Thicker Than Blood (18 page)

"Don't be an idiot Jones. A mechanic? They don't have the balls or the brains. Never believe your own bullshit, Jones." Nathan nodded. He split off from Scott walking further backstage. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed. "Laurence, bag them all. Oh and make sure you make 'armed and dangerous' crystal clear."

Lucy was sitting behind her computer, squinting at the ledger on her desk. She was determined to leave with a pile of money. I want to leave with Joe, she thought, but I can't leave at a loss. Finny was supposed to go to kindergarten next year. I wonder where we will be. Can I send her to school or will she need a tutor? The doorbell rang. Damn it, they'll wake Finny. Lucy hustled to the front door trying not to loose a slipper. Conscious of her sheer nightgown, she peered through the peephole. Mark and Kento stood on the front porch looking shifty. She opened the front door. Kento raised one hand and gave her an awkward wave, eyebrows raised. Mark ogled at her breasts. Lucy felt tiny arms wrap around her leg. Somebody was missing. "Where's Joe?" Lucy asked. Both Kento and Mark began to speak, but Mark got the jump. "We're not really sure," Mark said. He was talking to her breasts. Kento shot him a look. Mark looked up and started blushing, eyes wide. That was too awkward. Lucy knew something was wrong. She felt weak, but held herself up by the doorframe. "Can we come in," Kento inquired. "Sure." Lucy calmed her breathing. Lucy picked up her sleepy daughter and slung her over her shoulder. "Have a seat." She pointed at the living room. Lucy carried Finny to her bed and tucked her in. "Mommy, where's Joe?" "I don't know."

"Is he okay?" Finny asked. This girl has a sixth sense, Lucy thought. She shuttered. "I'm sure he is." She lied. "Goodnight." Lucy kissed her forehead. Lucy was very careful to close the door as quietly as she could. She turned to Kento and Mark. "Would you guys like anything to drink?" She was trying to feel them out. "Do you have cola?" Mark smiled awkwardly. "Sure." She smiled. She heard Kento whispering behind her as she walked into the kitchen. "We don't have time for a drink." She came back with Mark's cola. "Thanks," he said sheepishly. Kento broke the quiet. "Lucy we need your help. We need a ride to my dojo." "Why didn't you follow Mark like you planned?" "Joe has my bike." Lucy felt faint again. "So an accident prone, macho, hemophiliac, that doesn't know how to ride a motorcycle, is at large with your sport bike?" She felt surprisingly calm as she said it. Kento replied, "Yes." "Actually we know where he is. He's tying to chase down Amman on Grand Central Parkway," Mark volunteered. Kento just shook his head. She could see there was more. "Oh no, go on," she could feel the tears welling up. Kento continued with tired eyes. "Amman ransacked the shop. Joe saw him leaving with everything he could stuff in his car. Joe thinks he's going to the Olympic trials to perform some sort of nanite terrorist attack." "What do you think?" Lucy didn't really care. "It's too soon for Amman to launch an effective attack. I think Joe's just feeling guilty." He's feeling guilty about me, she thought. Tears were flowing down her cheeks. Mark hung his head. Kento's brow was furrowed as she started to cry. Mark's phone rang. He looked stunned. He pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the number. "Is it Joe?" Lucy asked. Mark didn't answer, looking stupefied.

Lucy grabbed the phone from Mark. "Joe is that you?" "Lucy." "What stupid thing are you doing now." "I'm at the stadium. I think I see Amman's car in the parking lot." "Forget it. Leave. Even if you stop him you'll get caught doing it." "Lucy, I can't let him kill these people." "You can't stop him either." "I can." "Joe what about us?" She started sobbing. The phone was silent. "Joe if you don't turn around right now, we're though." Kento's and Mark's jaws were open. "It's my fault." She cared for Joe now more than ever. "Fine, then we're through." She hung up the phone. The room was silent as she fell to the floor and sobbed. Eventually she stopped crying. She handed Mark's cell phone back to him. Kento spoke up. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know." "Kento, it's okay we already talked about this. My priorities are still the same." Lucy lied. Mark looked terrified, as if he saw a ghost. "You and Joe, and you broke it off just like that." She wiped her eyes, "That's what I need the cops to think." A moment of recognition blinked across Mark's face. "Oh." He stared at his phone in a new light. She knew her tears were real. She worried about how strongly he made her feel. She wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath. "We had better get going if you don't want to be arrested where you sit."

Joe slipped his cell phone into his pocket and crouched down next to Kento's bike. He pulled off his gloves and held his hands next to the bike's exhaust pipes, rubbing them furiously. He hid the scraped up bike and the helmet behind a dumpster. He crouched down near the alley's exit and examined the stadium. The parking lot was surrounded by a fifteen foot fence. A security guard in a red pickup truck was driving up and down the lanes of the lot. There were many parked cars, but few people where walking around. The trials must be almost over by now, he thought. Joe stood up and casually walked toward the fence. He crouched down again, this time between a double parked car and a van. He laid on the cold ground and watched the security truck cruise toward him under the van. He felt the weight of exhaustion as he stared at the truck. He ran Lucy's words through his mind as he waited. "It's over." Damn it Joe, focus. He was furious with his longing for Lucy's forgiveness. You don't get to be distracted, not you. He imagined himself more fragile than he was. He remembered fighting exhaustion at Sun auto and thinking to himself 'You're not like the other mechanics. You don't get to be tired. You don't get to make mistakes.' When Amman gets here he won't waste any time, Joe thought. He peered around both sides of the van into the vast parking lot. I don't see his car. There is still another quarter of the lot I can't see. The truck was driving away from him. He decided it was now or never. He jumped on the fence and quickly scaled it. He hopped over the top and practically fell to the ground. He walked casually toward the far end of the parking lot. He donned his clarks as he walked, careful to tuck the wire into his leather jacket. They usually confiscate cameras at these things, he thought. He surveyed the lot as he walked searching for red paint among the black white and gray cars. Joe noticed he was now walking toward another security truck. I'm going to get caught out here, he thought. I need to take a look inside in case he is already here. He walked in a different direction while still examining the sea of cars. Joe came across a secondary gate on the side of the stadium. A single gaunt security guard was asleep in a chair, next to a row of turnstiles. Rather than counting his blessings he cursed the guard's slumber. That's just great, he thought sarcastically. Amman didn't even need the tickets, he could have walked right in. He slowly opened the door as little as possible, as not to let a cool breeze blow over the slumped man. He snuck past the man's folding chair and hopped the turnstile. "Hey!" Joe's heart skipped a beat. "Hey you! No cameras! Come back here!" He felt the adrenaline flow through his veins. Sprinting away from the man was practically instinct for him. He ran through the doors and up the main corridor. No guards were in sight. He has no idea how fast I am, he smiled to himself. The guard's protests trailed off quickly as he ran past the first seating gate. He rounded the exterior hallway, and opened the door to the next gate he found. It's good I didn't break a sweat, he thought. Two ushers flanked the doorway he had walked through. They largely ignored him, focused on their tunneled view of the lanky runners making their way around the track. He veered left and casually walked up the stairs to the higher seating. He emerged on the sparsely populated second level and sat down. He noticed a few empty seats on the first level. They probably won't even look for me up here, he thought. Anyone filming would want a seat on the first level. It's amazing how a guard can care so much about a camera. The real danger was far beyond him. Joe read at the number printed on his arm rest, R-2E. I'm not sure what seat, but I remember I was in H on the second level, he thought. Maybe Amman is there. He signaled for his keyboard HUD, and began rummaging through his computers files. Filenames scrolled down his HUD, obstructing his view of the track as he typed in the air. Apparently satisfied, he typed stereomag and pressed his pinky down. The semi transparent view of the track was obstructed by a blurry HUDless magnified view. He held his head very still and the view improved. He panned slowly over the second level and found the section marked with a giant "H". He examined every empty seat, no Amman. Maybe Amman needed a closer seat, he thought. He looked around the rest of "H". Nothing. He had just moved on to "G" when his right eye caught a glimpse of hand reaching toward him. He jumped out of his seat sideways and sliced his hand horizontally through the air to clear his clarks. Two guards were awkwardly lunging toward him. He jumped over the empty seat in front of him, handily dodging them. These guards were wearing holstered guns. He wondered if the guard at the gate was as well. He couldn't remember. He jogged up the isle, away from them, and toward the far staircase in the "R" section. "Stop!" The guards were drowned out by the cheering crowd. He tried not to smile. It sounded so desperate. He flew down the stairs and casually followed the inner hallway behind the second level seating. At "B" he climbed down the stairs to the first level. There were no guards checking tickets. Maybe they were all on the other side looking for me, he thought. He found an empty seat on the isle in the second row. I can't turn stereomag back on, he thought. I can't see what's coming. He started looking through the audience around him for Amman. This is like finding a needle in a haystack, he thought. Couldn't Amman wear a turban and robes instead of a T-shirt, oh wait, the Hindis do that. Or is it the Muslims also? I don't know. He absentmindedly reached under his jacket to scratch his injured arm. The scab was hard as a rock. No wonder I'm itchy, he thought. This scab is pulling my skin taught. It feels like strips of steel are welded to me. He looked back and noticed a guard had returned to the entrance he had used. No make that two, and three more on the other side. Crap, I'm cornered, he thought. He subtlety signaled for his keyboard again. More commands scrolled by the screen and his nanite HUD returned. Then vector arrows appeared on the outside edge of each lens. Then the edges of clarks lenses blacked out, and Joe could see their wide angle images though the clarks peripheral cameras.

They were five rows back. Four. Three. He jumped up just as they reached the row right behind his. "Get him!" A distant guard yelled. It seemed to Joe like time slowed. He squirmed out of reach as he jumped out of his seat. He sprinted forward and leaped in the only direction left to go, over the three foot wall and onto the grass. "Freeze!" As he ran he saw their distorted images raising their guns behind him. He thought he heard a guard cock his gun. How did I hear that, he thought. Things seemed to move in slow motion as he started to run. He noticed there was something missing. He realized the stadium was silent. He jumped on the track next to the Olympic hopefuls. They did their best to ignore his strange participation in the race. Realizing the only reason he hadn't been shot was his proximity to the runners, he accelerated to his fastest sprint. His heart was pounding. He spotted the main entrance to the track floor dead ahead. There were no guards in sight ahead of him. He heard the runners breathing, and their shoes lightly scuffing the track as they raced next to him. They seemed to be accelerating. They seemed to be trying to get away from him, the best way they could, by running from him. I can't let them get ahead, he thought. I have to get to that exit before it's blocked, or I'm dead. The realization sent a chill of fear down his spine. His oxygen HUD blipped down to ninety nine percent. He picked up his pace as fast as he could. His thighs began to strain against his blue jeans as they pumped. His calves felt unnaturally restrained, bulging in their cotton covering. He began to push himself harder than he ever had. He struggled just to keep his back straight and his body balanced as the speed pitched his body toward the ground. His diaphragm ached from exertion. Barely able to breath, he saw some very surprised Olympians from the back of the pack in the side of his clarks. He felt adrenaline flow through his blood like fire. For every two steps the hopefuls took, he took three. A giant grin swept across his face. I'm beating them. The stadium was still quiet as he tore past the runners, and toward the large exit off the stadium floor. He could swear there was a second when he was open to a clean shot from the guards as he broke away from the runners. He waited for the desperate shot, but it never came. Joe imagined the stupefied guards staring at him with their mouths open. He smiled again. He worked his legs as he tried to slow down. He half stumbled down ramps, and through a mostly empty mens locker room. A few half dressed athletes stared as he ran by in his scratched leather jacket and ripped bloodied jeans. Great, I really blend, he thought. The cops must have been called. I need to get out of here, now. He ran down a couple of nondescript hallways. He stopped short as he started to round a corner. A New York City cop was talking on a radio. He was facing down a parallel hallway to Joe's. He was guarding a double door with an emergency exit sign. A way out, he thought. He must not think I could have gotten this far yet, or his gun would be pulled out, like the others. His stomach churned with fear as he started toward the cop. A New York City will shoot me, he thought. That's no security guard. He was hurdling towards the door behind the distracted man. I'm going to run right behind him, he thought. One of his feet stumbled a little. One sneaker squeaked. The cop turned just as Joe was in arms reach. The cop dropped the radio as he reached for him. He twisted in mid air sliding just out of his grasp. "Ooofff." He slammed into the bar in the middle of the emergency door, opening it. The over extended officer fell to the ground. Falling back into a run, he darted up the stairs. He heard rustling and the safety on the cops gun click, but he was already out of sight up the stairs. "Freeze!" The cops order was already trailing off in the distance. He ran up two flights of stairs and came to a fire door and paused. If I go out this door the alarm will sound and they will know where I am, but the stadium will empty out and give me cover. He caught his breath, reared back, and kicked the fire door open. He broke into a sprint in the open parking lot. He could swear he heard the air he displaced whoosh as he ran by the nearest isle of cars. No alarm, he thought. I guess they trap it before they send out the evacuation signal. Damn. He heard screeching tires in the far side of the parking lot. He glanced at the rearview displayed at the edge of his clarks. A tiny red pickup truck was growing larger fast. Vector marks appeared with sharp angles, indicating the truck would catch up soon. His oxygen count blipped down to ninety two percent.