Run With Me (19 page)

My mind is so filled with such
thoughts that I hardly notice when the door to the club opens and a
man steps out, dressed smartly in a suit. I quickly remove my
sunglasses and peer forward. The form of his body grows into focus,
and my quickly beating heart begins to slow. It's not him.

This happens several more times
over the course of the day, but mostly I can tell it's not Carmine at
a glance. The sort of guys you get down in that bar don't exactly
dress like him, and I begin to wonder who the suited man is. A
lawyer? A business associate? He left alone and doesn't look like the
type to stop down there for a casual drink. I convince myself that he
must have been meeting with Carmine, which means he's down in his
office. All I have to do is wait and he'll appear. It's just a matter
of time.

I begin to lose my resolve as
the hours tick by. By the time the sun begins to set I'm seriously
doubting myself. Perhaps he's not down there after all?

It's about 8 PM when the same
man as I saw before – the suited man – returns. Once more he's
alone and seemingly in a rush. He storms past the two burly doormen
without even looking at them and disappears quickly inside. Now I'm
intrigued by this man. He's clearly of some importance, and certainly
not a customer. I wait now, ever patient, for him to return, and he
duly obliges.

It's only about half an hour
before he reappears once again, emerging through the heavy metal door
and stepping quickly into his car. I start my engine and prepare to
follow, pulling off the side of the road and up behind him as he
drives away. I keep my eyes on the doormen as I pass, suspicious that
they might have clocked me earlier, but they don't seem to notice.

I follow him through the city,
trying to keep at least a car between us, but never letting him get
out of sight. I get no impression that the guy knows he's got a tail,
so I don't employ the same level of caution that I usually would.
Instead, I drive more casually, keeping a close eye on him, but never
afraid he's going to suddenly bolt off at a red light in an attempt
to lose me.

There are two reasons for
following this guy. First of all, he's clearly important, and most
probably works for Carmine. In that case, he could lead me straight
to him. If not, there's another course of action I can take:
interrogation. It's something I've used many times before to coax
information from a subject, often going to lengths I've never been
proud of.

It soon becomes clear that I'm
not going to be lead straight to my target. I shadow the mystery man
northwest towards West LA where he stops outside a small house on a
quiet street. I pull up on the side of the road a couple of hundred
feet away, making sure I have a good enough view of him as he enters
the house.

I wait and watch for a moment.
The house was completely dark before the man stepped in, suggesting
that no one was home. Now I see a light flick on inside a downstairs
window. A few moments later, another flicks on on the first floor.
The last thing I want is to go inside to find an entire family.

I once did something similar,
breaking into someone's home to question them, only to find that they
were engaged in a family dinner. Those were the early days, when I
was driven by grief and lacking experience. Now things have changed.
My grief remains, but it's hardened me, made me stronger, and I
certainly don't want for experience any more.

I check my watch and see that
it's nearing 10 PM. It's time to move. I step from the car and move
around to the trunk, thankful that the street is so quiet. I
instinctively shift my eyes up and down the road, searching for any
potential bystanders, but see none. A couple of cars cruise by
slowly, but they take no notice of me. I pull a hooded sweater from
the trunk and put it on. Then I open a compartment which contains
several weapons. I choose the one most suitable for this particular
task: a stun gun.

Now I go into infiltration mode,
darting across the road and into the shadows provided by a tree
outside my target's house. I assess my potential routes inside, but
end up deciding upon the most direct: through the front door. As I
move towards it I notice a peep hole. If I knock, he'll either
recognize me or, if my hood obscures my face, be too suspicious to
let me in. Then my eyes dip down and settle on a mail slot.
Perfect
,
I think.

I walk to the front door and
knock, removing my hood but keeping my head ducked down slightly in
an attempt to conceal my appearance. I hear footsteps beyond and
slowly reach towards the mail slot in front of my waist. I lift it,
as carefully as possible, and aim my stun gun right through the
middle.

I shoot before the man even has
a chance to look through the peep hole. The electrodes fire off the
gun and attach to the man's abdomen, immediately sending a current
through his body. I watch as his eyes widen in shock and his body
convulses, before dropping to the floor. I slip the gun through the
mail slot now and slam my foot against the door lock. It splinters
and the door swings open.

By the time I'm in, the guy has
curled into a fetal position, the electric current still raging
through his body. I reach down and pull the barbs from his stomach,
before coiling them back up to reset the gun. The man continues to
shake on the floor, twitching wildly, but he's conscious.

I lift him to his feet and drag
him into a the living room, then set him down on a sofa. He looks
dazed and confused, his muscles refusing to work properly. I walk
through the house and into the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and
bring it back to him. I help him drink a few gulps as his mental
facilities start to return.

“
Who are you?” he manages to
get out. I can't tell if his voice is shaking through fear or through
the lingering effects of the electric charge.

I have my hood back over my
head, concealing my appearance for now. Chances are he'll work out my
identity as soon as I tell him what I'm after, but that doesn't
concern me now.

“
What is your role in Michael
Carmine's organization?” I ask, standing intimidatingly above him.

“
I...I help manage his
affairs,” he yelps.

“
Like his bar near South
Central?”

He nods. “Only recently...”

“
What do you mean by that?”

“
I mean I've only just started
helping down there.”

I stare at him for a moment. The
man's been running the bar. Has it been in Carmine's absence?

Now I get right to the heart of
what I'm after. Frankly, I don't have time to mess around and I can
tell this guy's going to spill what he knows without much prompting.
“Where is Michael Carmine?” I growl. “Right now, at this very
minute. Where is he?”

The man shakes his head quickly
from side to side. The color has all but disappeared from his face
now and it looks like he's about to throw up. “I don't know, I
swear.”

I ask the same question,
stepping forward this time and drawing the reset stun gun back out
from my belt. He eyes it with fear and repeats his answer, only this
time louder and more desperate.

“
No one knows where he is,”
he says, quivering at the sight of me. “He's gone into hiding.”

Fuck it. My concerns are
realized. I can't decide in my head whether he's a coward or just
smart. Now it's going to be almost impossible to find him, and ever
harder to get to him if I do. He'll no doubt have armed guards with
him at all times as protection. Clearly he's taking this threat more
than seriously.

“
Mr Tanner, please don't hurt
me.”

I look to the sofa and into the
cowering man's eyes. Despite the hood shrouding my face, he knows who
I am. I remove it, slowly, purposefully, for effect.

“
I won't if you tell me what I
want to know,” I say menacingly.

He shakes his head even more
violently this time. “I told you, I don't know where he is!”

“
Then what
do
you
know?” I ask.

“
I only know that I'm running
the bar right now and some of his other interests. He didn't even
come to me himself to tell me. I haven't seen him in days.”

“
And what do you know about
me
?” I growl.

“
Nothing. Only that you are
gunning for him. You should be thanking him, really, for what he
did....” He trails off and bites his tongue, turning his eyes away
from me as if he's said something he shouldn't.

“
Thanking him? Why?” I ask
firmly, inching closer towards him.

He seems confused now, but it
looks like he's faking it, trying to back up.

“
Because...because he pays
well...and then you go and betray him.”

“
Betray him!” I roar, losing
my cool. “He sent a gunman in to take me out when I was with the
girl! He had his dog killing anyone to get to that girl. And for
what! Just because she saw him kill a nobody!”

“
That's Rugger. You can't
control Rugger, he can only be directed. Mr Carmine never intended
for those other people to die. It was Rugger's mistake, killing the
girl in the apartment.”

“
And the other two! Kitty's
aunt and uncle? Was that just Rugger getting his gun off for kicks?”

The man is holding his hands up
now, trying to calm me down as he sinks back into his chair. “I
don't know,” he moans. “I'm just a manager, all this is beyond
me...”

I settle my voice and breath
deep once, twice, to cool my temper. I haven't lost it like this in a
long time. These days I'm mechanical in what I do. Unemotional and
numb. The man is still mumbling on his sofa something along the lines
of “don't hurt me, don't kill me,” but I can hardly hear because
he's got his hands covering his mouth and face now and is burying
half his body into the cushion.

I stand, and consider. This man
knows nothing, and I don't want to hurt him. But what did he mean, I
should be thanking Carmine? Thanking him for what? Not for paying me
to do a job and then sending a psycho out after me to track me to the
target. Not for having that same psycho try to shoot me dead in a
motel room. What the fuck could I possibly be thankful to Michael
Carmine for?

My mind swirls with a rage that
I haven't felt in some time. Then, just as a silence builds in the
room, only punctured by the moaning sobs of the man at my feet, I
hear a beeping sound.

I reach quickly to my back
pocket and pull out a small, phone-like, device. It's black, with a
large screen, and there's a beeping red light flashing at the top of
it.

Kitty. She's activated her
distress call.

Kitty

The night I find the confession
of Robert Pullman, I can hardly sleep. When I do drop off, strange
dreams invade my mind. Dreams so dark that I wake up, my eyes struck
wide, staring into the blackness inside the cabin. I do this several
times before, finally, the sunrise brings me relief and I rise from
my bed.

It's strangely chilly on the
third morning spent alone in the cabin. For a moment I consider
trying to light the fire to warm myself up, but soon realize that the
quickly rising sun will do that for me.

I step outside of the cabin for
some fresh air and catch the glint of sunlight cutting through the
trees. Without even looking at the clock, I can tell it's about 6 in
the morning. The air is incredibly crisp and there even seems to be a
sprinkling of light frost on the ground, quickly melting under the
sun's rays. It gives the forest this ethereal quality as a low mist
hangs over the ground, it's tendrils creeping up and surrounding the
roots of the trees. I dare to step forward a few meters, keeping an
eye out for any passing bear or wolf, and fill the shower bucket with
water.

I wonder how often a bear or
wolf would actually venture this close to the cabin, and whether the
inquisitive beast I saw the other day was merely a one-off, attracted
by my drying clothes. Frankly, if they're common, having a shower set
up outside the cabin isn't the best structural planning.

When I undress and step under
the dripping bucket, I can't help but let out a yelp. It's so cold I
almost lose my breath, but after a couple of moments I grow
accustomed to it. I keep a steady look out for any beasts through the
mist, shower quickly, and retreat back into the safety of the cabin.

My mind is still swimming as I
dress and prepare some breakfast. After I've eaten, I can't help but
return to the book of confessions I was reading last night. A large
part of me doesn't want to, would prefer to avoid reading any other
depressing stories. But then there's another part, one that is
uplifted by the notion that I'm not really alone in all this, that
there are others who look at the positives of their plight and come
out shining on the other end. That side wants to keep reading, get
embroiled in these lost souls' final thoughts.

I read for a time, and can't
help but return to the confession of Robert Pullman. I read it
several times over, each time hoping that I find some new piece of
information that makes me realize that this man isn't talking about
Colt's family. But each time I read, I actually become more convinced
of my initial suspicion. I have no doubt that this is Colt's guy.