Page 35 of The Games We Play
If it was one of those Righteous Brotherhood cunts, I’ll burn down the organization from the top.
Panic races through me. I want to think it’s because of what I’ve just seen, Iris getting spun around and her car crumpled around her. But it’s also the ghosts of dead men, the agony of knowing I missed what was about to happen. The screams and shouts of those who witnessed Iris’s accident sound too much like the echoes of Kabul. And with the license plate of the truck rolling around in my mind and my gut-wrenching need to even the balance sheet, I can’t keep a handle on what to do next.
I reach through the shattered glass of her window and unlock the door from the inside. Tears stain her cheeks, and for a moment, I debate getting back on my bike to chase the fucker. I glance up the street. The clock is ticking ... but I can’t, not when she’s fucking crying. Gently, I lean across her to unlock her seat belt, but I don’t move her. “Fuck. You okay, little chick? Where hurts?”
“I ... my arm. Spark, I don’t ... know what—”
I tuck her hair behind her ear, even as a I try to slow my heartbeat and calm the urge to hunt. The truck is slowed by school traffic and kids crossing. I can still catch them. But my demons need taming. “I’ve got you. You think it’s safe for you to get out of the car, or you want a paramedic to come look at you first?”
“I hurt my wrist. I think I can get out of the car if you help me.”
Moving slowly, I slide my hands beneath her knees and behind her back to ease her out of the car. Without worrying about the crowd of bystanders now watching us, I walk her to the curb and sit her down on the grassy embankment. “You okay there if I just go move your car off the road?”
She nods as tears trickle down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, little chick. You’re breaking my fucking heart.”
I run my thumbs along her cheeks to wipe them away. She’s shivering. Shock is an ugly fucker. I slip my leather jacket off and drape it over her shoulders. It’s all I’ve got right now to warm her.
“Iris,” a woman yells from a car window. It’s the one who was with her for lunch. We didn’t get introduced. She parks near Iris and jumps out of the car. Then Iris takes one look at her friend and starts to sob. And that’s it.
A desperately wild rage fills me.
“You got her?” I ask the woman.
“My name’s Kasey. And yes, I’ve got her.”
“Take her to the hospital. Don’t leave her alone.” I reach into my wallet and grab my credit card before handing it to Iris. “You don’t have insurance, you put it on that.”
Iris looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “Spark, what are you ...”
“Kasey will get you to the hospital. I’m gonna go find the fucker who tore off without stopping.”
I run back to my bike, right it, climb on, then scream up the street. I weave in and out of the cars. Some honk, but I’m focused.
The traffic opens up, and I’m losing whoever drove that truck. Revving the engine hard, I scan ahead, down every side street in case he peeled off. When I finally see him, I stay far enough back that I hope he doesn’t see me. I follow him to a parking lot in Matawan where he pulls into a bay. I’m about to get off my bike and confront the fucker when the lights flash on the Audi parked next to him. Still holding a key fob, the guy jumps from the truck to the car.
And this just got fucking interesting.
This wasn’t an accident.
It was deliberate.
I type both license plates into my phone. Finally, the fucker looks up. Realizes I’m sitting, blocking the exit to the lot.
You can tell so much about a guy from his body language.
This guy isn’t scared.
He should be. His days are numbered.
But he realizes there’s no way he’s getting his car out of the lot without moving me and my bike.
With an agility that catches me off guard, he leaps out of the car and pulls some parkour-type shit to jump the wall surrounding the lot, and he’s off.
I park my bike and follow him. The wall is no obstacle, but I’m not as graceful at getting over it. He’s in sneakers, while I’m in heavy black boots as he runs down the street, then darts down the alley. I reach for my gun but point it to the ground while I’m giving chase.
When I hit the alley, I pause and glance down it before running in. The last thing I need is to turn a corner and be met with a face full of lead. He’s already at the fence that blocks the width of the alley, and with the grace of a dancer, he leaps onto a dumpster, up the fence, and is over it and running. I raise my gun and aim, but as if he knows my strategy, he zigzags, ducking back and forth, faking, making it impossible to hit him.
