The Running Game (Reachers Book 1)

by L E Fitzpatrick

  She turned her head to the station entrance and that's when she saw him hobbling around the platform. He balanced on the crutch and scanned the crowd just like the cops had done. His bloodshot eyes looked panicked, maybe even desperate. She knew he was looking for her, she just wasn't sure why.

  Then he spotted her, seeing through her powers, seeing just her, alone. The connection was instantaneous, it was like staring at a long lost twin. And it had been so long since she had felt anything more than emptiness.

  He made his way over. He looked tired, but relieved to see her.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Why not,” she replied and shifted so he could sit down. “It was David, wasn't it?”

  “Yeah, but you can call me Charlie,” he told her.

  “I see. So that's your real name.”

  “Well it's the name most people know me by,” he said with a shrug.

  Rachel stared at the empty exit. “So what are you doing here, Charlie? Making sure I get out safe and sound?”

  Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. In the distance they could hear the rumbling train hurtling their way. The platform shuffled into life.

  “Actually I came to stop you.”

  Rachel scowled. “To stop me?”

  “There's a rule amongst Reachers. It's kind of unwritten and I think I might be the only one who still abides by it, but we look after our own kind.”

  “Well, you have done your duty, you warned me to get out of the city so here I go. Bye-bye.”

  He took a deep breath which made her nervous. In the hospital he had been confident and insistent, the lack of certainty he was showing her now did little to put her at ease.

  “It's not going to be safe for you outside of the city either,” he confessed.

  The train rolled into the station with an air of impatience. A muffled voice echoed through the speakers, but it was too distorted for Rachel to make out. She grabbed her bag and turned to Charlie.

  “You have thirty seconds to tell me what the hell is going on or I get on that train and leave this shit-hole behind me.”

  “What do you know about Pinky Morris?”

  She stared at him blankly. “Absolutely nothing. Pinky what?”

  Charlie paused, surprised. “You don't know him at all?”

  “Do you think I'd forget a name like Pinky Morris? Who is he?”

  “He's an unpleasant gangster, one you don't want to get on the wrong side of. He hired me to find you.”

  Her scowl deepened.

  “I didn't know what you were until it was too late. When I realised in the hospital I panicked. I figured if you left the city you could escape, but he has your picture and your name. It won't take long for him to find you again.”

  There was genuine fear in his eyes. He was scared for her, even more than she was for herself. The passengers around her were making their temporary escape. The survivalist in her wanted to join them, but this man was a Reacher and she hadn't been with her own kind for so long.

  “So what would you have me do?”

  “I know someone who can help you. There are safe places you can hide. I can help you get there.”

  “And why would you help me?”

  “It's the least I can do, considering. And because we're the same.”

  The last call for the train bounded across the station. Apart from the police they were alone on the platform. Her father had warned her that times would come when she'd have no time to think. She closed her eyes and felt the neglected power within her.

  “Kiss me,” she finally said.

  “Excuse me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don't get yourself excited, old man. Before you knew we had something in common you were ready to sell me out to an unpleasant gangster I don't want to get on the wrong side of. You've given me two fake names and you're an addict. I may be desperate but I am not stupid. Now kiss me and keep your thoughts open or I am getting on that train and your conscience can mourn my passing.”

  His mouth dropped open. She leaned forward anyway, sealing her lips around his. The physical intimacy shattered immediately as his memories flooded her mind. He was intent on saving her; she got that in the instant their mouths met. Not just saving her, he wanted to put things right. It meant so much to him, more than it should, but that was because of something else. She saw a woman, her face flickering from life to death. Her clothes changed as her belly swelled and then she blossomed in circles of blood. At her side was her miniature, a little girl with blond ringlets and rosy cheeks. Only waves of shadow kept stealing her. Rachel felt a pang in her heart as Charlie's loss struck her. She could take more of his mind and unravel him as a man, but this was more than she ever wanted to see. She pulled away and stared into his sad eyes.

  The connection between them was strengthening. Reachers were drawn together, that's what made them so easy to hunt. The pull towards Charlie was already overpowering her common sense.

  “Okay, if I go with you I'm going to lay down a few ground rules,” she said, keen to establish some control.

  His smirk started to overcome the general awkwardness of the kiss. “Rules?”

  “You don't lie to me about anything, and if I decide to walk you won't stop me.” She held out her hand, challenging Charlie to oppose her.

  “Is that it?”

  “No, I get to add to the rules when I see fit.”

  “Okay, deal.” He took her hand.

  As they shook on it she felt something shift within her, as though deciding to stay in S'aven had rearranged her thoughts and instincts. The need to flee was subsiding, but she was still uneasy sitting on that platform. She was in danger, serious danger, and she was putting her trust in a man with more issues than the Voice daily newspaper.

  He was broken and tormented, not to mention an addict. Even though she had seen that he wanted to help her, she still couldn't totally trust him to make the right decision. He wanted to save her because he couldn't save his wife and child–what would happen if he failed her too? She sucked on her lower lip, thinking about what she had seen when they kissed. For now he was all she had and she was too much of a pragmatist to ignore him. “What happens now?”

  “We figure out what the hell is going on and try to stay alive.”

  She let out an amused laugh–he made it sound so simple. “Good. Excellent plan. You lead the way.”

  11

  Jackie Walters and Mickey Walters, no relation, sat in a white pickup at the entrance to Tower 8. There was rope in the back of the car and both men were armed. This was a new job for Mickey and he was nervous. The gun reminded him of his time in the service, before the disciplinary. He didn't want to mess up his first job, he was young and needed the money, but he also needed something to take his mind off what happened out in the Middle East; what he saw, what he did. Taking his cue off his partner for the night he tried to relax with a few nips of vodka to steady his nerves. Slowly it was working.

  Jackie was an old hand. He'd been doing Pinky Morris' dirty work for so long his hands were black. In the good old days, when Frank Morris was running the show and Jackie's knees were still good, he was considered as dangerous as his boss, but those times were long over. He was well past his prime and, if he was honest, he was waiting for the Morris' to cut him loose.

  “Car?” Mickey guessed.

  “Nope.” Jackie shifted in his seat. He had needed a piss for nearly an hour and his bladder was about to betray him.

  “Clouds?”

  “No.”

  “Hey Jackie, who's Donnie Boom?”

  “Why you asking?”

  “I heard a couple of the lads saying they heard he was back in town. They weren't too happy about it.”

  “Well, they wouldn't be. Donnie Boom set the bomb that killed Frank Morris.”

  “Pinky's brother?”

  Jackie didn't dignify that with an answer.

  “So are we going to take this Boom guy out then?”

  “Jesus Chris
t, who do you think you are, Mafioso? We're not taking anyone out.”

  Mickey gulped. “Did you know him?”

  “Yeah I knew him mad son of a bitch. Worked with him too, though I'd prefer working with a pack of rabid dogs. Still, the guy, crazy as he was, was as loyal to Frank Morris as any lapdog.”

  “So why did he kill him?”

  “The question is why, after setting the bomb, did Donnie Boom run back into the building and blow half his head off? And that is a question the likes of you and me don't try and answer if we know what is good for us.”

  Mickey sighed. He glanced up at the tower. There were a number of lights flickering into life; families settling in for another night in their cramped homes. He watched the nearest window as a man went to his fridge. Mickey clicked his fingers excitedly.

  “Kitchen?”

  “Kitchen begins with a 'K' you dumb bastard. I need to water the flowers, stay here and keep your eyes peeled.”

  “What if she comes back?”

  “Just watch her. Don't move from this spot until I get back.” Jackie opened the door. It was getting colder in the city. The bite to the air painfully struck his cheeks as he wandered away from the towers, towards the small canal running alongside the apartment blocks. A pedestrian bridge crossed the river, illuminated by a weak solar lamp. It gave just enough light for him to find his way and not fall on his ass in a puddle of shitty water.

  * * *

  Charlie knew her file inside out. The seven years of her life in S'aven were mapped out on crisp white pages, clearly labelled in John's precise handwriting. But those pages did nothing to prepare Charlie for her smart mouthed, no-nonsense back-chat. She wasn't scared of him, whether that was because of the kiss, or the crutch–he couldn't decide. But it was clear, from the moment they walked out of the station, she was not going to sit in the back and do what she was told.

  He liked her. Without a doubt she'd cause him no end of headaches, but he was already taken with her. She had a sense of humour which he hadn't expected from someone who had spent most of her life in hiding. She was smart too–a lot smarter than Charlie had been at her age. In the right hands she could go places. But as soon as he started to think those thoughts he scolded himself. People didn't last long in his line of work, and the last thing he needed was another death on his conscience.

  Trinity Station was a half hour walk from Rachel's apartment. He was hoping John was there already. He was hoping by the time he got there he'd have some idea what they were going to do next.

  “So what is it that you actually do? Are you like a private detective?” Rachel asked as they headed towards the canal separating the towers from the industrial wasteland. The darkness hid the swirling, putrid water, but nothing could stop the rotten smell stretching out across the causeway.

  “I source things that are difficult to get.”

  “Not just people then?”

  “Very rarely people. Mostly it's information or secrets.”

  “And they hire you because of your powers?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly they know about my reputation. They know I deliver and that they can trust me. A lot of the work is just knowing where to look. I rarely have to use my powers at all. Which is lucky for me.”

  They reached the footbridge arching over the canal.

  “Why's that?” Rachel stepped up the bridge. She turned to offer Charlie a hand.

  “You've seen me; I'm not exactly in my prime anymore.”

  “The injury affects your powers?”

  Charlie heaved himself up, taking her hand for just a second. “I'm just not what I was,” he said hoping she would take the hint.

  She did. “So do you know why this Mr Pink wants me?”

  “Pinky Morris,” Charlie corrected. “No, I don't. He didn't tell me when I was hired, and I didn't ask.” Which he knew was his biggest mistake. Instead of trying to impress Pinky he should have given himself more time to research the job properly. Once again hindsight was gloating.

  * * *

  Jackie had lost himself in the moment, then he heard talking coming over the bridge above him. Snapping to attention he put his dick away, zipped up his fly and was about to head back to the van. Then he heard a name. It took his mind less than a second to work out who was coming over. Pinky had told him about the brothers he'd hired. He'd mentioned that Jackie should watch out for them, just in case. He was an old hand, an experienced hand, his knees were shot, but his senses were on the money. This was why Pinky had entrusted him with collecting the girl.

  They were getting closer. He held the gun tighter. The girl's feet touched the top step. He began to count. One. Two. He rose.

  * * *

  The man came from nowhere. His shadow was wide and short. In his hand he held a snub pistol and pointed it at Charlie. It was a steady, uncompromising hand.

  “Easy mate,” Charlie said. “Wallet's in my pocket, we don't want any trouble, you can help yourself.”

  “Rachel Aaron?” The gunman said.

  Charlie felt his stomach lurch. With his free hand he clutched the railings of the bridge and slowly tried to edge himself closer to Rachel.

  “You've got the wrong girl,” Charlie started, although he knew it was futile. He'd given Pinky his best pictures of her, there was no way they wouldn't recognise her.

  “Shut up. You're both coming with me. Keep your hands where I can see them or I'll shoot you.”

  Rachel stepped forward before Charlie could stop her. “You won't shoot me,” she said.

  “Rachel, don't,” Charlie warned.

  “You won't shoot me.”

  She reached out calmly. It was like being back in the hospital, only this wasn't a confused, frightened addict she was up against. Before she could touch him his arm was wrapped around her shoulders. He was a big guy and he knew how to keep her pinned. The barrel of the gun pressed into the side of her face before Charlie could stumble down the bridge steps.

  “You're not going to shoot her, Pinky wants her alive.”

  Realising he was right, the gun moved towards Charlie instead. “The boss doesn't have any sentiments towards you, though.”

  Suddenly something sliced through the air. The arms around Rachel wavered and she fell forward, dropping to her knees. Charlie reached for the gun and crawled towards her. He looked up and the darkness around them materialised into a shadow he would recognise anywhere. He stuffed the gun into his belt and helped Rachel to her feet.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, John!” Charlie exclaimed. “Sometimes I think you're not happy on a job unless someone ends up dead!”

  John nudged the body with his foot. “Sorry, I didn't realise you wanted him to shoot you. I'll remember next time.” He shrugged and bent down to inspect the man's pockets.

  “It's you!” Rachel gasped at John, she started backing away.

  It was then that Charlie remembered they had met before. He reached out for her. “It's okay, it's okay. This is John, my brother. He's on our side.”

  “Your brother?”

  “We need to move the bodies. There'll be another patrol heading this way in forty minutes.”

  Charlie noticed the plural. He hoped Rachel hadn't. He retrieved his crutch and helped John as best he could to heave the body up. They carried the corpse quickly through the foliage towards the towers. Rachel staggered behind.

  “Let's get him in the van.”

  Before the doors were opened Charlie knew what would be in the back. The second man had a single shot to his skull, engorged by John fishing the bullet out. They slumped the older man inside. When Charlie closed the van door Rachel was behind him. She'd seen everything.

  Charlie forced a nervous smile, trying to find something to say to make John seem less of a psychopath.

  “They were here for me,” she murmured, her face paled and she looked at Charlie with fear in her eyes.

  “We need to get you inside before someone sees.” Charlie turned to John. “We're going to need an alibi to c
over our asses. I'm going to head over to the Cage, make sure people see me.”

  John nodded his head in agreement. “Pinky did invite you.”

  “Free drinks, I'd be a fool not to take him up on it.”

  “Do I get to ditch the bodies then?”

  “No, stay with Rachel. Take her home. I'll be back.”

  “Hey, wait!” Rachel shouted. “He's just killed two men and you're leaving me with him!”

  “In fairness, he's also saved your life twice. I'd say it's a level playing field. But if Pinky Morris finds out we've taken out his men this whole thing is going to go south and we will all be screwed. Nothing will happen to you if you stay with John, I promise.” He gripped her shoulder in reassurance. “Now, get going before someone sees you together.”

  With a twitch of his head John gestured for her to move. She did so reluctantly, and if Charlie was honest he couldn't blame her hesitation. His brother did give off an air of a ruthless sociopath sometimes.

  12

  The taste of Charlie was still on her lips.

  It was a bittersweet taste, which made her heart jump a little. As she hurried up the stairs to her apartment she ran her tongue over the memory. He was in so much pain. The agony was more than any painkillers could help with and deep down he knew this. But beneath the guilt and self-loathing Charlie was, at heart, a good man, he had to be–otherwise he wouldn't blame himself for everything that happened. And he would look after her; with his dying breath he would see her safe. She could trust him, and he was the first man she had come across since her father who had that quality.

  The man behind her though–he was impossible to read. He followed her up the stairs, matching her pace so they were never sharing the same step. It was only when they reached her floor that she actually got a chance to look at him. He was taller than Charlie and his hair and complexion were darker. Although Charlie had all the charisma, John had all the looks in the family. He was lean, but muscular, with purpose and precision in his every movement. But offsetting his breathtakingly good looks were dark, cold eyes. As Rachel gawped at him she couldn't tell what he was thinking and it frightened her.