Dead Run (6 page)

Maybe she's right. But that means getting out there again, dodging cops. I watch the rain start to come down, making ripples in the puddles. Far off, I hear a siren and wonder if they are looking for me.

“Robin, I don't know if I can do this.”

“Shut up, Sam. You know you can. I know you can.” I hear what she's trying to do, but it sounds flat and false. Still, maybe it helps.

“Look, I'll meet you at Champion, okay?” she says. “Just focus. Twenty minutes. I'll be there. We'll deal with Viktor together.”

Chapter Seventeen

It's tight for me to make it to Champion Couriers that fast and stay off the major roads. But I pull it off. As I glide into the yard, I can see that there's a light on in Viktor's office. I'm glad the guy practically lives here. I drop my bike next to Robin's in the garage and limp up the stairs. As I walk down the hallway to his office, I start to get that creeped-out feeling again, like at the Five Continents Imports building. It takes me a second to figure out what's wrong. Viktor and Robin should be talking. Maybe even arguing.

But there's only silence.

I freeze. The door is open a crack, and light is spilling out. I start moving forward and push it gently with my foot. Viktor is on the floor, arms covering his head. His office is trashed. Books and papers are scattered everywhere. Drawers from his desk have been dumped on the floor. In the middle of the mess, I notice the picture of him winning the gold medal on the floor, glass cracked. Viktor moans softly. I kneel beside him.

“Viktor, what happened?”

“The clients…they came for their package. Thought I'd stolen it,” he mumbles around his swollen lips. I can barely understand him—maybe it's a concussion or something. He sits up carefully, and I help him to a chair. Man, he took a pounding. There are bruises all over his face and a big cut across one eyebrow.

“I'm going to call an ambulance,” I say, reaching for my phone.

“No!” barks Viktor. “I don't want any questions. They will bring cops. I don't want any cops.”

I hesitate. He leans back in the chair, eyes closed, and starts muttering again.

“We gave them a fight. But we lost. We fought them like tigers.”

Wait—

“We?” I ask.

“Robin. She came out of nowhere. Walked in on us. She didn't hesitate, saw them attacking me and jumped in. She is a fighter, Sam. I shouldn't have treated her so badly.”

“So where is she?”

Viktor keeps his eyes closed, doesn't move a muscle for a minute. When he speaks, it's clearer than before. Like he's coming out of his daze.

“He took Robin, Sam. As insurance, he said. I have to get the package to them by midnight.”

“But you don't have the package,” I say.

“Of course not. They are screwing with me. Said there's fifty grand in the package. I think one of those gangsters stole it for himself, now they want me to pay for his greed…”

I cut him off. “I know you don't have the package—because I've got it.”

I pull it out of my bag to show him. His eyes widen. “You…why didn't you make the delivery?” he says. “You stole it?”

I can't find a way to explain that doesn't sound like a pathetic excuse. “No, I didn't steal it. It was stupid. I didn't think any of this would happen.”

Viktor doesn't answer me, just stares. Maybe he's going into shock. Oh, crap. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I'm responsible for all of this. For Viktor getting beaten up. For Robin walking in on the fight. For her being taken away.

I start to panic.

“This has gone way out of control, Viktor,” I say. “They hurt you, they might hurt Robin…we need help! I don't want to, but we've got to call the cops.”

“And then what?” He shakes his head slowly. “What if the police take everything?” He leans over to pick a framed photo up from the floor.

I kneel down in front of him. “You could cut a deal with the cops. Or tell them that you didn't know what was in the packages.”

“I knew,” Viktor says, shaking his head. “I never asked. But I knew. I wanted their money so badly that I just looked the other way. Champion Couriers was going to close. Then Niko showed up, told me I could make money working with him.”

“Niko is the client? Your son? I thought you said he was a businessman.”

“He is. Like a banker, moving money around for gangs. I'd looked the other way for years, pretended I didn't know what he did. When he came to me…I just wanted to hang on to the two things I had left. My son, and my business.” He grunts and clutches his side, then relaxes. He is still cradling the broken picture in his lap, the one of him on the podium at the Olympics.

“It was easy at first. But then his gang wanted me to move more and more packages. I couldn't refuse. So I took their money and pretended I wasn't a criminal. That I was still better than Niko. That I still had my honor.”

I stand up. We just look at each other for moment.

“I think this is true for you too, Sam,” Viktor continues softly. “Sometimes, you want something so badly that you make yourself blind. To reality. To the truth. You trade away your honor. Your freedom.”

Maybe he's right. I wanted the job. I wanted to be trained. I wanted to win. But what was the price?

“You and I, we don't have a choice. Do what Niko says. Give him the package, and get Robin back.”

I look at the clock. It's 11:20. I don't have time to waste.

“All right, I'm going. But you said it yourself—you're just pretending. Pretending that you're still a hero. And if Niko did this to you, you can't pretend that he's still your son.” Viktor looks away, and I can see a tear tracking down his craggy face.

“You…we can't keep doing the dead run,” I say. “We've got to get out.” I check the clock one more time. 11:21. Then I'm gone.

Chapter Eighteen

My chest burns with every breath. I'm sprinting, cutting through the city like a laser, riding faster than I ever have before. I soar down Congress Avenue, sneaking a look at my watch as the street rushes by. Twenty-one minutes to midnight. I speed up, pushing each leg down like a piston. Again. And again.

There is a chain of red lights strung out ahead of me—cars waiting at the intersection of Congress and 23rd. I pass each car, counting each push of my pedals, counting toward the intersection. I'm about to cut through when I see that there's also a cop car waiting for the light to change. I look for another way out—but there isn't one. I've got to turn onto 23rd. There's no time to wait for the light. No time for a detour. I check my watch again. Seventeen minutes to go.

I'll have to take my chances.

I sprint by the police cruiser, swooping left through the red light. Sure enough, a few seconds later I hear the cops hit their sirens behind me. Dammit.

To make things worse, it's not very long before I realize that they aren't alone. I see more flashing lights ahead of me down a side street. With one cruiser behind and another coming from the front, they're going to cut me off. I scan around.

No alleys to duck into, nowhere to hide. Nothing on the street at this hour except a red streetcar rumbling down the middle of 23rd. That's my only chance.

I cut over hard to the left, bunny-hopping over the tracks. I pedal as fast as I can, finally catching up to the streetcar. I put the streetcar between me and the cop, then lean over with one hand. I grab at the side of the streetcar. I stretch, fingers almost brushing the black steel rail.

Just a little farther.

And I connect. The bike nearly wobbles out from underneath me, but I hang on, steering with one hand and holding on tight to the streetcar with the other. We accelerate away from the police. Beacuse I'm crouched over and hidden in the shadows by the streetcar, the cops can't see me. I hope. My arms start to burn as we continue to speed up between stops. Just a little farther.

I check over my shoulder as the streetcar comes to a stop—no flashing lights behind us anymore. I've lost them. I unclench my hand and let the streetcar pull away from me. Then I cut over toward Industry Row. A few more blocks, and I'm there. I look at my watch. A couple of minutes left. I drop the bike and start running for the door. Then my phone rings. What the hell? I'm not stopping. I tap in the code to open the lobby door with one hand, fumbling to answer the phone with the other.

“Do you know when the best moment in your life was?” It's Viktor's gravelly voice.

“What are you talking about?” I'm already in, heading for the elevator. Viktor sounds like he's rambling. Maybe it is a concussion—maybe he's worse than I thought.

“I can tell you the exact second that everything in my life was perfect. When I stepped on the podium in 1976 and wore that gold medal. I spent the rest of my life trying to find a perfect moment like that. Even after the war took away my wife and changed my son, I thought I could still”—his voice stumbles as he reaches for the right words—“still win. Instead, I kept losing everything that was important. My future. My family.” The elevator doors grind open, and I step in mashing the round button for the sixth floor.

“Viktor, I don't have time…” I try and interrupt Viktor. But he keeps going as if he didn't hear me.

“Then I thought I would lose my business. The only thing I had left. So I did everything—everything—I could to keep it open. Including taking money from Niko and his gangsters.” I watch the numbers light up on the elevator panel.

Third floor.

“But, Sam, when I did that, I lost the most important thing. My honor.”

Fourth floor.

“Viktor, I've got to go. I'm about to give back the package. Like you said.”

“Sam, it doesn't matter anymore. I called the police. They are coming for me. And to arrest Niko.” My stomach clenches as a chime sounds. The doors open onto the empty sixth floor hallway. I freeze.

“What the hell, Viktor? What about everything you said, about losing Champion? About Niko getting arrested?”

“I know. But you were right, Sam. Niko is not my son anymore. I cannot pretend that. This is the right thing to do. For an old man like me, that is enough. Perhaps that is all I need.”

“Viktor, you're not thinking straight. You got hurt…”

“I am thinking clearly, Sam. For the first time in a long while. Don't worry. You'll be safe. I'll make a deal with the police, give them everything I know. About the packages. Times, locations, dates—I kept track of these things, secretly. Even Niko doesn't know.”

I lean against the wall of the elevator. This is so out of control. Like being swept up by an avalanche, or caught in a tornado. The chime sounds again and shakes me out of it. The doors of the elevator start to slide shut. I check my watch. It's past midnight. The gangsters said that they would hurt Robin if I didn't get the package to them in time. It doesn't matter what Viktor says, whether he's making sense or not. I can't wait.

“I gotta go,” I say and click off the phone. I lunge forward, dodging through the closing elevator doors and into the sixth-floor hallway.

Chapter Nineteen

The door marked
Five Continents Imports
is cracked open. I can hear low voices inside as I walk toward it.

When I push open the door, I can see a pool of light at the end of the big office space. As I walk toward it, the first thing I notice is Robin. She's sitting in a desk chair with zipties around her wrists. Her eyes widen when she sees me and flick over to the two guys talking in the shadows of the far corner. The big guy is wearing a leather motorcycle jacket, tattoos crawling up his neck. The smaller guy has bleached-blond hair, almost white. He's wearing a shiny dress shirt. A couple of chunky rings glitter on his right hand. The other hand is gone, just a scarred stump where it should be. When the small guy speaks, he has an accent like Viktor.

“You must be Sam.” He crosses the room, then stops and studies me. “Nice to finally meet our little messenger. I am Niko.” He has a hard smile, like a slash across his face. “Viktor told me about you a few weeks ago. Very fast, he said. Very reliable.”

He taps his gold watch. “But now you're late. And I told Viktor he would pay a price for late deliveries. Actually, I told him the girl would pay the price.” His smile fades as he turns away from me and walks toward Robin.

“Don't touch her,” I say. Niko stops behind Robin's chair and turns to the big guy with a smile.

“Look at this. A tough guy.” He carefully places his hands on Robin's shoulders, slightly caressing the sides of her neck. I see her shudder.

“Leave her alone. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't Viktor's either. It was me. I didn't make the drop.” I reach into my bag and pull out the ripped package. “Until now. It's all yours.” The package thuds onto the desk. Niko picks it up, turning the envelope over, studying the ripped edge. He hands it to the big guy.

“You deliver the package late. And damaged,” says Niko. He walks toward me, shaking his head. “Tell me, as a businessman, what am I to do? I trust you with my merchandise. And you have failed me.”

“I'm sorry…” I say. Then I stumble back in shock as his fist slams into my face. My jaw feels like it's on fire. The rings from his fingers have left painful tracks across my cheek.

“Sorry? You are…sorry?” Niko grabs my shirt and shoves me up against a wall. Robin screams and tries to stand up from her chair. The big guy pushes her back down. My vision blurs as Niko hits me again.

“Sorry is not good enough. You will pay,” he says, shoving his face next to mine. “From now on, you don't belong to my father. You belong to me. You will make every delivery I say. You will pay off your debt to me, run by run. For as long as I want.”

I look past him to Robin, who has tears streaming down her face. She shakes her head.