Chapter One
Adam
I can’t get caught. I won’t be caged!
These are the only thoughts running through my racing mind as I decide I’ll have to make the dangerous leap from one rooftop to the next. It’s just as few feet; a space I can usually cross with ease, especially in the daylight. But, it’s not daytime. It’s three in the morning, and there’s cloud cover making it close to impossible to see the flat top of the adjacent building.
My heart is pounding with the adrenaline rush the danger supplies. Sweat drips in my cat’s eyes; green as the grass in the park where I lost the first group of cops. They were fat bastards, and couldn’t keep up with me. I choke on my laughter just remembering their heaving bellies, and apple red faces as they stumbled to the ground to lay face down in the gravel around the play equipment. I imagine them still lying there when children come out to play in the morning. It’s damn near worthy of that funniest videos show.
I run full out across the open space of the office building, readying myself to take the leap to the apartment next door. My breathing is erratic; not from fear, but from excitement. I live for this kind of rush. A tame world doesn’t fit me in the least. I’ve been this way for most of my life. It comes from growing up in the foster care system where you never know who will be in charge of your life. I’ve always sworn to be in charge of my own. If that means running flat out across a building in the dead of night, and taking a leap of faith across the open sky over a dark alley filled with trash, including drug paraphernalia, then so be it. At least I’m still free.
I’d rather fall and die, than be locked inside a cell for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t be able to breathe in a cage. So, here I go! Into the sky. My legs pump as if I’m running on the air beneath my feet. Somehow, I think this motion helps me make the distance to the adjacent rooftop. My lungs hurt. My chest heaves. Then, I feel my feet touch ground, and I bend my body so that I curl and roll instead of crash onto the rough surface of the rooftop.
I made it, but the fun isn’t over yet. I can still hear the sirens blaring on the streets below. In the lights that line the road, I catch a glimpse of the men who are now in pursuit of me. These men are fit. Their muscles match my own, and they run with a stealth and urgency. This is not what I usually expect from the local police force. This isn’t the donut fed bunch I most often see. Who are these guys? What do they want with me?
I’m definitely a criminal. You might even call me notorious. But, this chase is out of the ordinary, even for me. It’s as if they are tracking me across the rooftops, and that’s never happened before. It’s unsettling, to say the least. I have to lose this bunch, and hunker down to think about this mess. I need to assess what they want from me. What did I do to gain their interest?
No one died in the last job I pulled. They seldom do. Killing isn’t my kind of thing. I avoid it whenever possible, especially once my own brother was murdered. Killing brings it all back to me. The pain of remembering takes my breath away.
I check to be sure my blonde hair is covered by the dark skullcap. It would be a beacon to the group below me. I tug on the sleeves to my black turtleneck, and am assured that all my skin is covered, although it’s doubtful that my skin would bring any attention to me. I may be white, but I am so heavily tattooed the skin on my arms is barely visible. I’m sporting full tattooed sleeves, which include a tribute to the brother I lost.
It’s time to move. Thankfully, the door into the apartment building is still unlocked. In fact, the lock remains broken from the last time I used this escape route. It pays to make a run through the slums. What I break doesn’t get noticed, or repaired by the lazy managers of these crumbling towers of stinking trash.
I slip through the hallways with ease. In the slums there are no cameras to catch your movements, and the lights barely make a dent in the darkness. My shoes make a slight popping sound on the grimy floor as they stick to the goo left there by who knows what. I ignore it. I’m used to the disgusting mess, and the awful smell that accompanies it. I thrive on the fact that in this environment I fit in so well that I’m practically invisible.
I race down the rickety stairs, knowing exactly where to place my feet in order to miss the broken steps. Once I reach the basement, I take a moment to catch my breath. The darkness here is absolute, yet I’ve been here so many times there is no need for light to guide me. I even know where each of the homeless people who sleep here make their pallets. I can hear their muffled groans as I pass them. I’m thankful that I’m not in their shoes.
My breathing has returned to its normal pattern. My heart has settled into a slower rhythm. I’ve made it to safety. I’ll wait behind the basement door for just a few more minutes, and give the fancy cops outside time to decide I’ve magically disappeared. Then, I’ll make my way outside into the air that is less permeated with vomit, sweat, and other bodily waste. I’ll slide down a few alleys, and reach the nicer street where I reside for the moment. It’s not a palace, but it’s a respectable place to stay for the short time I need it.
The sirens are long gone. I’m getting restless, and hungry. It will be dawn soon, and I’d rather be inside my hideaway before light strikes the dark world I prefer to exist in. I slowly open the creaking door, and hear nothing from the alley. I breathe in a sigh of relief, and step into the darkness.
As the door closes behind me with a bang, I sense I’m not alone. The hair on my neck rises, calling my attention to danger, just before I notice the black SUV’s that sit like ghosts across each end of the alley. From the darkest corners, even behind the overflowing dumpster, I see movement. The men who are holding guns on me are not cops. I hear the clicks that tell me the guns will fire if I make the wrong move. What can I do?
My mood switches to fight or flight. It only takes an instant for me to realize that flight isn’t possible. It would mean certain death. I imagine myself drawing my gun, and trying to fight my way out of this mess, but then I see the sniper above me. I’d lose my life before I got my gun out of the waistband of my pants. They’ve won, and I know it. I’m sick to my stomach thinking about being caged forever.