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Borkan sat in the coffee shop drinking his second double espresso. Smoke curled from the cigarette in the ashtray at his elbow. Across from him, Ricci pushed away the plate that had held his pancakes, a ribbon of maple syrup dripped over the edge leaving a sticky trail on the melamine tabletop. He took a cigarette from his own packet, lit it and observed his partner through the veil of smoke that trickled from his nostrils. Borkan stared back neutrally.
The search for Alex had continued through the night. The field team divided into two, each of the non-descript black cars heading in opposite directions. Now, some five hours after they had arrived at Madeleine’s house, they sat in a coffee shop less than a mile from where their quarry had spent the early hours of the morning.
Dawn had broken less than ninety minutes earlier, showering the sky with a murky, non-light that left a pallid, tombstone grey hue on everything it touched. Storm clouds, pregnant with unspilled rain, gathered above their heads, lamps still glowed in the street outside, their sensors not yet detecting enough natural light for them to shut down, cars drove past with headlights shining.
Ricci had driven, his impatience thrumming through his veins along with his blood, his face revealing no emotion, but Borkan knew him well enough to know what he was feeling. They had taken a chance coming here, leaving the other teams to scour the vicinity of the woman’s house, a calculated gamble that Alex would head in this direction. What would he have done in his place? He’d pondered. Stuck around, probably. Stayed hidden and safe, but near enough to find out what happened next. But would Alex do that? He didn’t think so. He did this for a living, black ops were what he was good at, but this was a world Alex had only just discovered. He had been lucky, surprised them with his ability to stay a step ahead of them so far, but he wasn’t good enough, or smart enough to have done the right thing this time. Borkan had taken the trouble to get to know Alex over the years, and regardless of his unique capabilities, he was basically a normal kid and that meant he was unprepared for the events that had taken him over. If it hadn’t been for the unprofessionalism of the two Technicians at the house, Alex would have been returned to The Clinic by now. Borkan was disgusted with their cavalier attitude towards the operation. Still, one of them had paid the price with the loss of a leg. The other would find the price somewhat more exacting, Shelton had demanded the unfortunate man be delivered to him at The Clinic. A broken jaw and pulped nose would be the least of his problems. He dismissed him from his mind, got his thoughts back on track. Alex would have panicked somewhat, it stood to reason. He would not have hung around, would have put as much distance between himself and the house as he could. He had headed for a big town before and would still have been there if he hadn’t been spotted at the bus terminal. Safety in crowds was going through his mind then and it would have been in his thoughts five hours ago, he would bet on it. He was betting on it. That was why they were here. Alex was seeking sanctuary in the city. Ricci agreed with him. They worked well as a team, for all their mutual hatred. They were not so unalike as they would like to think. He glanced at the other man, his eyes giving away none of his inner thoughts. He was going to have trouble with Ricci when they found Alex. Major trouble. He’d watched him surreptitiously for the last few hours. The man was a live wire where Alex was concerned. He didn’t know why Alex tripped his circuits like he did and he didn’t care, what he cared about was that it didn’t interfere with the op. The trouble was, his gut told him Ricci was going to be a problem. A big one. Shelton had known it too, that was why he had spoken to Borkan privately before they left. He had his instructions, he would carry them out if it became necessary.
At about the same time that Kyle Ricci was ploughing through a plate of pancakes and Chazz Borkan was pondering just how he would deal with the problem that was his partner, Alex was bundling the man into the boot of the BMW. Things were not working out how he planned them, strike that, since when had he planned any of this? Madeleine watched from the corner of the apartment block, keeping one eye on him and one on the road and the far corner of the building, around which anyone might appear without warning.
Their lovemaking had been a respite from the chaos that had flung them together, a glorious diversion from the terrors that clogged their waking moments. They had seized the chance to forget that their desire had given them and uncovered more than just a mutual attraction but instead an unlocking of the soul.
Madeleine had been lonely for three long years, but had not realised just how alone she had been, despite her feelings of emptiness and despair in the years since Doug had been taken from her. It had taken the intenseness of the emotions that had welled up inside her during their lovemaking to show her how desolate her existence had been, how inadequate a word loneliness was to describe how she had lived to this point. Alex had penetrated her in much more than just a physical sense. His mind had entered her, his mind, his feelings, his senses, his emotions. She could not begin to understand how she could feel him so completely, so overwhelmingly, but she did not for an instant doubt that it had happened. When, finally, their bodies had parted his withdrawal had left a hollowness in her being that almost brought tears to her eyes, and yet, even now, standing at the corner of the apartment, she could tell he wasn’t truly gone, that he never would be gone, not entirely, trace elements of his soul had remained with hers, fragments of thoughts and feelings that belonged to him scratched and itched at the furthest reaches of her mind.
She had achieved her closure with Doug, had shed the tears she knew were waiting, folded into Alex’s arms, shoulders shaking, chest heaving. Purging herself of pent up feelings, washing them away through the bitter sting of tears, finding peace with herself over her loss and her newfound sense of gain. And Alex helped her. She didn’t need to speak, to explain. He knew, he understood, because he had become her. Their bonding allowing him to feel what she felt, witness the pain and the pleasure simultaneously and accept the contradictions of those conflicting emotions.
Alex shut the boot of the BMW, the soft clunk travelled across the car park in the quiet air of the bleak morning. It was time to move on. Their continued safety lay in staying in motion. Madeleine met him at the unconscious man’s vehicle, a dirty, well travelled 4x4. Alex unlocked the doors and they got in.
“Is he alright?”
Alex nodded. “Fine. He’ll have a sore head when he wakes up, but that’s all.” He’d had no choice, had to trust his instincts and his instincts had told him that taking the 4x4 was what they needed to do. He had acted without thinking when he saw the man from the apartment next door, his mind occupied by other things. Things like how he could have made such a connection with Madeleine. He’d heard the click of heels along the pavement past the apartments, watched him through the curtains of their room. He would be back in a few moments, Alex felt the creeping sensation of certainty fill his mind. The man would be back and Alex was going to have to take his car away from him. Over the past few hours, his abilities seemed to have been refining themselves. His ability to read other people had become clearer, culminating in his incredible meeting of Madeleine’s mind with his own. An incident that amazed him beyond expression. They had not been able to talk about what happened, neither of them having the words, but each knowing what it was.
“We’re leaving,” he told her, “We’re stealing a car.”
“How?” She slipped her feet into trainers and he marvelled at how she just accepted they were going to do what he said, there was no, “are you crazy?”, no “but Alex, you can’t, it’s wrong”, just the simple mechanics of “How?” They were playing outside the rules now, priorities were different, survival was what mattered. They both understood that things had to be done sometimes, Madeleine accepted it as she had everything else that had happened.
“You’ll have to cover me, just follow my lead. And keep your fingers crossed.” The man was coming back, he couldn’t hear him yet, but he knew. “Come on.” He opened the door of the apartment and they stepped into the cold air. Alex made a show of fumbling with the key as the other guest appeared around the corner. He watched him from the corner of his eye. He was medium height, slim but with a developing paunch, somewhere in his forties Alex would have judged, and carrying a newspaper.
He was ten paces from them.
Alex straightened from his fake fumbling with the door lock.
Eight paces.
He slipped the key into his pocket, leaned over and kissed Madeleine on the cheek.
Five paces. The man paid no attention to the young couple at the door.
Four paces.
“Morning!” Alex said, his voice natural, pleasant. Madeleine echoed the sentiment.
Three paces. The man looked up from his paper, “Morning,” he acknowledged.
Two paces.
Alex lashed out, his fist connected with the older man’s stomach, a stunning blow that caught him by surprise. Air gushed out of his lungs and he staggered back, dropping the newspaper. His body bent double and Alex, knowing if he paused he would not be able to carry it through, took a step towards him, swinging his arm as he stepped forwards catching the man on the chin with a perfect right uppercut. The man’s body swung back as if he were on a hinge, his torso straightened from the second punch, his head snapping back and he dropped to the floor, body crumpling liquidly. His head hit the pavement with a solid smack and he didn’t move.
Madeleine pressed her knuckles to her lips to stop herself from crying out. Alex quickly bent to the prone man and checked his pulse, firm and steady.
Kenneth Fancher, forty three years old, married with two kids, salesman for an industrial cleaning solvent manufacturer, feeling guilty about cheating on his wife with the redhead in apartment three but she was so attractive and he was alone, it had been dark in the bar and late and she was sitting there, on her own too, he’d just wanted some company. Alex broke the contact.
“Is he alright?” Madeleine asked nervously.
Alex nodded. “Out cold.” He looked up at her. “Watch the corner. Warn me if anybody comes.”
Alex went through the man’s pockets, finding his wallet. He flicked open the leather billfold, saw the credit cards. K. Fancher embossed on them. A picture of a woman with two children standing beside her. He put the wallet back into the jacket pocket, patted the man down. His keys were in his trousers. Alex took the key ring and transferred it to his own pocket. Leaving the man he crossed to where Madeleine stood, tapping her on the shoulder. She yelped in surprise, rounding on him.
“Jesus! You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” he apologised, “give me the car keys.”
She dug them out of her jeans and handed them over. “What are you going to do?”
“We can’t just leave him lying here.”
“I guess not.” She watched as he hoisted the slumped form over his shoulder and carried him to the BMW. He unlocked the boot and carefully lowered the man inside. He checked once more that he was breathing normally and closed the boot, engaging the locks. Taking the man’s keys he hit the alarm button and the indicators flashed as the doors of the 4x4 unlocked. He beckoned Madeleine over and they got in.
“The press!”
“What?”
“It’s the only way you can end this, Alex. The only way you can be safe.”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it. What’s the point in them coming after you if everyone knows about you and what you can do? Expose them. Expose Shelton and his Clinic and everything you know about them. Don’t you see? He’s only powerful while nobody knows about him and we’re only in danger while nobody knows about you.”
Madeleine steered the 4x4 through thickening traffic as the city grew around them.
“Are you sure?” Alex needed convincing.
“I’m not sure about anything, but it makes sense to me.”
“What if they don’t believe us?”
Madeleine laughed a wry chuckle. “They’ll believe us, Alex. Just as soon as you show them what you can do. Believe me!”
She was right. The thought of exposing himself to the world, made him uncomfortable, but he could not think of any other way they could get out of the situation they found themselves in. And they would believe him, once he had given them a demonstration, they would have no choice.
“Okay,” he said.
Borkan and Ricci left the coffee shop feeling refreshed and refuelled. Rain spotted the pavement as they strode towards the car.
“Got to fill up,” Ricci said as they pulled out into thin traffic. Borkan grunted in acknowledgement, his mind on other things, trying to figure out Alex’s next move. Where would he go? What would he do? Rest. They had already agreed Alex would be tired, would try to find a place to sleep. Before breakfast they had checked out two hotels, a travelodge and a boarding house. Alex and the woman were nowhere.
Ricci flicked on the indicator and turned onto the garage forecourt. There was a motel sign past the station. Borkan left his partner to fill the tank and walked in the direction of the office.
A small bell pinged as he pushed open the door. The windows were fogged from the misting rain and Borkan stepped across the welcome mat, ignoring the legend there. A young man was sitting behind the desk, a newspaper open on the counter. A mug of coffee, steam spiralling up from the drink’s surface. He glanced up as the bell announced Borkan’s entrance. He smiled a nervously ingratiating smile, pushing wire-framed spectacles up his nose.
“‘Help you?”
Borkan took in the surroundings, eyes flicking across posters on walls, grubby fake wood panelling and the anxious young man with the nasally voice, as he crossed to the desk. He reached into his jacket pocket, hand brushing against the butt of the Smith and Wesson 9mm securely holstered beneath his armpit and withdrew a thin wallet from his pocket. He flashed the fake credentials before the receptionist’s eyes, not giving the young man time enough to read the embossed card and replaced the wallet in his pocket. The I D was good enough to convince professionals, he was not worried about the reaction of the nervous young man in front of him.
“I’m looking for someone,” the authority in his voice was unmistakable. The young man coughed tensely, clearing his throat. “Um… who?”
“Where’s your register?”
“I… it’s, er… under here,” the receptionist nodded at the desk. Borkan just stared at him, saying nothing. The young man faltered at the unwavering gaze and reached down to get the stained entry book. He placed it on the counter with trembling fingers. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He had done nothing wrong, there was no reason for the police to be interested in him, but there was something about the man’s eyes, his whole demeanour that made him feel weak at the knees, that reached a hand into his guts and squeezed.
Borkan took his gaze from the man and turned his attention to the book. He spun the volume around and opened its cover. Behind him, the bell pinged again as Ricci entered the office. The receptionist tore his eyes away from Borkan, thankful for the presence of another person. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so nervous. His hope was short lived. The second man was obviously with his first customer. There was something about the way they both held themselves, the same way they dressed. The black suits and the air of authority that hung around them in a cloud. The man at the desk did not turn at the sound of the door, said nothing to his partner as he came forward. His hands flicked through the pages, stopping at the latest entries.
“There are no dates here.” It was a statement but the receptionist knew that the man, the terrifying man, before him expected an answer.
“It’s, um… no, the, er… boss. The boss isn’t so hot with… with this sort of thing,” he babbled. He was sweating. A rivulet of sweat ran down his forehead, slipped behind his glasses, stinging his eyes. He blinked rapidly.
“What use is a register if there are no dates?” There was an echo of disappointment in Borkan’s voice. The receptionist did not want to disappoint him, it was just about the furthest thing from his mind at that moment. His brain fumbled for an answer.
Ricci leaned over the counter, his face pressing closer to the young man’s. He reached out and plucked the glasses from his face. The receptionist almost yelped in fright. Ricci smiled at him as he blinked stupidly. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe the receptionist’s glasses. “You’re steaming up,” he said in a voice that sounded like broken glass to the young man.
Borkan tapped the last name in the register. “When did he come in here?”
The receptionist turned his blurred vision to the book, glad to have to answer the first man. He was scary enough, but the second one terrified him. There was something in his eyes that chilled the receptionist, something that wasn’t right, the intensity of that look was diminished by his lack of perfect vision and for once he was grateful he wore glasses. He stared at the script in the ledger, his brow furrowing as he made out the name. R. Kimble. “I don’t know,” he answered.
Ricci reached out and grasped the young man’s tie, pulling towards him. He felt a tightness in his chest and a looseness in his bladder that he only just managed to control.
“Honestly, I… I don’t know. I only came on at six. There… there’s been no one in since I started.” His eyes were screwed shut in anticipation of being hit. Ricci replaced the spectacles on the man’s nose, releasing his hold on his shirt and tie. The man opened his eyes to see the smirk sitting on Ricci’s lips.
“When did you finish yesterday?” Borkan asked, ignoring Ricci’s theatrics.
“Uh, six,” the man managed.
Borkan turned the book around. “How many of these names took rooms after six yesterday?”
The man looked. “Four,” he said after a pause.
Borkan smiled at him encouragingly.
“But two of them have checked out.”
“When?” Ricci snapped, making him jump. Borkan glanced sideways at his partner.
“Uh, one at shift change, the other about an hour ago.” There was no record in the book.
“What did they look like?” Ricci again.
“I don’t know. I mean, they all look the same, you know. You don’t look at their faces after a while.”
“That’s not what I want to hear,” Borkan told him. The receptionist heard that tone of disappointment again, heavier this time.
“The, uh, first one, he… he was an old guy, you know, about fifty. Grey hair, um…”
“What about the other one?” Borkan cut him off.
“Er, a black man. He was…”
“Doesn’t matter. Which rooms are the others in?”
The receptionist glanced at the board behind him. There were keys missing from two of the hooks. “Three and four.”
“Give me the keys,” Borkan held out his hand.
“I can’t,” Borkan raised his eyebrows.
“I mean, there’s only the master key…”
“That’s the only one I want.”
“I’m not supposed to let it out of my… I mean, don’t you have to have a search warrant or something?” The receptionist felt a sudden surge of indignance
Ricci grabbed the young man’s shirt and tie once more, this time tugging him roughly forward over the counter. He pushed his face into the other man’s. “We don’t have time to piss around with an ugly little snot like you, you understand? Now give us the fucking key!”
All the fight went out of the receptionist. He cried in terror and thrust his hand into his trouser pocket. His feet were in the air as Ricci held him in a vice like grip. He fumbled the key out of his pocket and dangled it in the air. Borkan took it from his fingers with a pleasant “Thank you” and wheeled around to the door. Ricci stared into the man’s flushed red face once more before releasing him. He pushed him back off the counter. The man stumbled, the backs of his knees making contact with his chair and he sank into the swivel seat, gasping and clutching at his throat, rubbing a finger around the inside of his collar and loosening his tie. “Sit there and don’t move,” Ricci snarled at him, “or you’ll regret it.” He followed Borkan out the door.
Weak sunshine was trying to break through the washed out sky. They both saw the BMW immediately. It might be a coincidence of course, but then again, it might not. They traded a look and reached into their jackets for their guns.
The door to apartment four was closed, painted a pale lemon, as were the other even numbered doors. Odd were an insipid orange. Borkan passed the door, crouching at the far side, his body below the level of the curtained window. Ricci stood, weapon held firmly in both hands, ready to move instantly. Borkan reached up and tried the door handle, rotating the knob with excruciating slowness. The door was locked. He slid the master key silently into the lock and gently turned it, feeling the barrels move as the lock retracted. The key was single, no other keys on the small metal ring, he left it in the lock. Nodding at Ricci, he turned the doorknob once more, releasing the catch. He pushed the door open, grey light from outside falling onto the faded carpet and the cheap furniture. There was no cry of shock, no panic of discovery. Ricci pivoted on the balls of his feet and swung into the room, gun held cocked in his hands, pointing at the bed, empty, turning, tracking across the small room, fixing on the open bathroom door, light off, darkness. Borkan followed him through the door, body still low to the ground, presenting a smaller, more difficult target.
They moved with silence, feet whispering on the thin carpet, no words spoken. Ricci checked the bathroom. He turned back to Borkan, a quick shake of his head. The other man pointed at the connecting wall to the next apartment. Ricci passed him, withdrawing the key from the door. Positions swapped this time, Ricci crouching and unlocking the door, Borkan upright on the far side.
Four entries in the register, two checked out, one empty room. There was no need for subtlety this time. Ricci turned the knob, releasing the door from the jamb and nodded at Borkan. He nodded back and lashed out with his foot, kicking the door inwards. His body was a blur as he lunged through the door in a diagonal that took him to the edge of the bed. Behind him the speeding shape of Ricci gambolled through the open door, knocking it back against the wall as it rebounded from Borkan’s entry. He unfolded out of his roll, gun poised and aiming at the bed, sweeping across to the bathroom.
In the bed, the woman awoke and screamed at the sight of the two men in her room, the barrel of Borkan’s gun staring at her with its ugly black eye. The blood drained from her face, her flesh pale in contrast to her shock of red hair. Borkan knelt on the bed, clamped a hand over the woman’s mouth, cutting off her screams and pressed the gun barrel against her forehead. “Be quiet!” He warned. Behind him, Ricci returned from the bathroom, shaking his head.
Borkan stared into the woman’s eyes. He released the pressure slightly on her mouth and took the gun away from her forehead. She stared back at him in abject terror.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he spoke softly to her. She didn’t believe him. Her body started to shake and a choked sob leaked out of her mouth. “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. If you scream, you’ll be sorry. Do you understand me?” At first the woman gave no indication she had even heard him, then she nodded rapidly. Borkan released his grip and the woman convulsed, a huge whooping sob gushing out of her lungs and tears sprang from her eyes and rolled down her face. She gasped for breath, fear clogging her airways.
“Is that your car out there?” Borkan waited until she had regained her wind. Ricci moved closer to the bed, taking the single chair and sitting backwards on it. He stared at the woman, red hair spilling from her soft round face, tears lighting up the glint of fear in her eyes, her nostrils flaring, breath ragged in her throat. He saw the tremble in her muscles, the quiver of her exposed freckled shoulders. He was jealous of Borkan at that moment. He knew the other man was not enjoying this, knew that to him it was just a job. Envy seethed through him along with the undeniable thrill of arousal he felt at the woman’s helplessness.
Borkan repeated his question, this time a look of confusion entered her eyes and she spoke dumbly, “Car?”
“The BMW, is it yours?” He asked patiently.
“I… don’t have a car.” Another thought occurred to her. “Where’s Kenny?” The two killers exchanged a glance.
“Kenny’s not here,” Borkan said.
It seemed to take a while for this information to sink in. The woman was drunk. Her initial terror seemed to have been replaced by a general befuddlement now there was not a gun in her face and her thought processes were slowed by the cloudiness brought on by too many drinks and not enough sleep.
“Who are you? Where’d Kenny go?”
Borkan ignored her. “Is that Kenny’s car?”
“Kenny’s car? What? No… I don’t know, it’s… Kenny’s got a big… car, like a… like a truck.”
Borkan shook his head at Ricci. “Let’s go,” he said. The woman stared at them with eyes struggling to focus. Ricci lifted her handbag from the bedside table, opened it and riffled through its contents.
“What are you doing?”
“Just looking,” he told his partner. The woman excited him. There was nothing he could do about it right now, there were other more pressing things to attend to, but you never knew when you might be in the neighbourhood. He found a purse and some identification, read the name and address. Well, Pammy, he thought, maybe I’ll see you around sometime. He dropped the bag to the floor and followed Borkan outside.
“Hey,” the redhead called at their retreating backs, “who the hell are you anyway. And where’s Kenny?”
Ricci pulled the door closed on her cries.
They found Kenny in the boot of the BMW. The license plate was changed but there was no disguising the scrape down the offside wing. There was a muffled groan from the boot as they studied the car. The doors were locked. Ricci shattered the driver’s door with the butt of his gun. A strident alarm broke the quiet air. He reached inside the car and unlocked it. Pulling open the door, he found the bonnet release and popped it. Borkan lifted the bonnet and ripped out the alarm’s wiring. The irritating bleep ceased. In the renewed quiet, the muffled groan became a more forceful cry. Ricci opened the boot to find a middle-aged man curled uncomfortably in the well. An ugly purple bruise stood out on his chin, a grey pallor to his features.
“Oh my Christ! Jesus! Ahhh, I’m going to be sick.” He paused in the act of trying to raise himself from the car and leaned over the lip of the boot and retched violently. The two men stepped back as his bile spattered the tarmac. He groaned again and wiped his hand across his mouth. Looking up at Borkan and Ricci towering over him, he scowled. “Don’t just do something, stand there.” They grinned at each other, neither making any attempt to help the man. “Well, get me out of this fucking thing,” he said indignantly. Ricci stepped forward, avoiding the pool of vomit on the floor and grabbed hold of his arm. “Who the fuck are you, anyway,” he squinted at them, the grey light of morning with its pale wet sun a dazzling beacon after his imposed darkness. “Have you got the bastard who did this,” he questioned not waiting for an answer. “Ah, shit! My head hurts.”
“Not yet, Kenny, but we will, believe me,” Ricci told him.