Run With Me (27 page)

“
And if I do what you said. If
you promise she won't talk?”

Now I turn and look into his
face. It's sincere, hopeful even. “Then I'd leave with her and
never come back.”

“
And what about Klein?” he
asks. “I've known him for years.”

“
You denied me Pullman. Klein
belongs to me.”

I wait for his reaction. All he
does is nod very lightly, his eyes sticking to mine. His permission,
like I need it.

Then we both step forward
together, shortening the distance between us, and raise our hands.
They lock into a shake, both our grips tight. “I'll give you Kitty
for your word you won't try to kill me.”

I nod and shake harder. “And
I'll make sure she never speaks of any of this, as long as you leave
both of us alone.”

He nods as well.

“
I think, Mr Tanner, we have a
deal.”

Kitty

I'm awoken suddenly by the sound
of my door clicking open and footsteps moving in. I look up and see
shadows entering from the bright corridor outside, voices uttering
words my disorientated head can't immediately compute.

Is it time? Is my sentence up? I
wonder how they'll kill me. Hopefully it'll be quick and painless.
Why can't they have just crept in and stuck a needle in my arm? Then,
at least, I'd never have known and could have been spared all of
this.

My instinct kicks in and I
scramble to the back of the bed and against the wall. I count two
men, two strong sets of arms, reaching out and grabbing me. They pull
hard and easily unseat me despite my attempts to fend them off. Now
words begin to form in my head.
Calm down. Stop fighting
.
Grunts from the men's mouths as they try to calm me down.

My writhing continues as they
half walk, half carry me out of the room and into the corridor. For
the first time, I see the outside of my cell. There are rooms spaced
evenly down the corridor with numbers. I was in 512. Next along is
511, then 510, until we reach an elevator after 506.

The elevator takes us to the
ground floor and we enter into what appears to be a bomb site.
There's a large open space filled with construction equipment and
material. Scaffolding sits on one side of the hall, its wall half
painted, while at the front is a long desk with a marble top and a
series of lock boxes behind it. So, it is a hotel, not yet open for
business. Most likely Michael Carmine's most recent business project.

I'm making noises now,
protesting against my imminent death. Making pleading sounds and
crying out in a way I told myself I wouldn't. I said if I was going
to go down it would be with pride, with my head held high. This isn't
exactly the way I'd envisaged it.

It's light outside and I realize
my last, my only, hope is to cry to high heaven so that someone hears
me and raises the alarm. But even that's dashed as my captors stop at
the door, stuff a cloth in my mouth, and wrap tape around my head to
stop me from spitting it out. Now my calls are muffled to the point
of being useless. I guess someone will have to see me instead if
they're to do anything.

That doesn't happen either.
Outside the hotel is a cordoned off construction area completely
hidden from the road. Within it is a black sedan, its back door open
and ready for me. When we reach it one of the men pulls my hands
together behind my back and fastens my wrists using some sort of
plastic handcuff tie. I struggle in vain as they both help me into
the backseat.

Now we're driving, and I don't
know where. Through the back of the city, away from the bright lights
and heavy smog. For a few minutes I dance around at the window,
hoping to get the attention of some passer by, until I realize that
the windows are blacked out and no one can see me. The two men in the
front of the car seem entirely disinterested, allowing me to shout my
muffled cries for help until I'm exhausted and give up, which doesn't
take long.

Really, it's no use. This isn't
a random killing. It's not impromptu and improvised. This has all
been planned by people who know just what they're doing. I'll
disappear and no one, not my friends, not my family, will know what
happened to me. The only person who will is Colt.

The next 20 minutes are the
worst of my life. There's something about knowing you're about to die
that gives you total clarity. You begin to think of all the things
you've failed at, all the things you never even had a chance to try.
You appraise your role in the world, everything you've achieved. The
worst thing for me is that I have nothing to show for my existence.
No accomplishments. Nothing to make someone proud of me, me proud of
myself. I'm going to die and, really, no one's going to miss me. A
handful of friends might question my whereabouts. My dad might wonder
why I haven't written him. But that's it. The people I was closest to
– Tara, my aunt and uncle – they're already gone. In the end,
maybe joining them might not be the worst thing.

I'm quiet now, sitting
motionless and watching as the world turns more green, less urban. My
eyes are warm with tears, drifting down my cheeks and soaking the
tape around my mouth. My imminent death is made worse by the sobering
thought that my life has been meaningless and empty. I see it all so
clearly, like a vision glowing bright in front of my eyes. It's the
type of lucid revelation that only unveils itself at the end. And it
makes everything all the more painful.

I try to look for rays of light,
something to cling to. Friends. I've enriched their lives over the
years, haven't I? I helped Tara out when she needed it and would do
the same for anyone I cared about. Does that make me a good person, a
good friend? I hope so.

I think of my father, about our
relationship before he went to prison, about how we were a team for
so long after the death of my mother. I think of him getting the news
in jail, banging the walls and shaking the bars. I'm his shining
light. He tells me that in all his letters. What will he do without
me guiding him? The thought brings a fresh steam of tears to my eyes.

My thoughts also turn to Colt.
The man who saved me, who protected me. Will he avenge me too? I
think of his family and their deaths. Of the confession of Robert
Pullman still nested into my back pocket. I'll never get a chance to
tell him now, to give him the link that might help him complete the
chain and find the retribution he's been seeking. It strikes at me in
a strange way that, above all, I won't get to tell him how I feel.
For what's he's done, for what he means to me. It's that thought that
my mind lingers on the longest. The regret of something missed.
Maybe, with him, my life could have developed some meaning.

The feeling of the car slowing
down pulls me back to reality, and I look out to see that we've
arrived at a remote patch of land in the forest north of the city.
Taken to the woods to be offed and buried in the deep, cold earth.
It's almost a cliché.

I'm not surprised when I look
out of the window and see another car there. I half expected him to
want to say goodbye in person, and I'm not left disappointed. Michael
Carmine stands, arms crossed, with a beaming smile. I haven't known
him long, but I've never witnessed that particular expression on his
face. Is he really so callous that my death is the one thing that
brings him true joy?

Before the door opens and I'm
ordered from the car I compose myself. I may have lost it for the
duration of this car journey but I won't let him see me cry. I rub my
eyes to my shoulders, which is tricky with your hands tied behind
your back, and quickly dry my teary cheeks. I'm sure my face is still
red and blotchy, but it's the best I can do.

Then the door opens and hands
reach in to pull me out. This time, though, I don't recoil and I
don't struggle. I merely shuffle my legs over and step out as
casually as possible. At the sight of me, I see Carmine's smile
evaporate and a frown crease his eyebrows.

“
Why is she bound like that?”
he asks forcefully, turning his eyes towards the two men who
delivered me to him.

“
She was struggling boss.
Making all this noise.”

“
Well untie her hands and take
that damn cloth out of her mouth.”

They set to it quickly, a little
too quickly for my liking, pulling half my hair out as they rip the
tape from my head.

“
Easy!” shouts Carmine,
stepping forward. He reaches for the tape himself and begins to
unravel it more gently. What is this? Like buttering up a lamb for
slaughter? The gentle touch is somewhat lost on me given that he's
about to take my life.

The plastic cuffs around my
wrists are cut and my immediate reaction is to rub my head where the
tape was pulled too hard.

“
It's all right,” says
Carmine. “No chunks missing or anything.” He offers a smile and
hands the hair matted tape to one of the guards as I spit the cloth
from my mouth.

“
Like it matters,” I mumble.
Having fancy hair doesn't exactly make a difference when you're six
feet under.

I'm having trouble looking at
Carmine, who's way too close to me for comfort. In fact, this is the
closest he's ever been to me, so close I can smell his cologne mixed
with the heavy scent of cigar smoke that lingers in his suit and on
his breath. I try to raise my eyes to his, but only manage a glance
before dropping my eyes back to the floor. In that glance, I don't
see the malice I've come to expect.

He steps back now and speaks.
“What exactly do you think this is?” he asks.

“
The end,” I say curtly.

I lift my head enough to see him
nodding. “That's exactly what it is Kitty. It's the end of all of
this. We have to draw a line under it for all our sakes.”

“
And what about Colt?”

“
He coming.”

He's coming!
So
he has been using me as bait. Now Colt's going to walk into a trap
and we're both going to be sent to the grave. It's the end all right,
and Carmine's won. Was anything else really going to happen?

“
You need to make me a promise
though Kitty.” Now I lock eyes with him and stare. “I need to
know that you won't speak of any of this. If ever the police catch up
with you, I have to know that my name won't come up.”

“
Catch me?” I say,
tentatively. “You're....letting me go?”

His face is stern, his eyes
piercing. “Can I trust you?”

“
I...I don't understand.
You're not going to kill me?” I repeat, my voice hopeful.

“
I told you Kitty, I wasn't
going to kill you. But only if I can trust you?”

I know what he means. Trust me
to stay silent, to keep my mouth shut about the man I saw him kill,
about Tara and my aunt and uncle. I still want him dead for all of
that. For what he's put me through, put Colt through. What he should
be asking is, will I step away and let things lie. Not forgive. I
could never do that. But let it go for my own sake, and for Colt's.
There is only one answer I can give.

“
You can trust me,” I say
impassively. He eyes me with caution and suspicion, so I repeat to
convince him. “You can trust me Mr Carmine, I promise you that.”

“
I believe you,” he says.
“But if I get any hint that you've been to the police.” His voice
is hardening now as he inches forward. “If I hear a whisper that my
name has dropped from your lips....I'll kill your father. And, if I
find you, I'll kill you too.”

The threat is so real it almost
hurts. A flash of my father, stabbed and lying in a pool of blood in
his cell, crosses my eyes. Prison may keep people from getting out,
but there's no hiding in there. If Carmine wanted him dead, it would
be as easy as a phone call.

I nod in silence and, now, can't
look away from him. The bright smile is gone and his eyes are
burning. He's telling me how serious this all is, telling me to let
it all go and move on. It's an order I'll follow, even from him.

The sound of tires moving over
the dirt track suddenly comes into focus and I turn on the spot, away
from Carmine. A car I don't recognize rumbles forward and comes to a
halt about 100 feet away. The door opens and Colt appears, pistol
pointing through the open window, body hidden and protected behind
the metal frame.

“
Colt!” I shout, unable to
keep my voice in check. I make a move to run to him but feel my wrist
gripped in Carmine's vice like hand. He pulls me back as his other
hand grabs my throat, restricting the airflow to my lungs.

“
We had a deal Carmine,”
calls Colt. “Let her go.”

“
Lower the weapon first. The
deal is still on, just lower the weapon and I'll release her.”

I gasp for air as Colt wrestles
with a decision. Most likely he's working out whether Carmine can
truly be trusted.

He has no choice, though, and
soon realizes it. His hands slide backwards over the top of the glass
and he stands, putting his pistol back into the holster in his belt.
He steps to the side, exposing his entire body, and raises his hands.

“
OK Carmine,” he calls,
“time to see if that word of yours can be trusted. Let her go, and
we can call an end to it all right here, right now.”