Contractor (27 page)

measure of safety. He could always run

away.

His next target was an apartment tower a

few miles outside the city. He’d eyed it up

the night before, noting that it had a lot of

Vorid. He ran there in a few minutes. It

towered over a small park filled with

benches that you’d expect old ladies to sit

on, busy feeding pigeons. This late at night,

the paths were empty.

He crossed the grass and rounded the

corner into the back alley. He cast his eyes

up on the concrete walls and flat windows.

He could probably climb and jump his way

up the balconies, but a fire escape would

make things a lot easier. Falling out of a

window from a regular house was one thing.

The risk of a thirty story drop was not an

exciting prospect.

"Hey guys, it’s Sandy."

"Yo Sandy, how you doing?"

"Looking fine, girl."

Daniel frowned, then peeked around the

corner ahead. The apartment tower and a

squat row of tenements formed an enclosed

courtyard at the end of the alley; one entrance

where he stood, another coming in between

two of the tenements. It held a few more

benches and a basketball court enclosed by a

chain link fence.

Four men in baggy clothes were hanging

around the stairs leading up the back of the

building. A woman was walking toward

them, but she paused a few feet away. She

could get up the stairs, but she’d have to

weave between them. From the expression

on her face, it was clear that she didn’t want

to do that.

The man closest to her leaned up off the

brick wall. A giant Patriots jersey hung off

his shoulders. A backwards Red Sox cap

completed his homage to Boston sports. His

white teeth gleamed in the dark. "Hey Sandy.

You need any blow?"

"I don’t want your blow, asshole."

All the guys oohed. Sportsfan raised his

hands. "Hey, relax. You don’t want none,

that’s cool."

"You guys shouldn’t hang around here.

There’s other places to sell."

"We like selling here." His eyes were

watching her intently. "Nice view."

"In an alley, Rudolph?"

"Now I know I asked you to call me

Rudy."

"Yeah, probably." Sandy swerved

around his jersey and went for the stairs. The

others were lingering so close together that

she turned sideways and shouldered

forward. One of them copped a feel. She

clanged her way up the metal stairs without

looking back.

"You want some," Rudolph called, "you

just let me know. I’ll give you my best friend

discount."

Daniel heard a door slam. Rudolph

sniffed, rolled his shoulders, then went back

to the wall. They started talking again, some

gossip about someone’s brother’s niece, or

something. Daniel wasn’t really paying

attention.

Rudolph, and one of the others, had a

vorid spawn on his back.

Daniel lingered at the edge of the lights

over the basketball court. Maybe…he could

just go find the fire escape, and forget about

these guys.

He was about to leave, but movement at

the other alley caught his eye. A man walked

into the light. His clothes were ragged.

Daniel could practically see the stench

rolling off him. His eyes were bloodshot. He

dragged himself across the tarmac. "Eh,

Rudy, Rudy. Glad you’re here. I need a hit

bad."

Rudy raised an eyebrow. "You look like

you could use it, Pete. You get in a fight with

a garbage truck?"

"…things…not going good, past few

weeks," Pete said. He slid closer until he

was in easy speaking distance. "Got kicked

out of my place. Fucking landlord stole my

shit, man. Kicked me out even though I paid

my rent. I need a hit."

"…right. You got the cash?"

"…thing is, I -"

"Stop right there, Pete," Rudy said. "Do you have the cash?"

"…well." Pete jerked his head. "I mean, not all of it."

"How much is not all of it?"

"…five bucks."

Rudy sighed through his teeth. "Pete.

Petey. That ain’t enough for half my smallest

rock."

"Come on, Rudy," Pete said. The idea

that he might not have ready access to his

cocaine was bringing the man out of his

smelly stupor. "Ain’t I been a good

customer? Gimme a club member discount or

some shit. I always come to you, always you.

You got the good stuff. I never take shit from

that Jayqwan guy, I told everyone not to go to

him. He’s a real prick. But you ain’t that

way."

"I gave you a break last time," Rudy

said. "Everyone gets a break. But I’m running

a business here. I can’t hand this shit out. I’d

have every fuck from here to Brooklyn come

running for freebies."

"I’m not just some fuck!"

"I didn’t say you were. I just said they’d

come."

"Come on," Pete said. "Rudy…I need it.

Please."

Daniel watched in sick fascination as

the man bowed his head. He’d seen it in

movies, read the statistics. But seeing it

happen, watching a man reduced to that state

beg for more of the thing that brought him so

low—he felt a gurgling mix of empathy and

apathy twist in his stomach.

Rudy shook his head. "I said no. Final

answer." The three others got up from their

seats and stood straight, arms folded.

"…Rudy, don’t be that way. You’re not

like that. Just one. Just a little one, smallest

one you got. I promise I’ll get it back to you

as soon as -"

"It’s not happening. If you don’t have the

cash, get going."

"…please…" Pete slid another step.

"Rudy, I’m begging you. I’m gonna stand

here and beg you for it. Is that what you

want?"

"What I want is for you to take your

broke ass and leave. You’re holding up

business."

"There ain’t no one else here."

"And there won’t be anyone with you

smelling like a dump."

The men chuckled. Pete’s lips twitched.

His right hand dropped to his pocket. "…

please, Rudy?"

"You got five seconds, or I’ll kick your

ass out of here myself."

Pete lunged forward faster than Daniel

would have thought his rotting body was

capable of moving. Metal flashed in the light.

A knife dove for Rudy’s chest.

Rudy smoothly turned, catching Pete’s

arm under his shoulder. He locked Pete in

close. Pete grunted.

"…sorry, Pete. You shouldn’t a done

that."

Rudy twisted his arm. Pete groaned, then

slumped to the ground. His body fell face up,

revealing a knife buried between his ribs.

Rudy grabbed his knife, pulled it free, then

stabbed again, then again. Three wide

splotches of blood spread across Pete’s

stained clothes.

"Fucking hell."

"Shit, man. You killed him!"

"So what?" Rudy said. "Idiot was gonna kill himself anyway. I hate dumbass shits like

this. Yo Ben."

"Yeah?"

"You got your car?"

"Come on, man. I don’t want to drive

that shit."

"Well, too bad. Come on, help me get

him out of the light."

Two of the others came over. Rudy

grabbed Pete’s legs; the other two each took

an arm. They hauled him back down the

alley. Ben followed, fishing his keys out of

his pocket and grumbling.

Daniel stood there for a moment.

He glanced up. The tenement was only

two stories tall. He bent his knees, pushed

power into his legs. A white flare under his

shoes lit up the alley. He leapt, and rocketed

up, propelled by his power. He caught the

edge of the roof with both hands and hauled

himself up.

He scrambled between the cooling fans

to the other end of the roof. The men loaded

the body into a car parked on the street on the

other side of the alley. They hopped in; the

engine started. They peeled off in a cloud of

exhaust.

He couldn’t follow them on the street. It

was only midnight. In Aplington, that time of

night made things as good as a ghost town,

but Boston was different. People would see.

He looked to the side. It was a

residential district. Aside from the apartment

tower, most of the buildings were short. He

could leap to the next one. Keep off the

ground.

He glanced over the edge of the roof,

then quickly stepped back. Two stories was

a lot higher when you were looking down.

"Ok," Daniel said. "Alright. Just a jump.

Here we go." He pushed power into his feet,

then leapt.

He flew across the gap, landed,

stumbled. His upper body flew forward. But

then he reacted, turning his shoulder down,

rolling his momentum to a stop. He picked

himself up, dusted off, and huffed.

The car was almost out of sight. He had

to move.

He darted across the roof to the next

alley, and this time, he kept moving, jumping.

He focused on his landing point. He hit the

concrete on the balls of his feet. He launched

himself forward, leapt again.

Rudy was cutting a right up ahead—well

out of sight. He had to cut diagonally to catch

up. Jump across the main road.

Daniel lined himself up, pushed power

into his feet—double, triple, just in case. He

flung himself out and over the road.

He was flying. His clothes whipped

around him as he soared into the air an extra

story. He passed over the road, falling in an

arc past one, two, then three buildings. He

shoved fire into his legs.

Daniel landed flat on his hands and

knees, no rolling, just a flat thump straight on

the roof. He stood without even a scratch on

his palms. He looked down at his hands,

amazed that his arms hadn’t shattered under

the force of that drop.

Maybe he really could fall off that

apartment building.

He’d made up some ground, but the car

was still moving. Daniel cut diagonally

across the block he was standing on and met

them at the next intersection. From there, he

kept pace along the roofs, running at a jog,

then jumping. Luckily, they were out in the

suburbs—doing this in downtown would be

a pretty significant challenge.

They were headed straight downtown.

Sometimes he was forced onto the roads;

Daniel made those moments as brief as

possible. For the most part, he was able to

stay out of sight.

He wasn’t entirely surprised when the

car pulled into a lot at Boston Harbor. They

were getting rid of a body. That was

probably a good starting point.

The men backed the car in close to the

entrance of a warehouse; Daniel jumped

over to that roof, rolling to contain his fall. If

he landed straight on the tin siding, he’d

probably make a lot more noise than was

healthy.

There was a light glowing in the front

door. Rudy knocked a few times. A metal

slat slid open. There was a muffled

conversation. The door opened, and the

dealers went in. It promptly shut behind

them.

Daniel glanced down the roof of the

warehouse. There were a few glass skylights

glimmering in the half-light of the city. He

crept over to the first. The inside of the wide

window was blocked by a black tarp. It was

locked from the inside.

Daniel had the good sense to cut a crude

leather holster for his Swiss army knife and

nail it into his armor. He flicked it open. His

power made the tool turn white. It sank into

the edge of the window with hardly any

resistance. He cut through the metal latch,

then used the knife to pry the window open.

Voices echoed up to him. He cut the edge of

the tarp and tore it back just slightly.

The inside of the warehouse was

illuminated by giant fluorescent bulbs. His

window was tucked high behind shelves

stacked with crates. The place smelled like

sea salt. Daniel leaned in, cocking his ear.

"Another one?"

"…say it like it happens every…"

"Jeeze, you little shit. At least…buying

something."

"Yeah…stock up while…first."

"Good. Then…out. We’ve got…

important…"

It was obvious what they were talking

about, but the details were hazy. The nearby

shelves offered a way for him to climb

down. If he held onto the edge of the skylight

and lowered in, it should be easy.

Daniel sat up. What the hell was he

doing? He wasn’t a superhero. If they had

guns, he could get shot and die.

But then…why had he followed them?

For the vorid on their backs? Curiosity?

Maybe…he’d just take a look.

Investigate. Then call 911, tip them off.

He lowered himself in. The wooden

slats of the shelving creaked slightly under

his weight. He went still. He could hear

people moving and more mumbled voices,