Absolute Power

Chapter Twenty-seven

Kate lay in bed but was as far from sleep as she could possibly be. The ceiling of her bedroom had been replaced with a torrent of images, each one more terrifying than its predecessor. She looked across at the small clock on the nightstand. Three o’clock in the morning. Her window shade was open enough to reveal the pitch-black darkness outside. She could hear the raindrops on the windowpane. Normally comforting, now they simply added to the relentless pounding in her head.

When the phone rang, at first, she didn’t move. Her limbs seemed too heavy for her to even attempt to budge, as if each had simultaneously lost all circulation. For one terrible moment she thought she had suffered a stroke. Finally, on the fifth ring she managed to lift the receiver.

“Hello?” Her voice was shaky, one step from oblivion; her nerves completely spent.

“Kate. I need some help.”

Four hours later they sat in the front of the little deli at Founder’s Park, the site of their initial rendezvous after so many years apart. The weather had worsened into a hard, pelting snow that had made driving nearly impossible and walking only for the irrationally daring.

Jack looked across at her. The hooded parka was off, but a ski cap, a few days’ worth of beard and a pair of thick glasses obscured his features to such a degree that Kate had to look twice before she recognized him.

“You’re sure no one followed you?” He looked anxiously at her. A cup of steaming coffee partially clouded her line of vision, but she could see the strain on his face. It was clear he was near the breaking point.

“I did what you said. The subway, two cabs and a bus. If anyone kept up with me in this weather, they’re not human.”

Jack put his coffee down. “From what I’ve seen, they might not be.”

He had not specifically identified the meeting place on the phone. He now assumed that they were listening to everything, to anyone connected to him. He had only mentioned the “usual” place, confident that Kate would understand, and she had. He looked out the window. Every passing face was a threat. He slid a copy of the Post across to her. The front page was revealing. Jack had shaken with anger when he had first read it.

Seth Frank was in stable condition at George Washington University Hospital with a concussion. The homeless man, as yet unidentified, had not been so fortunate. And smack in the middle of the story was Jack Graham, a one-man crime wave. She looked up at him after reading the story.

“We need to keep moving.” He looked at her, drained his coffee and then got up.

The cab dropped them off at Jack’s motel on the outskirts of Alexandria’s Old Town. His eyes looking left and right and then behind, they made their way to his room. After locking and bolting the door, he took off the ski cap and glasses.

“God, Jack, I’m so sorry you’re involved in any of this.” She shook; he could actually see her trembling from across the room. It took a moment for him to wrap his arms around her until he felt her body calm, relax. He looked at her.

“I got myself involved. Now I just need to get myself uninvolved.” He attempted a smile, but it didn’t dent the fear she was feeling for him; the awful dread that he might soon join her father.

“I left a dozen messages for you on your machine.”

“I never thought to check, Kate.” He took the next half hour to tell her the events of the last few days. Her eyes reflected the growing horror with each new revelation.

“My God!”

They were silent for a moment.

“Jack, do you have any idea who’s behind all this?”

Jack shook his head, a small groan escaped his lips. “I’ve got a bunch of loose threads sliding around in my head but none of them have added up to spit so far. I’m hoping that status will change. Soon.”

The finality with which the last word was spoken hit her like a sudden slap. His eyes told her. The message was clear. Despite the disguises, the elaborate travel safeguards, despite whatever innate ability he could bring to the battlefield, they would find him. Either the cops or whoever wanted to kill him. It was only a matter of time.

“But at least if they got what they wanted back?” Her voice drifted off. She looked at him, almost pleadingly.

He lay back on the bed, stretched exhausted limbs that didn’t seem to belong to him any longer.

“That’s not something I can really hang my hat on forever, Kate, is it?” He sat up and looked across the room. At the cheap picture of Jesus hanging on the wall. He would take a dose of divine intervention right now. A small miracle would do.

“But you didn’t kill anyone, Jack. You told me Frank’s already figured that out. The D.C. cops will too.”

“Will they? Frank knows me, Kate. He knows me and I could still hear the doubt in his voice at first. He picked up on the glass, but there’s no evidence that anyone tampered with it or the gun. On the other hand there’s clear, take-it-to-the-bank proof, pointing to me killing two people. Three if you count last night. My lawyer would recommend my negotiating a plea and hoping for twenty to life with the possibility of parole. I’d recommend it myself. If I go to trial I’ve got no shot. Just a bunch of speculation trying to tie Luther and Walter Sullivan and all the rest into some landscape of conspiracy of, you have to admit, mind-boggling proportions. The judge’ll laugh my ass right out of court. The jury will never hear it. Really, there’s nothing to hear.”

He stood up and leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets. He didn’t look at her. Both his short- and long-term prospects had doomsday written all over them.

“I’ll die an old man in prison, Kate. That is, if I make it to old age — which is a big question mark in itself.”

She sat down on the bed, her hands in her lap. A gasp caught midway in her throat as the sheer hopelessness sank in, like a boulder dropped in deep, dark waters.

Seth Frank opened his eyes. At first nothing came into focus. What his brain registered resembled a large white canvas on which a few hundred gallons of black, white and gray paint had been poured to form a cloggy, mind-altering quagmire. After a few anxious moments, he was able to discern the outline of the hospital room in all its stark white, chrome and sharp angles. As he tried to sit up, a hand planted itself firmly against his shoulder.

“Uh-uh, Lieutenant. Not so fast.”

Frank looked up into the face of Laura Simon. The smile did not entirely hide the worry lines around the eyes. Her sigh of relief was clearly audible.

“Your wife just left to check on the kids. She’s been here all night. I told her as soon as she left you’d wake up.”

“Where am I?”

“GW Hospital. I guess if you were gonna have your head pounded in, at least you picked a place close to a hospital.” Simon continued to lean over the bed so Frank wouldn’t have to turn his head. He stared up at her.

“Seth, do you remember what happened?”

Frank thought back to last night. Or was it last night?

“What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“So it happened last night?”

“Around eleven or so. At least they found you about then. And the other guy.”

“Other guy?” Frank jerked his head around. Pain shot through his neck.

“Take it easy, Seth.” Laura took a moment to prop a pillow next to Frank’s head.

“There was another guy. Homeless. They haven’t identified him yet. Same kind of blow to the back of the head. Probably died instantly. You were lucky.”

Frank gingerly touched his throbbing temples. He didn’t feel so lucky.

“Anybody else?”

“What?”

“Did they find anybody else?”

“Oh. No, but you’re not going to believe this. You know the lawyer who watched the tape with us?”

Frank tensed. “Yeah, Jack Graham.”

“Right. The guy kills two people at his law firm and then he’s spotted running away from the Metro about the time you and the other guy get whacked. The guy’s a walking nightmare. And he looked like a Mr. All-American.”

“Have they found him yet? Jack? They’re sure he got away?”

Laura looked at him strangely. “He got out of the Metro station if that’s what you mean. But it’s only a matter of time.” She looked out the window, reached for her purse. “The D.C. cops want to talk with you as soon as you’re able.”

“I’m not sure how much help I can be. I don’t remember all that much, Laura.”

“Temporary amnesia. You’ll probably get it back.”

She put on her jacket. “I have to go. Somebody’s got to keep Middleton County safe for the rich and famous while you’re counting sheep in here.” She smiled. “Don’t make a habit out of this, Seth. We were really worried we might have to hire a new detective.”

“Where would you find someone as nice as me?”

Laura laughed. “Your wife will be back in a few hours. You need to get some rest anyway.” She turned to go to the door.

“By the way, Seth, what were you doing at the Farragut West Metro at that time of night?”

Frank didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have amnesia. He recalled the night’s events clearly.

“Seth?”

“I’m not sure, Laura.” He closed his eyes and then re-opened them. “I just don’t remember.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll come back to you. In the meantime, they’ll catch Graham. That’ll probably clear everything up.”

After Laura left, Frank did not rest. Jack was out there. And he had probably initially thought the detective had set him up, although if Jack had seen the paper he would know that the detective had walked blindly into the ambush that had been laid for the lawyer.

But they had the letter opener now. That’s what was in that box. He was certain of it. And without that what chance did they have of nailing these people?

Frank again tried to struggle up. There was an IV in his arm. The pressure on his brain caused him to immediately lie back down. He had to get out of here. And he had to get in touch with Jack. Right now he had no idea how he would accomplish either.

“You said you needed my help? What can i do?” Kate looked directly at Jack. There were no reservations on her features.

Jack sat on the bed next to her. He looked troubled. “I’ve got some real serious doubts about getting you anywhere near this. In fact I’m wondering if calling you was the right thing to do.”

“Jack, I’ve been surrounded by rapists, armed robbers and murderers for the last four years.”

“I know that. But at least you knew who they were. This could be anybody. People are getting killed left and right, Kate. This is about as serious as it gets.”

“I’m not leaving unless you let me help you.”

Jack hesitated, his eyes turned away from hers.

“Jack, if you don’t, then I’m going to turn you in. Better you take your chances with the cops.”

He looked at her. “You’d do that, wouldn’t you?”

“Damn straight I would. I’m breaking all the rules by being here with you now. If you let me in on it, then I forget all about seeing you today. If you don’t...”

There was a look in her eyes that, despite all the horrific possibilities he was contemplating, made him somehow feel fortunate to be here at this exact moment.

“Okay. You need to be my contact with Seth. Outside of you he’s the only one I can trust.”

“But you lost the package. How can he help?” Kate could not hide her dislike of the homicide detective.

Jack stood up and paced. Finally he stopped and looked down at her. “You know how your dad was a freak for control? Always have a backup plan?”

Kate said dryly, “I remember.”

“Well I’m counting on that quality.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That Luther had a backup plan on this one.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Mrs. Broome?”

The door opened another notch as Edwina Broome peered out.

“Yes?”

“My name is Kate Whitney. Luther Whitney was my father.”

Kate relaxed as the old woman greeted her with a smile.

“I knew I’d seen you before. Luther was always showing pictures of you. You’re even prettier than your photos.”

“Thank you.”

Edwina jerked the door open. “What am I thinking about. You must be freezing. Please come in.”

Edwina led her into the small living room where a trio of felines were cloistered on various pieces of furniture.

“I just made some fresh tea, would you like some?”

Kate hesitated. Time was short. Then she looked around the narrow confines of the home. In the corner sat a battered upright piano, thick dust on the wood. Kate looked at the woman’s weakened eyes; the pleasures of a musical pastime had also been taken from her. Husband passed on, her only daughter dead. How many visitors could she possibly have?

“Thank you, I would.”

Both women settled into the old but comfortable furniture. Kate sipped the strong tea and she began to thaw out. She brushed the hair out of her face and looked across at the elderly woman to find a pair of sad eyes upon her.

“I’m sorry about your daddy, Kate. I really am. I know you two had your differences. But Luther was as good a man as I’ve come across in my life.”

Kate felt herself growing warmer. “Thank you. We both have had a lot to deal with in that regard.”

Edwina’s eyes drifted over to a small table next to the window. Kate followed the gaze. On the table numerous photographs displayed a small shrine to Wanda Broome; capturing her in happy times. She strongly resembled her mother.

A shrine. With a jolt Kate recalled her father’s own collection of her personal triumphs.

“Yes indeed.” Edwina was looking at her again.

Kate put down her tea. “Mrs. Broome, I hate to jump right into this, but the fact is I don’t have much time.”

The old woman leaned forward expectantly. “This is about Luther’s death, and my daughter’s too, isn’t it?”

Kate looked surprised. “Why do you think that?”

Edwina leaned forward even more, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Because I know Luther didn’t kill Mrs. Sullivan. I know it as if I’d seen it with my own eyes.”

Kate looked puzzled. “Do you have any idea who—”

Edwina was already shaking her head sadly. “No. No, I don’t.”

“Well how do you know my father didn’t do it?”

Now there was definite hesitation. Edwina leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. When she finally reopened them, Kate had not moved a muscle.

“You’re Luther’s daughter and I believe you should know the truth.” She paused, took a sip of her tea, pressed her lips dry with a napkin and then settled back into her chair. A black Persian drifted across and promptly went to sleep in her lap. “I knew about your father. His past, so to speak. He and Wanda got to know each other. She got into trouble years back and Luther helped her, helped her get back on her feet and get settled into a respectable life. I will always be grateful to him for that. He was always there when Wanda or I needed anything. The fact is, Kate, your father would never have been in the house that night if it weren’t for Wanda.”

Edwina spoke for some minutes. When she had finished Kate sat back in her chair and realized she was holding her breath. She let out a loud gasp that seemed to echo around the room.

Edwina didn’t say anything but continued to watch the young woman with her large sad eyes. Finally she stirred. A thickly wrinkled hand patted Kate’s knee.

“Luther loved you, child. More than anything.”

“I realize that...”

Edwina slowly shook her head. “He never blamed you for the way you felt. In fact he said you were entirely right to feel that way.”

“He said that?”

“He was so proud of you, your being a lawyer and all. He used to say to me, ‘My daughter is a lawyer and a damned fine one. Justice is what matters for her and she’s right, dead right.’ ”

Kate’s head began to swirl. She was feeling emotions she was ill-equipped right now to deal with. She rubbed the back of her neck and took a moment to look outside. A black sedan pulled down the street and then disappeared. She quickly looked back at Edwina.

“Mrs. Broome, I appreciate your telling me these things. But I really came here for a specific reason. I need your help.”

“I’ll do whatever I can.”

“My father sent you a package.”

“Yes. And I sent it on to Mr. Graham, like Luther said to.”

“Yes I know. Jack got the package. But someone... someone took it away from him. Now we’re wondering if my father sent you something else, something else that might help us?”

Edwina’s eyes no longer looked sad. They had collected into twin masses of stark intensity. She looked over Kate’s shoulder.

“Behind you, Kate, in the piano seat. The hymnal on the left.”

Kate opened the piano seat and lifted out the hymnal. Inside the pages was a small packet. She looked down at it.

“Luther was the most prepared man I have ever met in my life. Said if anything went wrong with my sending the package that I was to send this to Mr. Graham. I was getting ready to do that when I heard about him on the TV. Am I right in thinking Mr. Graham didn’t do any of the things they say he did?”

Kate nodded. “I wish everybody thought like you did.”

Kate started to open the package.

Edwina’s voice was sharp. “Don’t do that, Kate. Your father said that only Mr. Jack Graham was to see what was inside of there. Only him. I think it best if we took him at his word.”

Kate hesitated, fighting her natural curiosity, and then closed the package.

“Did he tell you anything else? Whether he knew who had killed Christine Sullivan?”

“He did know.”

Kate looked at her sharply. “But he didn’t say who?”

Edwina shook her head vigorously. “He did say one thing though.”

“What was that?”

“He said if he told me who had done it, I wouldn’t have believed him.”

Kate sat back, thought for several anxious moments.

“What could he have meant by that?”

“Well, it surprised me, I can tell you that.”

“Why? Why did that surprise you?”

“Because Luther was the most honest man I’d ever met. I would have believed anything he would have told me. Accepted it as the gospel.”

“So whatever he saw, whoever he saw, must have been someone so unlikely as to be unbelievable. Even to you.”

“Exactly. That’s exactly what I thought too.”

Kate rose to go. “Thank you, Mrs. Broome.”

“Please call me Edwina. Funny name, but it’s the only one I have.”

Kate smiled. “After this is all over, Edwina, I... I’d like to come back and visit if you don’t mind. Talk about things some more.”

“I’d like nothing better. Being old has its good and bad. Being old and lonely is all bad.”

Kate put on her coat and went to the door. She put the package safely in her purse.

“That should narrow your search shouldn’t it, Kate?”

Kate turned around. “What?”

“Someone that unbelievable. Can’t be too many of them around I wouldn’t think.”

The hospital security guard was tall, beefy and uncomfortable as hell.

“I don’t exactly know what happened. I was gone maybe two, three minutes tops.”

“You shouldn’t have been away from your post at all, Monroe.” The diminutive supervisor was in Monroe’s face and the big man was sweating hard.

“Like I said, the lady asked for some help with a bag, so I helped her.”

“What lady?”

“I told you, just some lady. Young, good-lookin’, dressed real professional.” The supervisor turned away, disgusted. He had no way of knowing the lady was Kate Whitney and that she and Seth Frank were already five blocks away in Kate’s car.

“Does it hurt?” Kate looked at him, with not much sympathy in either her features or her voice.

Frank gingerly touched the bandages around his head. “You kidding? My six-year-old hits me harder.” He looked around the interior of the car. “You got some smokes? Since when the hell are hospitals nonsmoking?”

She rummaged in her purse and flipped him an open pack.

He lit up and eyed her over the cloud of smoke. “By the way, nice job on the rent-a-cop. You should be in the movies.”

“Great! I’m in the market for a career change.”

“How’s our boy?”

“Safe. For now. Let’s keep him that way.”

She turned the corner and looked hard at him.

“You know, it wasn’t exactly my plan to let your old man buy it right in front of me.”

“That’s what Jack said.”

“But you don’t believe him?”

“What does it matter what I believe?”

“It does. It matters to me, Kate.”

She stopped for a red light. “Okay. Let’s put it this way. I’m coming around to the idea that you didn’t want it to happen. Is that good enough?”

“No, but it’ll do for now.”

Jack turned the corner and tried to relax. The latest storm front had finally wearied of the Capital City, but although there no longer was any pelting icy rain, the thermometer had remained consistently in the twenties and the wind had returned with a vengeance. He blew on stiff fingers and rubbed sleep-deprived eyes. Against a drift of black sky, a sliver of moon hung, soft and luminous. Jack checked his surroundings. The building across the street was dark and empty. The structure he was standing in front of had closed its doors a long time ago. A few passersby braved the inclement conditions, but for large chunks of time Jack stood alone. Finally he took shelter inside the doorway of the building and waited.

Three blocks away a rusting cab pulled to the curb, the back door opened and a pair of low heels touched the cement sidewalk. The cab immediately pulled off and a moment later the street was silent again. Kate tugged her coat around her and hurried off. As she passed the next block, another car, lights out, turned the corner and drifted along in her wake. Her thoughts focused on the steps that lay ahead of her, Kate did not look back.

Jack saw her turn the corner. He looked in all directions before moving, a habit he had quickly cultivated and hoped he would be able to discard very soon. He moved quickly to meet her. The street was quiet. Neither Kate nor Jack saw the sedan’s nose as it crept past the corner building’s front. Inside the driver zeroed in on the couple with a night-vision device the mail-order catalogue had trumpeted as being the very latest in Soviet technology. And although the former communists had no clue as to how to run a democratic, capitalist society, they did, for the most part, build sound military hardware.

“Jesus, you’re freezing, how long have you been waiting?” Kate had touched Jack’s hand and the icy feel had coursed through her entire body.

“Longer than I needed to. The motel room was shrinking on me. I just had to get out. I’m going to make a lousy prisoner. Well?”

Kate opened her purse. She had called Jack from a pay phone. She couldn’t tell him what she had, only that she had something. Jack had agreed with Edwina Broome that if risks had to be taken, he would take more than anyone. Kate had already done enough.

Jack grasped the packet. It wasn’t that difficult to discern what was contained inside. Photographs.

Thank God, Luther, you didn’t disappoint.

“Are you okay?” Jack scrutinized her.

“I’m getting there.”

“Where’s Seth?”

“He’s around. He’ll drive me home.”

They stared at each other. Jack knew that the best thing was to have Kate leave, maybe leave the country for a while, until this blew over or he was convicted of murder. If the latter, then her intention of starting over somewhere else was probably the best plan anyway.

But he didn’t want her to leave.

“Thank you.” The words seemed wholly inadequate, like she had just dropped off lunch for him, or picked up his dry cleaning.

“Jack, what are you going to do now?”

“I haven’t thought it all through yet. But it’s coming. I’m not going down without a fight.”

“Yeah, but you don’t even know who it is you’re fighting. That’s hardly fair.”

“Who said it was supposed to be fair?”

He smiled at her as the wind kicked old newspapers down the street.

“You better get going. It’s not that safe around here.”

“I’ve got my pepper mace.”

“Good girl.”

She turned to leave, then clutched him by the arm.

“Jack, please be careful.”

“I’m always careful. I’m a lawyer. CYA is SOP for us.”

“Jack, I’m not kidding.”

He shrugged. “I know. I promise I will be as careful as I can.” As Jack said this he stepped toward Kate and took off his hood.

The night goggles fixated on Jack’s exposed features and then they were lowered. Shaky hands picked up the car’s cellular phone.

The two clung in an easy embrace. While Jack desperately wanted to kiss her, under the circumstances he settled for a soft brush of his lips against her neck. When they stepped back from each other, tears had begun to form in Kate’s eyes. Jack turned and walked quickly away.

As Kate walked back down the street she didn’t notice the car until it swerved across the street and almost ended up on the curb. She staggered back as the driver’s side door flew open. In the background, the air had exploded with sirens, all coming toward her. Toward Jack. She instinctively looked behind her. There was no sign of him. When she turned back, she was staring into a pair of smug eyes, framed under bushy eyebrows.

“I thought our paths might cross again, Ms. Whitney.”

Kate stared at the man, but recognition was not forthcoming.

He looked disappointed. “Bob Gavin. From the Post?”

She looked at his car. She had seen it before. On the street passing Edwina Broome’s house.

“You’ve been following me.”

“Yes, I have. Figured you’d eventually lead me to Graham.”

“The police?” Her head jerked around as a squad car, siren blaring, tore down the street toward them. “You called them.”

Gavin nodded, smiling. He was obviously pleased with himself.

“Now before the cops get here I think we can work a little deal. You give me an exclusive. The down and dirty on Jack Graham, and my story changes just enough so that instead of an accessory, you’re just an innocent bystander in this whole mess.”

Kate glared at the man, the rage within her, having been built up from a month of personal horrors, was near its exploding point. And Bob Gavin was standing directly over the epicenter.

Gavin looked around at the patrol car nearing them. In the background, two more squad cars were heading in their direction.

“Come on, Kate,” he said urgently, “you don’t have much time. You stay out of jail and I get my long-overdue Pulitzer and my fifteen minutes of fame. What’s it gonna be?”

She gnashed her teeth, her response startlingly calm, as though she had practiced its delivery for months. “Pain, Mr. Gavin. Fifteen minutes of pain.” As he stared at her, she pulled the palm-size canister, pointed it directly at his face and squeezed the trigger. The pepper gas hit Gavin flush in the eyes and nose, marking his face with a red dye. By the time the cops exited their vehicle, Bob Gavin was on the pavement clutching at his face, trying unsuccessfully to tear his eyes out.

The first siren had sent Jack into a sprint down a side street.

He slid flat against a building sucking in air. His lungs ached, the cold tore at his face. The deserted nature of the area he was in had turned into a huge tactical disadvantage. He could keep moving, but he was like a black ant on a sheet of white paper. The sirens were coming so heavy now he couldn’t ascertain from what direction.

Actually they were coming from all directions. And they were getting closer. He ran hard to the next corner, stopped and peered around. The view was not encouraging. His eyes fastened on a police blockade being set up at the end of the street. Their strategy was readily apparent. They knew his general coordinates. They would simply cordon off a wide radius and systematically close that radius in. They had the manpower and the time.

The one thing he did have was a good knowledge of the area he was in. Many of his PD clients had come from here. Their dreams set not on college, law school, good job, loving family and the suburban split-level but on how much cash they could generate from selling bags of crack, how they could survive one day at a time. Survival. It was a strong, human drive. Jack hoped his was strong enough.

As he flew down the alley, he had no idea what he would encounter, although he supposed the fierce weather had kept some of the local felons indoors. He almost laughed. Not one of his former partners at Patton, Shaw would have come near this place, even with an armored battalion surrounding them. He might as well be running across the surface of Pluto.

He cleared the chain-link fence with one jump and landed slightly off-balance. As he put out his hand against the rugged brick wall to steady himself he heard two sounds. His own heavy breathing and the sound of running feet. Several pair. He’d been spotted. They were homing in on him. Next the K-9’s would be brought in and you didn’t run away from the four-legged cops. He exploded out of the alley and made his way over to Indiana Avenue.

Jack veered down another street as the squeal of tires flew toward him. Even as he raced in the new direction, a new flank of pursuers rushed to greet him. It was only a matter of time now. He felt in his pocket for the packet. What could he do with it? He didn’t trust anybody. Technically, an inventory of an arrestee’s possessions taken from him would be made, with appropriate signatures and chain-of-custody safeguards, all of which meant nothing to Jack. Whoever could kill in the middle of hundreds of law officers and disappear without a trace could certainly manage to secure a prisoner’s personal possessions from the D.C. Police Department. And what he had in his pocket was the only chance he had. D.C. didn’t have the death penalty but life without parole wasn’t any better and in a lot of ways seemed a helluva lot worse.

He raced in between two buildings, stumbled on some ice and plunged over a stack of garbage cans and hit the pavement hard. He picked himself up and half-rolled into the street, rubbing at his elbow. He could feel the burn, and there was a looseness in his knee that was a new sensation. As he stopped rolling, he managed to sit up, then froze.

A car’s headlights were coming right for him. The police bubble light blasted into his eyes as the wheels came within two inches of his head. He slumped back on the asphalt. He was too winded to even move.

The car door sprang open. Jack looked up, puzzled. It was the passenger door. Then the driver’s door flew open. Big hands slid under his armpits.

“Goddammit, Jack, get your ass up.”

Jack looked up at Seth Frank.