Book One of the Travelers (10 page)

S
moke made Gunny's eyes tear. He covered his nose and mouth with his arm and dragged the unconscious jockey into a corner. The horse was going crazy; Gunny didn't want the jockey crushed under its pounding hooves.

He yanked off his coat and grabbed a horse blanket and tossed them onto the nearest flames. He flung himself down and rolled back and forth, feeling the heat from the burning hay under him while desperately trying to avoid the terrified horse. Luckily, the horse was intent on trying to break down the stall door.

Flames licked up the wooden sides of the stall. Gunny leaped up and grabbed the blanket, but it fell apart in his hands. He tried to call for help, but the smoke made him cough and choke.

Foam and spittle dripped from Gladiator's mouth, and its eyes rolled in terror. The drugs Ambrose doped the horse with made its panic worse—but it also made it powerful. The wooden door began to splinter.

Could Gunny use the fire to help weaken the door? It
was a terrible risk—making the fire worse—but it might be the only way out.

He picked up a flaming bundle of hay and shoved it into the slats at the top of the stall. He leaped out of the way just in time to avoid being kicked in the head by Gladiator.

The wooden door caught fire. The horse surrounded on all sides by flames, let out a terrified shriek. It spun around, searching for a way out. It reared up.

“The door!” Gunny yelled at the horse as he flung himself away from Gladiator's landing hooves. “Kick the door!”

Gunny's shouts panicked the horse more, but as it bucked, its back hooves kicked out.

And the door fell off its hinges.

Gladiator let out a whinny. Gunny flattened into the corner as the horse twisted and thundered away.

Most of the hay was on fire. Gunny grabbed what was left of his coat and stomped out the fabric that was burning, then threw it over the jockey, patting him down. He lifted the unconscious jockey with a grunt. If the jockey had been the size of an ordinary man, Gunny would never have been able to stumble out of the smoke-filled space. But jockeys were small, and Gunny managed to get them both out of the stall.

Grooms and workers streamed into the stable with buckets of water. At some point an alarm must have sounded, but Gunny had been too intent on escape to hear it.

He brought the jockey outside into the fresh air, where someone could attend him. Gasping for breath, woozy,
and coughing, Gunny stumbled to a nearby tree. He slid down the trunk to the ground and shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was confronted by the terrible sight of Gladiator, down on the ground. Not moving. Not breathing.

The drugs
, Gunny thought.
That's what killed that poor animal
. But now everyone would assume it was smoke inhalation and panic. Ambrose got away with it. And the jockey would be much too terrified to say a word. Or to back up Gunny's accusation.

He still had no proof, but Gunny knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ambrose was up to his eyeballs in gambling and fixing events.

And he also knew just how far Ambrose was willing to go to get what he wanted.

T
hings were finally looking up. Chubby himself contributed to the bail fund and Gunny was able to spring Jed. Tonight Gunny and Jed were going to spend time together as if they didn't have a care in the world. And they were going to do it at Chubby's nightclub, watching Junior fight.

Every night that week, Gunny went to Chubby Malloy's Paradise to watch Junior fight. The kid was good, and had quickly become a favorite. Even better, the boy had steered clear of Ambrose.

At least until now! Gunny did a double take when he saw Junior enter accompanied by Ambrose. Ambrose had his arm slung casually over Junior's shoulder and was grinning his usual irritating smile, but Junior looked…Gunny couldn't actually read the boy's expression. Something was wrong, though. Could Junior have confronted Ambrose about shooting Jeffrey?

Not likely
, Gunny decided. If such a showdown had taken place, Gunny didn't think Junior would still be
around to fight this fight. And there'd be evidence of a much bigger problem than the obvious tension he saw between them.

The bell sounded and Junior shook off Ambrose's arm. He stepped into the ring. Gunny craned his neck, searching for Jed. He was missing the first fight!

No matter.
He'll be here when he gets here
, Gunny decided, and concentrated on Junior in the ring.

Junior was well matched with another featherweight. Gunny had seen the two fight before. Each had their strengths. Only, tonight Junior's strengths were not in evidence. He seemed…distracted.

Gunny had only ever seen Junior fight with passion and intense focus. The kid was still landing his punches, still avoiding the hits, but he was off. Like his heart wasn't in it.

Maybe he's getting tired of the game
, Gunny observed. But Gunny wouldn't have expected that from Junior. He seemed truly dedicated.

The lackluster fight bored the crowd as well. They grew restless, and people began having conversations rather than staying focused on the ring. Junior managed to wear down his opponent to a technical knockout. Well, it might not have been the most exciting fight, but at least Junior won. And didn't get hurt.

Junior stalked out of the ring. Ambrose approached him and whispered something into his ear. From Junior's reaction, it didn't look like Ambrose was giving him words of encouragement.

“Sorry I'm late,” Jed said, dropping into the seat beside Gunny.

“What's wrong?” Gunny asked. For a man just released from jail, Jed was tense, agitated. “Did something happen with your case?”

“No, nothing like that. Mrs. Wright called just before I left. Delia's gone missing.”

Gunny smiled. “Delia's done that before.”

“Mrs. Wright hasn't seen her all day. And it's getting late.”

Now Gunny grew concerned. “You're right. Delia wouldn't stay out so late. She knows not to worry her mother that way.”

“Besides, where would a young girl want to be at this time of night?” Jed asked.

Gunny looked back to the ring. “Come on, she may be at my apartment. She's done that before.”

The two men stood to leave just as the bell sounded for the next bout. Gunny glanced at Junior as he re-entered the ring. Now his face was full of fury. Whatever had been bothering him was going to be expressed through his gloves. Even the crowd sensed this was going to be a much more intense, more exciting fight.

The two fighters touched gloves. Junior held his hands in front of his face but didn't move. His opponent's fist flung out and Junior fell off balance. He landed in the ropes. The crowd went wild.

“Coming?” Jed pressed.

“Hang on.” Something was wrong. Why wasn't Junior fighting back?

Junior pulled himself back up but barely defended himself. He allowed the other fighter to pummel him,
smack him, dominate him. It was as if Junior didn't care. As if—

It locked into Gunny's brain like tumblers in a combination lock.
Junior is throwing the fight, just like the jockey
.

This fight had Ambrose's dirty fingers all over it.

But how could Ambrose get Junior to throw a fight? The kid loved the game. Losing wasn't going to help him reach his dream of going pro.

Junior landed flat on his back. The referee began the count.

Gunny's blood ran cold.

Delia.

D
elia isn't at my hotel,” Gunny told Jed. “Ambrose has her.”

Jed stared at Gunny. “What?”

“No time to explain! We have to follow Junior.”

“Which way did he go?” Jed asked.

Gunny was relieved Jed simply trusted him and didn't stop to ask questions. “Through that door,” Gunny said. “Where does it lead?”

“The alley,” Jed said. “Come on!”

Outside, clouds passed in front of the moon, making the night dark and moody. Gunny could just make out a shadowy figure running quickly up the street. “There!” Gunny hissed.

Jed and Gunny raced after Junior. He took a sharp turn around the corner up ahead.

Jed and Gunny arrived at the corner a moment later. Junior had vanished.

“How could we have lost him?” Jed panted. He bent over, hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Gunny also felt winded from the sprint, but he turned in a slow circle, searching for any sign of Junior. Then he realized where they were standing: in front of Ambrose Jackson's building site.

“I don't think we did.” He pointed to the chicken wire that kept the neighborhood kids from sneaking into the site. It was pulled away from its posts. Just enough for a teenage boy to slip through.

“Ambrose had to stop work until he could pay his bills,” Gunny told Jed. “This would make a perfect place to stash a hostage.”

Gunny pried the chicken wire farther away from the post. He held it out so that Jed could squeeze in. Jed skidded on the rubble that covered the unfinished floor, sending bits of plaster and rock skittering as he went down. “Yeow!” Jed cried.

Gunny pushed through the small gap and found Jed on the ground, wincing in pain and clutching his ankle.

“What happened?” Gunny whispered.

Suddenly a movement in the corner caught Gunny's attention.

The dim glow from the streetlights outside lit an unwelcome sight: Junior holding a gun aimed straight at him.

“Stay back or I'll shoot you!” Junior shouted.

Gunny put his hands in the air. “We're not here to hurt you, Junior. You know that.”

Junior's hand was shaking. “No, you're here to stop me, and that's not going to happen.”

Gunny took a step forward. “Stop you from doing what?”

“I mean it! Stay back!”

“We just want to understand what's going on,” Gunny said.

Junior looked at Jed on the ground, then back to Gunny. He licked his lips nervously.

“It was Ambrose, wasn't it?” Gunny asked. “He forced you to throw that fight so he could make a lot of money.”

Junior nodded, looking miserable. “He took Delia. He said he'd kill her if I didn't throw the fight.”

“We know.”

Junior swallowed and seemed to renew his strength. “But I realized—he's not going to keep his promise. So I'm here to kill him.”

“Nobody is killing nobody!” Gunny shouted. “Give me the gun, Junior!”

A sound from above made both Junior and Gunny look up.

Gunny tensed. Was that Ambrose and his goons? They could have been up there all along.

The knocking sound came again.

“That's Delia!” Junior cried. “Our code!”

“Go get her,” Jed said from the floor.

“Let's get you into a hiding place,” Gunny said. “Help me, Junior.”

Junior slipped the gun into the back of his pants and helped move Jed out of sight. As soon as they'd pulled him behind a pallet of stacked pipes, they dashed up a nearby set of cement stairs to a level that was partly completed. Floors were laid radiating outward from the stairs, but in many places only the supports were in
place. Steel girders led out to beams that extended past the building's walls. Piles of tile, tubs of plaster, sacks of cement, and sheets of drywall were stacked around.

One area seemed more finished than most. It had real walls and even a door. Junior and Gunny looked at each other, and both knew to run straight to it.

Before Gunny could stop him, Junior flung open the door.

“Delia!” he cried.

Delia sat tied to a chair, her mouth covered with tape, but luckily, she was alone.

Junior ripped the tape from her mouth. “Yeow!” she yelped.

“Are you all right?” Gunny asked as he untied her.

Delia nodded. “I heard you shouting so I knew there couldn't be any of the bad guys around. So I knocked out our code with the chair legs.”

Junior grabbed her in a bear hug.

“You are one smart little lady,” Gunny said.

“I'm so glad you're all right,” Junior said. “I'd never forgive myself—”

They all froze.

They were no longer alone. Someone—
several someones
—were downstairs.

W
e're trapped,” Junior said.

“We have to get out of this room, or we will be,” Gunny said.

Gunny, Junior, and Delia dashed out of the room. “How will we get down?” Delia whispered. “They'll see us if we use the stairs.”

“The elevator shaft!” Gunny said.

“But there's no elevator,” Junior hissed.

“Who needs an elevator?” Gunny said with false bravado. He had no idea how he was going to get them down safely, but Junior and Delia were counting on him.

He peered down into the shaft. The metal sleeve had been installed and the sides were sleek. Nothing to grip there. He glanced around and spotted a coil of rope. He wasn't sure how strong it was, but it would have to do.

He raced over to the rope and wrapped an end around one of the exposed beams, tying several strong knots. He yanked hard. The knots would hold even if the rope didn't. It was a start.

He uncoiled the line as he raced back over to the shaft, then dropped it down. It didn't reach all the way, but it would get them close enough to the ground.

Junior sat at the edge of the shaft, about to go down the rope when Gunny stopped him. “Let me test it first.”

There were voices now on the stairs. The gangsters were heading their way.

“No time!” Junior disappeared down into the shaft.

The sudden weight made the rope go taut, but it held. Gunny guided the rope to keep Junior from smacking into the metal sleeve of the shaft. Junior quickly made it down.

“Climb on,” Gunny told Delia. He knelt down so she could wrap her arms around his neck and hang on his back.

He gripped the rope and slid over the side, just as the first of the gangsters reached their floor. He hoped the gangsters didn't spot the rope, but with all the materials strewn about, he thought they might not notice. At least, not right away.

Gunny clutched the rope and planted his feet against the shaft walls, trying to take some of his weight off the line. Delia gripped his neck so tightly he was afraid she'd strangle him, but he didn't want her to slip. Even so, her body dangled and swung as he moved down the shaft, keeping him off balance.

Then he felt his load lighten.

His heart caught and his head whipped around to look for the girl.

Panic turned to relief as he saw that Junior had reached up and grabbed her, and they'd made it safely
down to the ground. Now they just had to make it out of the building.

Gunny ran over to where they had hidden Jed. “You okay?” he whispered.

Jed looked pale, but he nodded. Gunny worried that perhaps more than his ankle had broken.

“We have to get you to a hospital,” Gunny said. With Junior's help he should be able to carry Jed out of the site and into a taxi.

“Where's Junior?” Delia whispered.

Gunny turned and peered into the dark space. She was right. Junior was gone.

He'd gone in pursuit of Ambrose.

“Delia, you go for the police. I'll stay here and make sure Junior and Jed are okay.”

Delia looked uncertain.

“It's the most important job of all,” Gunny told her. “Hurry! Get them here as quick as you can.”

Delia gave a sharp nod and ran out of the construction site.

“One child safe, one more to go,” Gunny muttered.

He dashed back up the stairs and stumbled to a stop. Junior had pulled Ambrose onto one of the beams jutting out beyond the edge of the building. There was nothing but the night sky behind them. Junior held the gun to Ambrose's head. Which explained why the two thugs stood backed up against a wall.

“Junior,” Gunny said evenly. “Think about what you're doing.”

“I know exactly what I'm doing!” Junior raged. “I'm getting a confession out of this good-for-nothing.”

Ambrose licked his lips. Fear obviously made his mouth dry. “Calm down, sonny boy—”

“Don't call me that,” Junior snapped.

“All right, all right.”

“Confess!” Junior insisted.

“Yes! I did it. I killed your father.”

“But why?” Junior moaned.

“To send a message to Marvin, who was in much deeper.”

Junior's face quivered. Gunny couldn't tell if the boy was about to weep or explode. Probably a little of both.

“You killed my father!” Junior said, his words a stream of barely contained rage. “You terrified my mother and my sister. You were probably planning to kill Delia and me! You have to die.”

Junior cocked the gun.

“Wait!” Gunny shouted. He wanted to talk Junior out of this, but he knew the moment Junior faltered, the gangsters would shoot. How to get them out of this alive?

“Send your goons away,” Gunny told Ambrose. “Then we can all have a talk.”

“We're not leaving the boss—”

“Go,” Ambrose ordered. “Don't want to make the boy more nervous…”

Reluctantly the gangsters began to move. “You stay where I can see you,” Gunny told them. “Or I'll tell Junior to shoot Ambrose myself. Head downstairs. In plain sight. Shouldn't be too hard with all that open space and no floor.”

Gunny waited until the goons had placed themselves
where he'd asked. He knew they weren't out of the woods yet—with all the open areas, they could easily still shoot, but at least they would have a tougher time hitting Junior.

“So, we good?” Ambrose asked nervously. “You gonna let me go back over to that nice floor over there where there's a wall?”

“Shut up!” Junior shouted. ”“You're never going anywhere again!”

“Junior, listen to me,” Gunny said calmly, taking tiny steps along the beam toward Junior. “Your dad didn't want you hanging around with Ambrose because it was a mistake he made himself. It was because of Ambrose that your father got himself into trouble.”

“Another reason to kill him!” Junior said.

“No!” Gunny inched forward. He stepped onto the girder.
Don't look down,
he told himself. He couldn't help it. The gangsters on the floor below peered up, shocked expressions on their faces.

Gunny wrested his eyes from the floor below and forced himself to sound calm, as if balancing on a twelve-inch beam stories above the street were something he did every day. “Don't let Ambrose force you into making bad choices. Don't let Ambrose turn you into someone like
him
. Someone who settles scores and kills without thinking.”

Another step closer. Another step. Another.

“Let the cops handle this,” Gunny continued. “We all heard the confession. It's over for Ambrose. Your life is just starting—don't let Ambrose steal it from you.”

He was only an arm's length from Junior and Ambrose now.

“Be the man your father knew you could be.”

Junior wavered. His arm slowly lowered. He looked down at the gun in his hand. He looked up at Gunny.

Then he handed Gunny the gun.

The moment he did, there was a movement below. The gangsters were pulling out their weapons!

Gunny crouched on the beam, gripped an edge for balance, and took aim.

But he couldn't pull the trigger. The same as when he'd been in the army. He just couldn't shoot!

With frustrated fury he hurled the gun as hard as he could into the stack of aluminum pipes stored beside the gangsters. The impact knocked the lightweight pipes out of their stack. They spilled out all over the floor, knocking over the gangsters.

Sirens suddenly wailed. Ambrose's head whipped around at the sound, and it threw him off balance.

“Yeeeah!” he shrieked. His arms windmilled as he struggled to keep his balance.

“No!” Junior reached out to grab Ambrose.

“Junior!” Gunny cried.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but Gunny knew it was only a matter of seconds.

Ambrose fell backward off the beam. Junior stumbled as he tried to save him and fell face forward onto the beam, then lost his grip and dangled over the side. Gunny lurched toward Junior, landing on his stomach, and gripped Junior's ankles.

And felt himself being dragged closer and closer to the end of the beam.