Jack. Not this time. I took off his clothes and crawled under the duvet and made love to him, and in the end of course it wasn’t about him at all. It was about me, weak, lusty me, evil, hurtful me, stupid, selfish me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The hotel had a bar. And the bar had a plug point. Luke plugged in, switched on, and swore repeatedly at the phone until it found a signal.

  The barman, who looked as if he was going to ask Luke not to plug his phone in, quickly turned and went back to the counter.

  The phone beeped at him. He dialled again. More beeping.

  ‘Just bloody connect,’ he begged it.

  More bleeping.

  He swore inventively, then forced his brain to do what it should have done days ago and memorise the number, and lurched over to the bar.

  The look the barman gave him was one of pure terror. Luke didn’t think he was scowling that fearsomely, but then on the other hand he did resemble the walking dead right now.

  ‘Do you have a payphone?’ he asked, and the guy pointed down a corridor. ‘Change for ten dollars?’

  He was handed a pile of quarters with far greater speed than was possible for accu
rate counting.

  He dialled her number on the payphone. Waited. Heard a series of beeps.

  Oh God, she’s going to die. Alexa Martin will find her and kill her and I’ll be sitting here being useless because her damn bloody phone is switched off.

  He stumbled back to his seat and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, which wasn’t a wise thing to do since less than forty-eight hours ago some bastard had punched him there, hard. But it was better than crying in public. Probably.

  ‘Excuse me, sir?’

  He looked up. A young waitress with a tight body was standing there holding a tray, on which was a bottle of Jack Daniels and a couple of glasses. She set them down on the table.

  ‘I didn’t order anything.’

  ‘It’s a gift, sir. From the guy over there.’ She pointed to the far side of the bar. Luke’s head and neck and back and everything hurt too much to turn. He was too tired. Sophie was going to die. He couldn’t do anything.

  Who the hell was sending him bottles of Jack? Who knew he was here? Well, Harrington, probably, or whichever goon he’d sent after Luke now.

  He wasn’t sure he could take any more of this.

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘He’s really cute,’ the waitress said, smiling, then blushed and cleared her throat, hugging her tray against her body. ‘Maybe six-one or two, brown hair, nice eyes, great smile. He’s in really good shape.’ She leaned closer. ‘I think you should go for it.’

  ‘What?’ said Luke.

  ‘He’s smiling. He’s totally into you.’ She straightened up and winked at him.

  ‘Oh, fantastic.’ Now he had some guy coming onto him. He turned to tell this new suitor he was barking up the wrong tree, and those nice eyes and great smile beamed back at him from five feet away.

  Luke groaned and poured out a shot. ‘Well, fuck.’

  ‘Thanks, but you’re really not my type.’ Harvey poured bourbon into his one of the glasses. ‘Despite what she thinks.’

  ‘I mean, do I look gay?’

  ‘You look like shit,’ Harvey said bluntly. He slid into the booth opposite Luke.

  ‘I’m hearing that once a day now.’