Page 48 of The Finish Line

He glances around the abandoned street.

“Nous sommes au milieu de nulle part!” We aren’t anywhere!

If you didn’t believe in ghosts before you came here tonight, he is proof.

And for a second, I visualize what Claude sees. An abandoned street time has forgotten, not a building in sight.

“Go, now.” His eyes shift in fear as he studies my bloody shirt and the raging knot at my temple. “Moins tu poseras de questions et plus tôt tu partiras, plus tu seras en sécurité.” The less questions you ask and the sooner you leave, the safer you are. Guys like Claude need little coaxing when it comes to self-preservation, and he’s as self-serving as they come.

“Je déménage.” I’m moving out!

I slam the door as he speeds away and dial Dominic, who picks up on the first ring.

“’Sup?”

I rattle off an address. “I need details of what and who, and I need them now. Dom, dig deep.”

“On it. I’ll text you.”

“You’ll what?”

“Jesus.” Dominic hangs up as I start a slow walk toward the gate, willing my phone to ring. If they spot me before he gets back to me, it might not be enough.

The more time that passes without a word, the more the hairs on my neck stand on end. Frantically staring at the cell phone he sent hours before, I begin to backtrack, knowing I’m a sitting duck without the information I need. Instead of ringing, the phone vibrates in my hand. I press the cue to get to the message that comes across the screen.

Relief fills me as I glance up at the gate just ahead, armed with the information I need. When I make it to the entrance, I lift my chin to the camera angled just beneath the top of the gate and lift my hands. My first text message might’ve just saved my life... or ended it. Time will tell, and I don’t have a lot of it because seconds later, the flaming red faces of two men who assaulted me appear behind the gate, their voices booming as they approach.

“C’est quoi ce bordel?!” What the fuck?!

“Tu viens de signer ton arrêt de mort, imbécile!” You just killed yourself, imbecile!

Once escorted inside the gate, I realize looks are deceiving and see it’s more of a compound—a cluster of one-story, red-clay buildings that once thrived in a different time. I find the idea smart, much like the street vendor game of shuffling cups to find the red ball. The tactic gives him ample time to escape if need be, but I can see the flaws. Scenarios flit through my brain as I’m led to one of three buildings fifty yards from the gate, and this time, I’m taken upstairs before being shoved into an office and onto my knees.

Behind an oak desk sits the sharply dressed man. He scrutinizes me as I do him. It’s clear he’s fatigued from a long night, and I do my best not to celebrate the mild surprise in his eyes. It’s dawning on him at this moment that I fully meant to get captured last night. It’s taken me the better part of a year to get this man’s attention, and that was easy compared to finding out who he was because I never could until just moments ago—known for being unknown but so notorious in reputation that no one dares to seek him out. It’s skills like this I need in order to carry out my plans to become a worthy opponent. Whispers and murmurs are all that exist about him and his organization, but no one really knows who heads it, and if they do see his face, it’s the last thing they see.

The press of a gun being cocked at my temple brings that knowledge home.

Mother, greet me. Father, keep me.

After a minute-long assessment of me, he lights a cigarette and takes a deep inhale, his exhale clouding my face before he speaks.

“All right, Ezekiel. You found me. How?”

“First mistake, they faced me forward on the seat. From then on, it was a matter of tuning them out and keeping up with the turns, light counts, the time between them, and speed.”

“Like you, I don’t make the same mistake twice.” He lifts a blistering gaze to the two men on both sides of me, and I know I might have cost them. He squares his shoulders, but I can see the sting in his eyes and some of the contempt I’ve earned with my stunt. “Ego can be dangerous. Maybe I should have asked who you are.”

With the lift of his chin, the men at my side bring me to my feet before closing the door behind them.

Once alone, we stare at each other for several seconds, and I know my time is limited.

“It was your reputation that had me seeking you out. I don’t sell people, drugs, or guns, and never will. Who am I? For the moment, I’m an orphan and penniless thief, and my ambitions don’t suit yours. However, I’m thinking maybe we can help each other, Antoine.”

*

Gunning the gas, I race down the deserted roads next to Cecelia’s house, sorting through the details of that day and the decisions of the years after. Did I distort all our futures that night? That move was my first on a new board and gave me my first real taste for the game.

Was it the beginning or the end?

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