by B. B. Hamel
His eyes sparkle and he kisses me gently. “I know I’m right. Now come on, love. We’ll take care of Marcus and then we’re done, we’ll be free. We can do anything we want.”
“Anything,” I repeat.
“That’s right. How far do you want to go?”
“As far as we can.”
He smiles and stands. He holds his hand out for me.
I take it and follow him out to the truck.
I stretch my legs and sigh. I feel cramped and antsy and bored.
We’ve been sitting outside of the Motor Court all day long. Dawson hasn’t seen Marcus once, not a single sighting of him, even though he allegedly knows which room the man is staying in.
“Why don’t we just go in?” I ask him.
“And do what, shoot him in the middle of the day?”
I shrug. “You have a silencer.”
“It’s not completely silent. Besides, what do we do with the body? And all the witnesses?”
I bite my lip. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“You’re not a killer, Celine. Not yet, anyway.”
I look away from him, out the window. “You’re right. Most of this isn’t exciting.”
“That’s how life is. Mostly it’s boring, but every once in a while…” He makes a gun with his fingers. “Bang, bang.”
I smile at him and shake my head. “You’re so wise.”
He shrugs. “I know.”
I lean back. “Look, I’m starving and I need to use the bathroom. Can I grab something?”
He nods. “There’s a McDonald’s over there.”
I make a face. “Anything else?”
He looks at me. “There’s a public restroom and the food comes fast. We can eat better when we aren’t trying to kill someone, okay?”
“Fine, fine.” I get out of the truck. “Be back soon.”
“I know.” He doesn’t look at me as I leave.
I walk into the McDonald’s and use the restroom first. I stare at my feet, wondering how I got so casual about killing a man. I finish up and rinse off my hands when the door suddenly bursts open.
For a second, I think it’s him. The kid is lanky, with pimples on his face and wide, hard eyes. His hair is greasy and he’s wearing a Ramones t-shirt. His jeans are ripped and there’s a skateboard tucked under one arm.
But no, this can’t be Marcus. This can’t be the killer Dawson is so scared of.
The kid stares at me. “Celine?” he asks. “Uh, are you Celine?” His voice quavers. He’s clearly nervous.
“Yes? You know this is the women’s room, right?”
He thrusts his free hand out at me. He’s holding a white piece of paper, folded in half.
I take it. He turns and leaves at a run without another word.
“Hey!” I say and follow him out. I run, trying to keep up. He gets outside and hops on his skateboard, pushing hard.
I lose him pretty fast as he swerves down the sidewalk.
“Shit,” I say, panting. “Should’ve worked out more.”
I sigh and straighten before unfolding the paper.
There’s one word, written in black sharpie, right across the middle. I stare at it, eyes wide.
My heart skips a beat then starts hammering to compensate. I run again, this time back toward the truck, back to Dawson.
I’m so fucking scared. I don’t know why, but I keep picturing Dawson in that truck, dead and bleeding.
But I let out a sigh of relief when he turns to me as I approach.
“No food?” he grumbles.
I jump into the seat next to him and shove the note in his hand.
He takes it, reads it, and looks back at me.
“‘Gotcha,’” he says flatly. “What is this?”
“Some kid gave it to me while I was in the bathroom. He followed me into the women’s room and asked if my name was Celine.”
He stares at me without speaking for a moment. “Tell me everything. Every little detail. From the top.”
So I tell him everything, from entering the bathroom, up until I opened the paper after chasing the kid.
Dawson curses. “He’s toying with us,” he says. “Fucking hell. He knew we’d spot him. He knew I was watching.”
Anger flares him in, hot and intense. He slams his hands onto the steering wheel.
“Fuck,” he says.
We sit in silence for a moment. I watch as he gathers himself, getting himself back together.
He’s dead silent. He doesn’t say a word for a full minute. I can see him get progressively calmer, like he’s meditating or something. Part of me wants to bug him, wants to ask him what we’re going to do, but I keep silent.
He’s thinking. I can see it, his mind whirling, the gears turning. He’s coming up with a new plan.
Slowly he looks up at me. I can see something in his expression. It’s half anger, half fear. I suddenly don’t want him to speak.
“Let’s just leave,” I say before he can open his mouth.
His expression turns pained, like I hit him exactly where it hurts.
“We can’t,” he final says. “I’m sorry, little love. We can’t leave without finishing this.”
“Why not? He’s just one man. And you said he’s running a big organization. He can’t chase us forever. We can disappear.”
“I thought I did disappear,” he says gently. “But apparently not. He found me once and he’ll do it again.”
I want to beg him. I want to plead. We don’t have the upper hand anymore. In fact, we’re one step behind Marcus. Everything just got more dangerous.
Instead, I say, “What do we do then?”
He nods once, like he’s accepting his decision, like he wasn’t sure before, but now he is.
“We go into the room and see what we can find.”
His words hang for a second while I gape at him. “Seriously?” I ask finally. “Isn’t that a bad idea?”
“Probably.”
“It’s a trap. I mean, it has to be.”
“Most likely.”
“So why go in?”
“Because we have no other leads. We’re at a loss, Celine. It’s time to get desperate.”
I take a breath and let it out. “Okay then. Let’s do it.”
He nods. “You should stay.”
“Not likely.”
He laughs. “Thought as much.” He looks at me, leans across the truck, and kisses me.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go.”
13
Dawson
We walk toward the Motor Court and for the first time in my life, I think I might die.
I don’t tell Celine that. I don’t want her to be scared.
But she’s right about this. His room is absolutely a fucking trap. I know it’s a bad idea to go in there, but at this point, I’m desperate.
Maybe there’s some tiny chance that he didn’t think we’d be this stupid. Maybe he left something in there, a clue, anything that can help us.
Otherwise, we’re just running blind, hoping he doesn’t hunt us down. I can’t live scared like that. I need to be on the offensive.
I walk straight ahead, eyes up, fear pushed down. Celine is right behind me, wearing a large navy blue sweater and tight jeans. I want to reach back and take her hand, but I hold off.
We walk up the steps and head toward the room I saw Marcus leave yesterday. I stop outside the room and press my ear against the door, listening.
I see Celine wince as I do it, but I’m not afraid. Not even Marcus would kill me right here in the middle of this place.
I move back and slip a lockpick set from my pocket. Fortunately, the Motor Court hasn’t updated their security in ages.
Celine leans against the door while I work. It’s not an instant thing, picking a lock. It takes a little skill, a lot of touch, and some luck.
After about two minutes, I finally get the tumblers shoved up. Celine lets out a breath as I turn the knob and grin at her.
&nb
sp; “Easy,” I say.
“I thought we were gonna get caught,” she whispers.
“Stay close.” I slip the picks away and put my hand on the gun tucked into the back of my jeans. With a deep breath, I push the door open, and we’re inside.
The room is dim. All the curtains are pulled. I stay still, letting my eyes adjust. Nothing happens.
Celine is close next to me. I can practically feel her breath on my neck.
“Empty,” she says.
“Careful.” I step forward and pull the gun out. “Stay there.”
She hesitates but nods, sticking close to the door. I move deeper into the room.
There isn’t much. The bed is a double, the comforter thrown back. The sheets look slept in.
I open the drawers. They’re all empty, every one of them empty. I clench my jaw and look under the bed.
Nothing.
I look back at Celine and she frowns. I motion for her to stay put as I move deeper into the room. There’s a bathroom in the back and a closet on the right. I start with the closet, pulling it open in one smooth motion, gun held out.
Just a bathrobe, ratty and stained, hanging in the middle.
I shut the door. I move to the bathroom last and grab the handle. My heart’s beating so fast as I open the door.
I fling it open, gun up, moving in low. I scan the room, eyes darting around. I take in the mirror, the sink, the toilet, the shower.
Empty.
I let out a breath.
“Shit,” I say softly. I move further into the room and make sure that the shower isn’t hiding a body, but there’s nothing.
It’s not a trap after all, but it also doesn’t help us. If Marcus was here, he didn’t leave any clues behind. There’s not so much as a scrap of paper, no receipts, nothing.
I’m about to leave when I hear something. It’s a buzzing, and it’s coming from underneath the sink.
I kneel down and open the little door. Inside, there’s some extra toilet paper, a paper bag in the very back, and a fire extinguisher, probably years old.
The buzzing happens again. I reach up along the bottom of the sink and that’s when I find it.
There’s a cellphone taped to the wood.
I grab it and pull it free. The phone buzzes again and I realize that it’s getting texts.
I open it up and read them.
There are ten in total.
Each one says Boom.
I sit there for half a second before I look at the brown paper bag.
I’m up and running an instant later. I clutch the phone in my hand.
“Run!” I scream at Celine. “Go! Run!”
She turns, eyes wide, and darts out the front door.
I sprint as fast as I can and reach the entrance just as it goes off.
The explosion rips into my back. I fling the door shut behind me, but that barely stops it. I dive to the right and am blasted in the chest with debris and flames. It’s like getting hit by a truck. It knocks me back against the railing and I go rolling down the walkway.
I try to take a breath. Everything is dark and ringing. I can’t move.
That’s when I hear the screams.
I don’t know how long I’m down for. I manage to stay conscious, but I’m stunned, unable to move. Eventually, things start to come back into focus.
I feel my body with my hands. I’m in one piece, although I’m bleeding from a bunch of little cuts. I’m guessing it’s from the debris that went everywhere.
The bomb couldn’t have been very big. Otherwise, we’d all be dead.
But a fucking bomb at all?
Never in a million years would I guess that Marcus would have the balls to blow up a fucking motel room.
“Celine,” I groan and manage to get up to my knees. “Celine!” I say louder over the voices.
People are everywhere now. An older man in a blue jacket kneels next to me. “Don’t move,” he says. “Are you okay?”
I push him away. I need to get out of here before the cops show up.
“Celine!” I yell. I manage to get to my feet and stumble back toward the room.
It’s a mess. The door and the front wall are blown out. Not entirely wrecked, but close enough. Inside, the space is mostly rubble. The right wall is down, and I can see into the room next door.
I look away and stumble on. There aren’t any bodies, not that I can see, at least. “Celine!”
“Here!”
I let out a groan, half from relief, half from pain. I manage to stumble over to her. She throws my arm around her shoulders.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“I’m okay. I got away.” She blinks at me. “My ears are ringing.”
I cough a laugh. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
We stumble away from the room. She takes most of my weight, which is no small task, but she doesn’t complain. We get down the steps and leave the Court. Nobody pays much attention to us, since everyone’s too busy watching the spectacle around the bomb.
We get into the truck and I groan.
“A bomb,” I manage to say finally.
“I know. Are you okay?”
I grin at her, wince, and grin again. “I’m amazing.”
She shakes her head. “Seriously, Dawson—”
I hold up the phone, a huge grin on my face.
She blinks then laughs.
“Really?” she asks.
“Really.”
“All that for a phone.”
“It’s something.”
She sighs and kisses me. I kiss her back, and although I hurt in a million places, the kiss feels so fucking good
“Move over,” she says, pushing me into the passenger side. She gets behind the wheel. “I’m driving.”
“Where?” I ask.
“Somewhere safe until we figure out what to do.”
“Okay then,” I say, grinning like a fool. I think that blast knocked something loose inside my head. “Drive on, love.”
She smiles at me, starts the engine, and we pull out into traffic. I cradle the phone in my hand and look out the window with a smile on my face.
14
Celine
My ears are ringing and Dawson looks like a bomb just went off.
Well, probably because it did.
“Are you okay?” I ask him as I pull the truck over on the side of the road.
He grins at me. He keeps smiling this whole time, like we didn’t just survive a freaking assassination.
“I’m fine,” he says.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“I’m fine,” he says louder.
I nod a little. “You don’t look fine.”
He shrugs. “I’ve got cuts. I’ve got bruises. But god damn, I’m alive.”
I laugh a little at that. The ringing in my ears is starting to fade, at least a little bit.
“What do we do now?” I ask him once we start laughing.
He takes a deep breath and looks at the phone in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says. “But this is the key.”
I look at it. “You grabbed that before the bomb went off?”
“Yeah. He had it in the bathrooms, waiting for me. I think it was there just to distract me long enough for the package to explode.”
“Jesus,” I say softly. “But it didn’t work.”
“Almost did.” He bites his lip. “If I hadn’t noticed it and wondered what the hell it was… or if he had texted something else… I don’t know. I’d probably still be in that room, at least in pieces.”
I stare at him and I don’t know how he’s being so calm about all this. I mean, we seriously just survived a freaking bombing.
And there were other people in that motel. The one wall was totally caved in and I swear I heard someone inside screaming. I can’t be sure, since everything’s a blur now and I couldn’t hear well at the time, but other people got caught in that mess.
This isn’t what I expected. I thought maybe some guns
hots, maybe some fighting, but not a bomb. I didn’t think innocent people would get hurt.
“Celine,” he says, staring at me. “Celine, look at me.”
I meet his gaze. Cold and intense. A chill runs down my spine.
“Listen to me, Celine,” he says softly. “There’s nothing you could’ve done. I never thought he would resort to a fucking bomb, but…”
“There were other people,” I say.
He nods. “I know.”
“They got hurt.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Dawson, we have to stop him.” I feel it in my chest, like a cold, iron vise wrapped around my heart. It’s certainty, fear and terror, too, but certainty.
We have to do this. It’s the right thing.
“We will,” he says, and looks at the phone in his hand. “Let’s drive a little more first.”
I sigh and put the truck into drive again. I pull out into the road and for the next couple hours, he has me driving around at random, taking fast turns, running lights, basically doing whatever we can to make sure nobody is following.
When we’re done, we pull into an empty parking lot outside of an old bank. I’m guessing it’s been closed for a while.
Dawson stretches. He looks better than he did right after the blast. He’s not bleeding anymore and he changed into clean clothes while I drove. He’s sitting in the back, his legs out, leaning back in his seat.
“Come here, little Celine,” he says gently.
I look over my shoulder at him. “You come here.”
He grins. “Come back here, love.”
I get out and get in the back seat. He moves closer to me, hand on my thigh.
“Do you know how lucky we are to be alive?” he murmurs in my ear.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Very lucky. Surviving an attack by Marcus himself... hell, doing it twice… that’s a miracle.”
“Maybe we just work well together.”
“Oh, that’s certainly true.” He takes my chin and looks at me. “You want to survive this, right? You want to take Marcus out?”
“Yes,” I say softly. “He’s dangerous.”
Dawson nods. “He’s very dangerous. And you’ll do anything I ask of you?”
“Yes,” I say, nearly a whisper. I’m so afraid but I know I’ll do it, I’ll do anything he wants me to do.