Page 65 of Ticket Out

The voice James heard through the wooden garage door sounded indignant, querulous and confused.

James thought he’d heard Gabriella running away, so this was likely the man who’d helped her off the garage roof.

Then there was the sound of running feet and the man cried out in surprise and pain.

“What’s happened?” James called through the door, cursing his inability to see anything.

There was silence for a moment.

“Some bugger’s shoved me as he ran past. Chasing that girl.”

James’s hands turned to fists where they rested against the door. The boss man, Mr. Big, was after Gabriella.

“Did she have a good lead on him?” he asked.

The old man didn’t respond. He was muttering to himself, and James guessed he was getting to his feet.

He slammed his fists against the wood. “Sir! Is she going to get away?”

“I don’t know, do I? They’re both long gone.”

Footsteps approached the door and it wobbled a little as if the old man had put his hand against it.

“You really a copper?”

“Yes.” James had heard the strain in Gabriella’s voice as she’d negotiated with the curmudgeon, and forced himself to keep a civil tone, as well.

“Reckon I might have a pair o’ bolt cutters in the shed.” He shuffled away, and James leaned back against the door, eyes closed, as he willed the old man to go faster.

This time on a Saturday morning, wherever this garage was, he doubted there would be a lot of people about to help Gabriella. And she had a killer after her.

Eventually the shuffling steps returned.

“Took a bit to find them,” the old man muttered. “Got ‘em now, though.”

James heard the rattle of the padlock, and then suddenly the door was being lifted and he had to move away to let it roll up.

While he blinked to adjust to the brighter light, he saw an old man glaring at him from under bushy gray eyebrows.

“You look rough for a copper.”

James wasn’t interested in talking about his disheveled state. Someone had turned in to the row of garages from the street, walking quickly, eyes darting around, and everything about him made the alarm bells in James’s head ring.

“Who’s that?” he asked the old man.

The man turned, still holding the bolt cutters, and his whole body stiffened. “That’s the one wot pushed me.”

James tore the bolt cutters from his limp hand and moved forward, eyes going to the man’s jacket for any sign of blood. If he had stabbed Gabriella, there would surely be evidence.

It was hard to get a good look at him, backlit as he was by the sun, and the moment Mr. Big realized James was out of the garage and coming toward him, he slowed, dipping his head and pulling his cap low.

James started to run, bolt cutters lifted like a club, and with a sudden, almost casual shrug of his shoulders, Mr. Big spun around, racing back toward the road.

He was gone before James even reached the end of the row.

When he reached the road, James tried to see where he’d gone, feeling lightheaded and out of breath at the exertion, angry at his own weakness. But Mr. Big was nowhere in sight.

“James.” The call came from the right, and James spun, feeling even more lightheaded at the sight of Gabriella racing toward him.

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