Cody's Last Score

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                           Cody's Last Score
                              (noir, viol)
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                     (c) Copyright - November 2013
                            Crimson Dragon 
                          (dcrimson@yahoo.com)
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Night descended like a velvet shroud, engulfing the world in frigid
November obscurity. Erratic streetlights twinkled like distant
stars, casting deep shadows across barren curbs and unfeeling
bricks. Only a sliver of crescent lunar arc peeked into the infinite
sky above, partially obscured by scudding, shapeless clouds. A siren
warbled briefly, threatening but rendered impotent by distance.
Warm dry air washed over Selene, issuing forth from the heating
ducts like the intimate breath of a lover. The engine idled with a
low vibration, permeating her being, a tingling that crawled up her
cramped legs through her centre to thrum behind tense shoulders.
Behind, she sensed the careful movement of Charlie and Vance,
preparing the final equipment. Ahead, down the wide avenue, two
lovers crossed the street hand in hand under a flickering
streetlamp, laughing in drunken abandon. At this hour, no vehicles,
save the utility van, disturbed the preternatural quiet. The
lovers' breath steamed into the cold air, entwined in intimate
clouds before they kissed in the middle of the street, standing
directly on the yellow asphalt markings.
Henry tensed beside Selene, his eyes following the couple like a
hunter sensing prey and his breathing became soft and shallow.
Silently, Selene reached over the tattered seat to touch Henry's arm
gently. His bicep radiated heat into her cool fingertips before she
withdrew. He ignored her touch, his eyes never leaving the unwelcome
interlopers. As the drunken guy and the ill-dressed blonde broke
their illicit embrace and finished crossing the road to finally
disappear into the darkness, Henry relaxed again.
Behind Selene, she sensed Charlie and Vance finalising the
equipment, their movements precise and professional. Turning her
attention from Henry, Selene verified her own monotonous inventory.
Where the warmth of the heater touched her feet, black canvas shoes
adorned arches more suited to high heels. Pliant rubberised soles
rested securely against the inflexible car mat. A tight black lycra
body suit sheathed her curves from her slim ankles to the base of
her throat. The suit permitted her perfect freedom of movement, but
reflected little light. The neckline revealed no glimmer of her pale
skin beneath. She held up her hands, flexing her fingers, only
shadows in the faint light of the nearest streetlamp. The black
gloves, her second skin, shone dully, hiding red painted nails and
abnormally strong fingers beneath. With the precise movements of a
martial artist, she touched the seat beside her thigh. Even through
the thin fabric of the gloves, her sensitive fingertips found the
dim outline of Cody's small tool case and the last fragment of
fabric to complete her ebony fashion ensemble. Butterflies
flittered in her stomach. She willed her right leg from twitching
and chased the butterflies away. Now or never: an onyx shadow in the
welcome embrace of night.
Beside her, Henry, similarly dressed in featureless black, glanced
at a black watch on a black leather band upon his left wrist.
Charlie and Vance had ceased all movements in the back of the van.
Other than the quiet rumble of the engine, the world extended
silently before Selene, the wayward lovers long disappeared; only
the frosty November night remained as witness. Henry glanced left
and right, only once, then switched off the engine.
"Let's go," Henry barked. His voice issued harsh and gruff.
With that, Henry reached for the door handle and slipped out. The
interior dome, long broken, refused to illuminate the cabin. Behind
her, she heard the back doors of the van open and the movement of
two bodies and equipment before the door closed quietly.
A powerful sense of foreboding threatened to overwhelm her, but
inhaling deeply, she watched her breath steam forth as she emptied
her lungs with a modicum of control. With long practised motions,
she grabbed the black fabric on the seat beside her, slipped it over
her brunette hair and pulled the mask of the balaclava over her
face. Only her eyes shone brightly in the dim light. Last chance.
She hesitated only for a moment. Steeling herself, she reached for
the door handle, slipped her five foot eight frame to the pavement,
carefully closed the door to prevent sharp noises and joined the
others in the shadows between the closest street lamps.
"Last time," she whispered into the uncaring night. "This is the
last time."
                           <---===***===--->
Inside it would be warmer. That thought compelled her frozen fingers
through their thankless task. She crouched in the shadows, straining
her eyes to see the keyslot. Her gloves, her second skin, slipped on
the narrow pick. Cursing, she raised the fabric to her mouth and
breathed out, the warmth of her breath thawing her fingertips a
little, steam rising from between her sheathed fingers. Behind her,
the men waited, only Vance's eyes slowly scanning the street, the
remainder drilling into her spine as she worked. Glancing over her
shoulder, the set of Henry's body screamed impatience, his fingers
twitching by his black-clad thigh.
For a moment, she considered the danger of an alarm, but Charlie
simply leaned against the bricks, arms crossed, his breath neither
fast nor slow.
Taking a deep breath of her own, she bit her lip beneath the
balaclava and raised the thin pick again, inserting it into the
lock.
"Come on, Cody. Please," she whispered under her breath. "Please."
Her fingers continued to work, each immeasurable bump spinning a
tale through black fabric into her fingertips. Like Cody had taught
her. A tale, a journey, a path. It was like reading a braille
treasure map; this map led to blessed warmth and unimaginable
riches.
With a final deft twist of her wrist, an audible click echoed
through the frigid air. Behind her at the sound of the lock
disengaging, Henry jumped forward; Selene permitted her breath out
slowly. She hadn't realised that she was even holding her breath.
Charlie's gloved left hand reached past Selene's face before she
could straighten, preventing Henry from opening the steel door. His
right hand carried a heavy looking briefcase.
"Easy, mate," Charlie breathed. Tones of Sydney shivered over
Selene. "We don't want to be unprepared, now, do we?" Selene
smelled the faint taste of peppermint through Charlie's balaclava as
he leaned downwards to place his face near hers. His eyes twinkled
merrily. "Good job, lassie."
"It was Cody," she murmured.
Charlie laughed kindly. "That was all you, lassie. All you."
Slowly, Selene rose out of her crouch, leaving Charlie's hand
resolutely on the doorknob. Her thighs complained. Charlie
straightened with her until their eyes met, level. Charlie's eyes
twinkled once more, and without further words, he opened the heavy
door only enough to admit his thin frame. He slipped inside and the
door snicked shut behind him. Neither alarms nor sirens split the
night. Only the soft breathing of Vance and Henry vibrated the cold
air. Somewhere to the south, a window or a door banged, and then
silence descended again.
Cold, Selene glanced longingly at the van across the avenue, then
resignedly crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned against the
harsh bricks as Charlie had only moments before. Residual heat
kissed her shoulder blades through the body suit, but it wouldn't
last, she knew. Trying not to shiver, she closed her eyes against
the crescent of the moon and opted to do the only thing she could:
wait.
                           <---***===***--->
The sound of a gunshot startled Selene. Her eyes flew open and
instinctively, she began to crouch again, to avoid any bullets. As
the sound echoed faintly from stark bricks and steel, a warm sliver
of air washed over her right arm. Faint amber light issued from a
crack to her right. Suddenly Henry moved forward, reaching for the
door.
"Whoa, mate," he held up one gloved finger. "Ladies and children
first." He beckoned to Selene. Henry halted, his eyes unamused in
the faint light. Selene gestured at him to proceed, but Henry shook
his head.
"Just get the fuck in there," he growled.
No time to argue, Selene twisted her lithe frame from the wall and
stepped beyond the threshold into pale warmth. Charlie patted her
ass as she slipped by, but she refused to yelp. At her feet,
Charlie's briefcase lay open on the floor, light emitting diodes
flashing in incomprehensible patterns. A wire snaked up from the
case to a keypad embedded in the wall next to the door where she'd
entered.
Following close on her heels, Henry, then Vance, joined her.
Charlie closed the door with a tiny snick. Nobody but her received
the ass pat. Internally, she shrugged. After tonight, she wouldn't
be seeing any of them again, except perhaps Henry. She could live
with a gentle pat on her ass. It was only Charlie.
Charlie crouched and peered at the lights twinkling in the case.
"We're good for an hour," he muttered. "After the code changes, all
'ell will break loose. We don't want to be here when that happens."
Henry stared at Selene. "Can you do it in an hour?"
She thought for a moment, an image of Cody centre in her mind.
"Yes," she answered. "Less than an hour."
The hallway in which they stood looked like a supply route. Dingy
vinyl tiles graced the floor, cut by multiple gouges as if heavy
objects had been dragged across them in the recent past. Dust and
dirt lay in the corners and a mouldy scent permeated the air. Only
dim emergency lighting illuminated the grey walls. What seemed like
thousands of steel doors lined the passage, enough to remind Selene
of twisted mazes from her childhood. Except mazes never had treasure
at the end, did they? Only pain and disappointment.
Henry touched her shoulder. His touch felt more intimate than
Charlie's pat, but it evoked the same emotions. Silently, she turned
with Henry and Vance, following them as they moved down the dimly
lit corridor. Charlie remained with the briefcase. Charlie never
accompanied them beyond the entrance.
The third door on the right opened into even more dimly lit stairs.
She climbed silently between Henry and Vance. After three flights,
Vance began to fall behind, and Henry's pace slowed, his breathing
becoming ragged. Selene slowed to match, although her breathing
hadn't become laboured yet. Henry filled the staircase ahead of her,
and she had no idea of their destination. It made no sense for her
to forge ahead of the men. Each rubber soled foot simply raised her
body twenty centimetres at a time until Henry halted ahead of her,
seven flights above Charlie and the exit.
Vance wheezed up behind.
"Fuck, man," he gasped. "Seven fucking flights?"
"Shut up," Henry growled. "It'll be worth it."
"The fuck, you say," Vance's voice sounded like an old steam
whistle. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees.
"Just come on," Henry said curtly. He touched Selene's shoulder
again, guiding her through the next steel door; she stepped inside
onto worn industrial carpet. Vance plodded inside after her, casting
disgruntled glances at Henry. Henry ignored them.
Together, they walked up the new corridor, another tunnel in a maze
with only one destination.
                           <---===***===--->
Selene had lost track of her journey through the labyrinthine
structure, her mind occupied, her nerves taut as wires. She had no
idea how Henry knew where to lead them, but relentlessly, he opened
unlocked doors, passing under dim fluorescent lights until at last
the small group halted in front of an ornate redwood door, strangely
out of place amongst the general dinginess of the nondescript
building.
The frosted glass proclaimed in calligraphic letters: "Jackson
Holdings".
Henry tried the doorknob, which stubbornly refused to turn. For a
moment, Selene was certain that Henry intended to break the door
hardware off in his fist.
"Break it," he said, with a shake of his head. He released the knob
and shifted to the left.
Silently, Selene extracted the pick again, and this time with much
warmer fingers, snapped the less secure lock open in less than
thirty seconds. Bracing herself for the shrill scream of an alarm,
her heart hammering in her chest, she twisted the now unlocked knob
and pushed the door open. It creaked in protest, but revealed marble
and granite floor adorned above with shimmering glass. No alarm
sounded. Either Charlie had deactivated it, or more likely, there
was none.
Henry grunted, pushing past Selene roughly, his eyes maniacal behind
the masking hood. Vance merely shook his head, gesturing for Selene
to precede him from the squalour of the hallway. With a nod of
thanks, Selene stepped onto the marble, her soles gripping the
polished stone firmly. Vance followed, closing the door discreetly
behind them.
"Get the fuck over here," Henry muttered.
With a sigh, Selene stepped into an antechamber, as opulent as the
lobby, where Henry stood before a picture. The framed photograph
contained a stylised forest pathway in autumn, golden leaves
littering the fork in the road. For a moment, Selene stared at the
photograph wondering if she should turn left or right. Again, a
sense of foreboding permeated her, an inexplicable sense that either
path led to disaster, an earlier fork in the road chosen unwisely.
His gloved fingers gripped the frame and pulled. Instead of falling
to the ground as a normal frame might, it swung out like a cabinet
door to reveal treasure.
So cliche, Selene thought. Why is the safe always behind the
picture?
                           <---===***===--->
She hadn't taken many lovers since she'd run. Lovers were a
liability. Lovers disappointed. Lovers inevitably left. And she was
tired of being abandoned and shifted from squalid place to squalid
place.
Cody had only been a few years older than her. How many years, she
didn't know. She hadn't known him long enough to find out, or rather
he'd left her, like so many others had before. Of course, he'd left
her differently, but left her he had. Before she could ask him so
much as his age. It hadn't seemed important at the time. A torrid
affair, cut short before she was ready. She might have even loved
him. Cody dreamed of the big score, the one that would allow him to
stop running, to abandon this life, retire somewhere tropical and
search for a lost shaker of salt.
She'd taken him into her bed, and learned. Learned to love. Learned
to care. And learned to use the tools that lay heavy in her grip:
Cody's tools. She learned swiftly and surely, surprising even Cody.
She had never asked where Cody learned his trade. It only mattered
that he was willing to show her.
Until he was taken from her in a hail of lead.
She hadn't shed any tears for him.
And now she was standing here, in front of this safe, unwelcome
wetness forming in the corner of her eyes. Cody's big score. Cody's
tools weighed heavy in her right gloved hand.
It was time.
Henry's breath whispered against the side of her throat.
"Can you do it?" he whispered. His unspoken question rang in her
ears. Could Cody have done it?
Of course, he could have. But Cody wasn't here, was he? Henry,
Charlie, and Vance had made it back to the waiting van, oh yes, but
not Cody. Not her Cody.
"Yes," she whispered, "if you give me room to work."
Henry remained stubbornly where he was for a full minute, until she
glanced at him, fire burning in her eyes. Then with a curt nod, he
checked his watch and retreated by a metre.
"Forty-five minutes, Moony," he murmured.
"Don't rush me," she snapped.
Electric waves of anger and anxiety washed over her from the man
behind her, but she ignored them and withdrew the electronic steth,
magnetically sealing it to the safe case. The safe was an older
mechanical model, breakable, but high quality, manufactured in
Germany. She wasn't certain that she could break it in forty-five
minutes, but she would try. Not for Henry or Vance or Charlie. Not
even for herself. Only for Cody.
Drawing up the balaclava she set the earpieces in her ears and set
her sheathed fingertips against the shiny dial. Closing her eyes,
her fingers twisted the dial with a practised ease, her ears
straining for the patterns that defined the mechanisms deep within.
Shutting out even the ragged sounds of her own breathing and Henry's
huffing behind her, she concentrated.
                           <---===***===--->
A fine bead of perspiration trickled from her hairline to her
shoulder under the cloying closeness of the balaclava. She longed
for fresh air. She longed to tear the balaclava from her head, free
her hair, forget the puzzle in front of her. Her throat screamed for
a sip of iced water.
"Aren't you fucking done yet?"
Her concentration disintegrated like a plate glass window before a
wrecking ball, shards spinning through blackness. She glanced over
her shoulder. Henry sat on the floor, his legs splayed out looking
up at her, a scowl ingrained across his bony forehead. A Glock sat
in his lap, his gloved fingers stroking the weapon obscenely.
"Shhh," she whispered.
"Ten fucking minutes," he snapped, glancing at his watch
meaningfully.
"Shhh," she repeated.
Without waiting for a reply or retort, she returned her attention to
the resolute dials in front of her. She blinked to clear her vision,
then set her fingers to motion again.
                           <---===***===--->
At precisely forty-three minutes, the final number revealed itself
from the gloom, completing the mental image of the dials that
hovered like a three dimensional chart suspended in her mind.
At precisely forty-three minutes, Henry began to speak, frustration
dripping in the gravel of his voice. "Two fucking ..."
At precisely forty-three minutes, Selene let her breath out in a
long stream of relief, her fingers poised to reset the dials and
begin to enter the magic numbers indelibly imprinted on her inner
mind.
At precisely forty-three minutes, Vance called out in a hoarse
whisper, "Who the fuck ..."
At precisely forty-three minutes, the outer door opened and a
strange voice, one that Selene had never before heard, called out
clearly, like a siren through frozen air. "Freeze!"
At precisely forty-three minutes, all hell broke loose.
                           <---===***===--->
Selene instinctively turned and crouched, dropping low, her fingers
leaving the dial half-twisted. Through the antechamber doorway,
still half-open, Vance stood with his arm extended downward, a Sig
aimed inconveniently at the marble of the floor. Henry gathered his
legs under him and rose to a smooth crouch, even as Selene
descended. The Glock ascended in Henry's right hand, its barrel
rising unerringly toward the entrance. At the entrance door, an
overweight man in a beige uniform braced in a classic shooter's
stance, a revolver, perhaps a Smith, pointed towards Vance's chest.
The man's cheeks flamed crimson and an rivulet of sweat traced down
his face disappearing into a scruffy beard.
"Drop it!" the overweight man bellowed.
Without warning, the Glock spit fire, and before Selene could cover
her ears, the sound of the report deafened her. A bloom of red
appeared at the man's right shoulder and his mouth opened in a
silent scream. The Smith in his right hand discharged as Vance
instinctively raised the Sig. The bullet from the Smith struck Vance
at close range, spinning him to the right, where he crumpled to the
floor. A second discharge ricocheted about the room, spraying chips
of marble and glass. Henry rose from his crouch, bellowing, the
Glock recoiling three additional times. On each discharge, another
scarlet bloom appeared until the uniformed man crumpled to the
floor.
For a moment, a preternatural quiet reigned as the Glock fell
silent.
As Selene's hearing slowly returned, the first sound ringing in her
ears was the issue of her own screaming.
                           <---***===***--->
"Shut up, fucking bitch!" Henry barked.
He remained standing near where he'd been resting, his back to the
wall and to Selene, his semi-automatic still aimed at the uniform as
if he expected the man to rise like an enraged bull and charge.
Selene pushed her jaws together and stifled the next scream that
threatened to overwhelm her. As the echoes of her screams faded, she
could hear Vance groaning, Henry cursing softly under his breath
and, incredibly, the uniform moaning, still alive.
Selene turned her head away, gorge rising into her throat.
Silently, she willed the nausea away, her eyes focusing on the neat
hole in the wall behind her. If the wayward bullet had been two
centimetres to the left, she wouldn't be looking at the hole it had
created in the drywall. Another wave of nausea threatened.
"Oh my God," Selene whispered.
Henry merely grunted and advanced into the lobby area.
Whimpering, Selene pushed herself unsteadily to her feet and managed
two steps to the antechamber's doorway. Dark blood trickled across
the floor from both the uniform and Vance. Henry advanced until he
stood over the man in the mostly beige uniform. He stepped on the
uniform's right hand, kicking away the Smith. The guard merely
moaned.
"You stupid fuck," Henry spat at the man.
Slowly, in a trance, Selene stepped forward until she stood on the
opposite side of the man lying on the floor. Four distinct scarlet
marks displayed where the man had absorbed the Glock's punishment.
One high on the man's chest sucked air as he struggled for breath.
Blood dripped from his lips and his eyes stared ahead, terror buried
within.
Henry raised the Glock a final time, the barrel extended towards the
man's forehead.
Without thinking, Selene dropped to her knees, warm blood seeping
into the ebony sheen of the body suit there. She touched his face
and he turned towards her.
"We'll get an ambulance," she whispered, but his eyes showed
understanding. There wouldn't be an ambulance, and even when one
inevitably arrived, it would be too late. Both of them knew it.
The man struggled for breath, the wound in his chest gurgling.
"Alice. Karen," he whispered. For a moment, Selene thought that he
was trying to guess her name, accuse her. She shook her head, the
names only passing into her consciousness dimly.
Her peripheral vision caught a final movement above her.
"No," she whispered.
The Glock crashed again, close and personal. Again, her hearing
muted. Blood spattered her chest and upper arms, fading into the
fabric.
A small neat hole, like the hole in the drywall, appeared in the
guard's forehead and blood gushed onto the floor as the guard went
limp.
She couldn't hear Henry's, "Fuck", but she saw the disgusted shake
of Henry's head as he turned away to attend to Vance.
                           <---===***===--->
The final shot made Selene jump as she hadn't realised that her
hearing had returned. This shot was muffled and while her ears still
rang, she could hear Vance slump against the wall.
"What a cluster fuck," Henry murmured as he gathered up Vance's Sig
from where it lay discarded on the floor. His shoes left men's
number twelve wet footprints as he approached Selene. Selene
flinched as he drew near.
"You didn't ..."
Henry nodded.
"Pull yourself together, Moon. We have to get out of here. Now."
"You killed ..."
"He was dead the second that he opened the door, Moon."
"But Vance ..."
Henry regarded her for a moment, then without warning slapped her
hard across the cheek. The blow was barely deadened by the
intervening mask. Selene cried out in pain, but the pain cleared her
head.
"Fuck," she whispered.
"I just needed to get your attention. Forget about them. They no
longer matter. Did you break it?"
For a moment, she didn't know what he meant.
"What?"
"Don't be a stupid cunt," Henry growled. "The fucking safe."
"You can't be serious ..."
"You want all this to be for fucking nothing?"
Would Cody?
Her mind reeling, Selene turned and stepped back into the anteroom.
Numbly, her fingers spun the dials, her mind on autopilot. With a
click, the heavy door cracked open.
"Clever bitch," Henry croaked. He sounded happy.
Roughly, Henry shoved her, and Selene looked away as Henry opened
the safe. A moment later, he whispered in her ear.
"Unless you want to be here when the cops show, you might want to
get the fuck out of here."
She hesitated for only a moment. Whatever was in the safe, was now
gone. Only stark metal shelves remained. Selene reached out, closing
the heavy safe door and spun the dials randomly. It would slow their
pursuers, a habit that Cody had instilled into her. With nearly an
indifference, she returned the picture to its former home, where the
forest path mocked her. There was no correct path. If there ever had
been one.
When she turned, Henry was gone, his footsteps retreating in the
hallway. Carefully, she wound through the pooled blood, with a last
look at the guard's slack face, a face she knew she'd see in a
million nightmares, she carefully stepped over his bulk and slipped
out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Already, a trickle
of crimson filtered under the door near her shoes. Henry wasn't in
sight, but she could follow his scarlet footprints.
She ran.
She caught up to him at the stairs and they descended to the ground
floor in grim silence. Both were breathing raggedly by the time they
emerged into the utility corridor.
In the distance, Selene could hear sirens beginning to wail into the
night. And this time, they were approaching at a fearful pace.
                           <---===***===--->
"What the bloody 'ell?" Charlie exclaimed as Henry and Selene ran
down the dusty corridor. "Where the fuck is Vance?" Charlie eyed the
Glock nestled in Henry's right hand.
Henry halted at the heavy steel door.
"Pack up," Henry growled. "Now."
Charlie's eyes widened under his balaclava. Even opaque clothing
couldn't mask the acrid smell of gunpowder or the darkened
bloodstains.
"A guard," Selene whispered. Her voice shook.
"Bloody 'ell, no way," Charlie said. "I checked myself. No guards
this evening."
Henry grunted.
"He killed him, Charlie," Selene whispered. "Vance didn't make it."
She couldn't bring herself to scream that the guard wasn't the only
person Henry had executed.
"Fuck me, I didn't sign up for this shit," Charlie said.
Henry turned slowly at the door, eyes blazing behind the balaclava.
"I didn't sign up for this shit," Charlie repeated.
The sirens continued to approach, wailing into the night.
Without hesitation, the Glock rose like a cobra. Charlie began to
raise his hands in a parody of a mugging victim when the Glock
barked. This time, Selene managed to cover her ears, but couldn't
stifle her scream. Charlie crumpled to the floor, more scarlet.
"Shut the fuck up," Henry yelled. "Shut the fuck up!"
His words penetrated her fear. She regained control of her vocal
chords, but her body trembled as adrenaline surged.
"Charlie ..."
"Charlie would have turned us in, Moon," Henry said soothingly.
"You killed him ..."
The Glock raised again, aiming between her breasts.
"You have a problem with that?" he asked quietly.
Terrified, she shook her head. For an eternity, the Glock wavered
aimed at her heart.
Henry nodded.
"Keep up," he growled.
The sirens sounded like they were outside the door, banshees in the
night.
Henry pushed the door, a cold blast of November air slamming into
her, waking her from a semi-trance of horror and terror. Adding to
the sound of the emergency vehicles, the building alarm sprang to
life as the door opened, more sirens and bells jangling, jarring.
Henry stepped out into the cold and the door swung shut behind him.
With a last look at Charlie, she followed, running into the night,
her shoes light upon the frozen asphalt.
					   <---===***===--->
The van halted, gravel crunching under its uncaring tires. Selene
raised her eyes. Outside, the night accused her, punishing her with
blackness as dark as spilled blood upon marble. Henry leaned across
the seat, his still gloved hand pulling her balaclava from her head.
Selene breathed in the scent of spent cartridges, stale cigarette
smoke, copper and the mawkish essence of Vance and Charlie.
Instinctively, she knew shock had settled in, a lethargy infusing
her limbs and her will. The safe's combination floated in her
consciousness like a beacon of indifference.
"Get out," Henry commanded. "Now."
She faced him for a moment. He stared at her, his eyes absorbing her
face, her hair, her grim expression.
Henry turned away and and opened his door.
"If you want to drown in this thing, stay."
His words infiltrated her consciousness, perhaps a primal survival
instinct surfacing. Quickly, she gathered up the blood soaked
balaclava and pushed open her door, stepping out again into the
frigid darkness.
A few kilometres to the north, sirens continued to crash through the
night and emergency lights strobed upwards, even visible here. The
crescent of the moon leered at her, filtered through bare branches
of willow and maple. Here, streetlamps couldn't hope to penetrate
the late autumnal void, and indeed, none could be glimpsed. Henry's
shadow blended into different shades of black.
Five metres to her right, the central river flowed quietly, only
gurgles marking its endless journey. No guarding rail protected this
stretch of road.
Henry walked across the grass towards the river until Selene could
only hear his soft footsteps. Visual contact blended into the night.
Presently, he returned.
"This will do," he rasped.
With a sense of purpose, Henry returned to the van, the driver's
door opening, but not closing. Selene briefly wondered if he meant
to leave her at the side of the road, disappear towards the moon,
never looking back. She wrapped her arms about her breasts to
conserve what little heat she retained. She no longer cared, even
when the van started and began a slow turn across the lanes of
blacktop.
Henry revved the engine, then threw the van into gear. The vehicle
rumbled forwards, crossed the shoulder and began rolling across the
grass. The river bank was steep here, and when Henry cast free of
the van, he tumbled into the grass, carrying only one bag.
The heavy vehicle dropped into the river with a great splash. Henry
stood silently beside her as the darker shadow of the white van
swept downstream, and faded from view.
Her life, what was left of it, swept downstream with the scuttled
van. Her clothing, Cody's tools, and all trace of Vance and Charlie
plummeted to the riverbed as surely as the moon would set and the
sun rise.
Almost gently, Henry grasped her left hand. Her right still gripped
the useless balaclava limply. Together they walked to the river
bridge. At the pinnacle, mid-river, Henry halted and leaned almost
casually against the cold metal railing. Selene stood a pace away,
her eyes vainly searching for a van she would never see again.
Deliberately, Henry pulled the Sig from his waistband, looked fondly
at it, then held it over the railing. He released his fingers. The
pistol tumbled unceremoniously through the cold and the dark, barely
splashing as it found the murmuring water far below.
"Come on, Moony," Henry whispered. He finally seemed tired, much
older than she had ever imagined. "We have to find somewhere to
sleep."
She nodded and followed, though she doubted if she'd ever sleep
again.
                           <---===***===--->
Pure cold seeped into her through thin black fabric from the
concrete upon which she sat. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, but
she barely noticed. Her arms wrapped about her knees for warmth,
moreso than for comfort.
At the end of the sparse parking lot, a neon sign flickered, mostly
in a state of disrepair.
Vacancies.
She shivered from more than the cold. It was the sort of place where
rooms rented by the hour to transient dime hookers, drug dealers and
pimply high school kids looking to lose their virginity. But they
wouldn't ask questions either or ask for identification.
She looked up blearily at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Henry's gloved hand descended and pulled her to her feet where she
stood wavering. Leaving her standing there, he approached a peeling
wooden door with the number 14 imprinted on its dirty surface
between the enlightened words: "Fuck off" and a carved heart with
the initials CD + ZM. Briefly, she wondered who either of the lovers
had been, but decided that it had little bearing on her present
condition.
The door hinges screamed as Henry pushed the door open and flicked
on the light. Inside, only a single wan bulb illuminated.
Henry swept his arm in a parody of a court announcer.
"Welcome home," he growled.
For a moment, unmitigated terror filled Selene's mind: images of the
night flashing before her eyes, images of the safe, the floating
combination, Charlie's uncomprehending face, Vance's puzzled
expression.
To enter room 14 meant entering Hades. To not, meant certain death
by exposure.
Selene attempted to silencing her chattering teeth, and partially
successful, stepped past Henry and into the warmth.
                           <---===***===--->
She peeled off her gloves, dropping them to the floor. Henry closed
the door and peered out the window. Satisfied, he placed the bag on
the rickety table and stepped towards Selene.
Tenderly, he touched her jaw, trailing his finger down to her chin.
"No," Selene whispered.
Henry leered at her and shook his head slowly.
"We need to find you new clothes. Me too," he said slowly.
Selene turned her hands over. Dark smears of dried blood marred her
pale palms. She closed her eyes to block it out. Henry's rough
fingers found the shoulders of the body suit and pushed them down.
The fabric slipped down her arms and over her wrists. Cool dry air
caressed Selene's suddenly bare chest, like a lover.
"Please, Henry. No."
"Shhhh ..."
With a rough push, the body suit slipped over her slim hips and
pooled at her ankles. Red panties protected the last of her modesty.
Unceremoniously, Henry shoved her. Her ankles entangled, she
stumbled and fell haphazardly on the bed. She didn't want to, but
tears formed and spilled. Then he was tearing the shoes from her
feet, and tugging the suit from her heels, taking her socks with it.
Through the tears, Selene could see smears of blood across her skin,
from her chest to her bare toes with huge blotches about her knees.
Nausea rose in her throat.
"No. No. No. No. No."
Henry began to peel his own clothing off. A grin split his face.
The Glock fell to the threadbare carpet with a heavy thump.
She shook her head. "No, Henry. Please."
He halted, his own body suit about his knees. Dried blood smeared
his face, his torso, even his left hip. He stared at her naked
breasts, then lifted his eyes to hers.
"It's not like this is the first time," he whispered.
She closed her eyes, silently praying for this to stop.
After Cody had been killed, she'd admitted Henry to their bed,
needing human contact. The same night he'd been killed. And Henry
had been rough, but she'd needed rough. Cody was gone. Forever. And
Henry had been there. And on every score since, small or large.
Afterwards, her legs had parted ritualistically and Henry had taken
her.
Tonight, she pressed her legs together tightly.
"You're covered in blood," she whispered. "So am I. I need to
shower. We have to keep moving." But she doubted he'd listen.
Henry's lips curled into a slow, hungry smile.
"Babe," he said slowly and deliberately. "I am going to fuck you
good. Right now. That's what you need. A good fucking." He stepped
out of the remainder of his suit and pushed off his briefs, his
erection full and throbbing.
She closed her eyes, knowing it would make no difference.
"Henry, no ..."
And then he was upon her, his knee between her thighs, forcing her
legs apart, his hands shredding her panties as if they were made of
tissue, his lips parted in animalistic abandon biting at her breasts
and throat.
She bit her lip silently as he entered her, turning her head away.
There was a sharp bloodstain on the bag on the table. It reminded
her of the letter Y; a split path. She focused her eyes on that and
tried to ignore the rest. But of course, she couldn't. And there
were no choices or paths left. Not for her.
                           <---===***===--->
She watched him silently from the bed. Warm semen dripped from her
bare breasts, mixing with the dried blood and staining the already
stained duvet below her ribs. At least he hadn't finished inside of
her, though her vagina felt like it had been ripped apart from the
inside out. Henry moved naked about the room, gathering up her
ruined clothing, even her shoes, placing them beside the bag in an
untidy heap. Then his body suit, underwear and both balaclavas
joined the gathering of their guilt. He picked up the Glock and
turned it over in his hand, hefting its solid weight. Still
carrying the pistol, he slipped into the bathroom and closed the
door. In a moment, she could hear urine splashing into water, then
taps open. The pipes rattled.
Selene stared at the ceiling. Water marks entwined across the
cracked tiles from a time when the roof leaked above. She thought it
probably still did when it rained. The paths of the water formed
complex journeys, merging and separating, like decisions on a life.
Henry reappeared. His face no longer sported crimson smears.
Neither did his hands, fingers or arms, but the remainder of the
bloodstains decorated his body like a warrior's badge. His penis
hung flaccid between his legs, no longer a threat. He rummaged in
the bag, extracting jeans and rough-spun work shirt, pulling them
over his nakedness. He picked up the bag and the Glock and paused at
the door.
"You're a fuckin' mess," he commented unnecessarily. Selene couldn't
have agreed more. "I'm going to get rid of these clothes. I'll bring
you back something to wear."
She nodded silently, not trusting her voice.
Without another word, Henry slipped outside, and she listened to his
footsteps fade into the distance.
She doubted if he'd return for her, but she found she didn't really
care. Alone, now, the tears she had previously withheld, finally
spilled in an uncontrollable flood and she lay curled and sobbing on
the bed for a long, long time.
                           <---===***===--->
Warm water cascaded over her bare skin like a tropical waterfall.
At her bare feet, crimson swirls rushed towards a rusty drain.
Mildew and dust and probably more disgusting fluids caked the dingy
tiles, but she didn't care. There was harsh soap in the soap dish,
and she scrubbed at her face and skin, trying to wash it all away.
But, of course, that was impossible, wasn't it?
She stood naked under the stinging spray, absorbing the warmth and
the pain. Her lips moved, forming silent words.
"Cody," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. This was your big one. The
big one. I cracked it. You'd be proud of me. You really would." She
paused, shivering despite the warmth of the water and the steam.
After a time, she spoke to herself again. "I couldn't stop him,
Cody. I wasn't strong enough. And I lost your tools. In the van,
Cody. I'm sorry. So sorry."
She swallowed and blinked. Eventually, she stopped crying and turned
off the water, stepping bare from the tiny stall.
There was only one towel, and it was stained and too small, but she
patted her bare skin until she was dry and combed out her hair with
her fingers as best she could. The towel wasn't large enough to
cover her adequately, but she tucked the end in above her right
breast and tugged the hem as low as she could.
In the next room, she could hear a woman screaming in passion, or at
least in simulated passion, through the thin walls.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and returned to the still
empty room outside, her bare feet brushing the mottled carpet below.
                           <---===***===--->
Selene jumped as the door creaked open and November air washed over
her still dampish bare skin.
Henry crossed the threshold. He dropped the bag on the table again
with an audible thump. He held the Glock in his right hand, pointed
towards the floor. The night beyond the door was silent. The woman
next door had ceased her orgasmic cries and was likely asleep now.
"I didn't think you'd come back," she said quietly. She sat on the
edge of the bed, her legs together and her hands clasped in her lap.
Her hair, still damp, tickled her bare shoulders.
Henry simply grunted.
"I had things to tell you," he grinned. "And you look good enough to
eat."
She simply stared at him.
"You didn't have to kill any of them," she continued. "We're screwed
now."
Henry nodded and licked his lips. Then he smiled.
"More for me," he said. The Glock lay across his lap, his fingers
running along its length. Back and forth. Back and forth. She
watched his fingers like a mongoose regards a cobra about to strike.
"Henry," she whispered. "Give me my clothes and let's just go. Go
somewhere they'll never find us. An island somewhere. We've always
dreamed of paradise. A beach. More drinks than you can imagine. This
was the big score. It was what Cody dreamed about ..." her voice
trailed off.
At the mention of Cody, Henry grimaced.
"Fuck Cody," he said. He paused for a moment, then looked up at her.
"You want to know the truth?"
She didn't, but she nodded anyway.
"Cody wasn't worth shit. He got cold feet on that last job. He
wanted out. Told me while he was turning those fucking dials with
that fucking headset. Telling me to hush. Like you did tonight."
Selene's heart began to beat harder beneath her breasts, her
breathing becoming ragged.
"And after he opened it," Henry smiled, "I popped him. Right in the
back of the head. With this." He held up the Glock. "And when we
escaped, I called you." He leered at her. "He taught you well. A
lot of things."
Selene closed her eyes. Tears fell, unbidden. When she looked up,
Henry had levelled the gun, aimed directly between her breasts.
Slowly, he climbed to his feet and approached Selene. Using the
barrel of the gun, he unhooked the towel, gravity pulling it from
her. She shivered, but continued to stare at him through blurred
tears.
"You killed him."
Henry nodded. "Like I'm going to kill you." He grinned and reached
down with his left hand and pinched her right nipple. Unprepared,
she cried out softly. The gun continued to aim at her chest. "More
for me," he said.
Selene watched helplessly as Henry pressed the barrel against her
left breast and tightened his index finger.
                           <---===***===--->
The pistol merely clicked. Either it was out of bullets, or it
misfired. For a moment, they stared at each other.
Henry smiled and instead of pulling the trigger again, he raised the
gun and struck her across the jaw. Selene felt something crack,
blood filled her mouth. Choking, the spell broken, she pushed away
from him, her bare feet fighting for purchase against the bed. He
caught her before she could separate them with the bed, roughly
throwing her down and flipping her onto her back. Rough hands pawed
at her breasts, paused, then slapped her across the face again.
Pain exploded through her jaw. Then across the breasts. She screamed
until he covered her mouth with his hand. More pain.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch."
Again, holding her down, he forced her thighs apart with his knee.
Then, the denim of his jeans hard against her naked lips, he grinned
and still holding her mouth sealed with his palm, pinched her nose.
Her nails dug into him, drawing blood, but he merely laughed,
maintaining his grip.
Blackness seeped in about her vision, the tunnel of her sight
beginning to narrow as her lungs screamed for air. He shifted his
position.
As the lights began to fade for her, she gathered the last of her
strength and slammed her right leg upwards. She felt softness squish
beneath the bare flesh of her upper thigh and suddenly, clean air
burst into her throat. Henry's mouth opened in a silent scream as
his hands fell towards his groin. Still dazed, but suddenly free of
his crushing weight and fingers, she scrabbled from underneath him.
Trying to stand, her knees buckled and she fell to the carpet. Above
her, Henry found his voice.
"I'm going to kill you slowly, you fucking bitch!"
She gathered her strength and pushed herself up, softly cursing.
 Dammit, Cody.
Henry knelt on the bed, writhing, his hands jammed between his legs.
"Fucking bitch!"
The Glock lay beside his left knee, gleaming where he'd dropped it.
She dove for it. Henry sensed her movement and tried to grab it, but
only succeeded in falling to the right. He screamed again as his
ruptured testicle shifted.
Suddenly, as if her arm was moving of its own volition, she was
standing naked beside him, aiming the Glock at the small depression
between his upper vertebrae and the base of his skull.
"You don't have the fucking guts," he screamed. "Fucking bitch!"
She trembled, the pistol wavering in her weak grip. The man had
murdered Cody, Charlie, Vance and an unknown guard without a second
thought. Would have killed her. Raped her. Fucked her after Cody.
Seething crimson filled her mind. Her finger tightened under the
trigger guard.
She had no idea if it was even loaded.
"Do it!" Henry screamed, half mad with pain. "Bitch!"
She swallowed.
Two paths. Two journeys.
She let her breath out in a slow stream.
                           <---===***===--->
The blow drew blood, but not as much as he'd cost her. A dab of
crimson marred the silver of the Glock's handle, but finally Henry
lay silent and limp upon the bed where he'd raped her.
She still didn't know if the pistol was operational.
She felt no satisfaction, no happiness, no elation. She was alive.
But she felt dead inside.
She knew she should check his pulse or at least his breath, but she
didn't care. Silently, she padded over to the bag. Cody's big score.
She didn't know what the contents were, neither did she care.
She dropped the pistol into the bag and pulled the strap over her
shoulder. Her jaw screamed at her. It was probably broken. Her
entire body ached.
At the door, she glanced at Henry. He lay where she'd incapacitated
him; even now, she wanted to go back and shoot him in the head. But
she'd chosen her path and she'd have to live with it.
Naked, she opened the door as the icy air washed over her bare skin.
Unlike earlier, she didn't even feel the cold.
Barefoot, she closed the door, shutting out the sight of Henry.
She turned and walked towards the neon sign.
 Vacancies.
                           <---===***===--->
Blurred red orbs glowed somewhere beyond the limits of her tear
tracked vision. Dimly she became aware of her bare body shivering
uncontrollably, the frigid asphalt beneath her naked feet. She knew
that if she didn't stop soon, find heat, she would die. She didn't
care.
"Lady? Are you all right?"
Of course, she wasn't all right. How could she be?
"Lady?"
She felt a warm hand on her bare shoulder. Perhaps it was Henry,
coming to finish the job, or to take her again for his pleasure
right here, upon the cold asphalt. Blinking away tears, she halted
and slowly turned towards him, staring over his shoulder. In the
dim distance, the hourly motel neon flickered forlornly, a shaky
beacon in the distance.
"Lady?"
Finally, she looked at him. He wore a blonde crew cut and a parka.
Not Henry.
His eyes travelled from her head to her bare feet, his mouth agape,
returning to her mouth where she was certain crimson blood continued
to leak from the corners.
"Shit," he exclaimed. Suddenly, a warm parka fell across her bare
shoulders. Almost absently, she slipped her arms into the sleeves,
pulling it across her bare chest. "Where are your clothes? It must
be minus five degrees out here!"
She attempted to work her mouth, to at least say thank you for
covering her, but it hurt too much, so she simply nodded. It hurt to
move her head.
"We have to get you to a hospital. Right now. Can you get in the
car?"
She glanced to her left. A grey Corolla idled near them, the
interior radiating blessed warmth.
He assisted her into the car, the fabric of the seat cool beneath
her bare bottom and legs. He climbed in beside her rubbing his arms.
"What the hell happened to you?"
She looked at him, pleading with her eyes. Then pointed towards the
distant strobing lights on the edge of the city.
He shook his head. "Hospital."
She gathered her strength.
"Please?"
Then she closed her eyes. He'd take her wherever he would. She no
longer had the strength to fight.
                           <---===***===--->
She steeled herself and lifted a hand to the nice young blonde
gentleman who helped her rise from the passenger seat. She nearly
screamed in pain, but managed to bite it down. Nausea swept over
her, but by some miracle she maintained her stomach with
consciousness.
Seeing the building, the flashing red and blue lights, the police
cars, the multiple ambulances nearly overwhelmed her. She didn't
want to put her bare feet back onto the cold pavement, but she
didn't have a choice. Did she? Her shoes were probably at the bottom
of the river, courtesy of Henry.
Over the young man's protests, she lurched to her feet and began to
weave between the police cars towards the everpresent yellow police
tape barricade. Surprisingly, there were few onlookers and her path
flowed from the warm Toyota to the crime tape like an open highway.
The young man followed her, wringing his hands, uncertain, perhaps
in shock.
She wished she had clothing. She wished a lot of things.
As she approached the tape, a stern red haired policewoman stepped
forward, a warning upon her lips. But as the cop's eyes found
Selene's bare legs, damaged face, and determination, her words
changed as she ducked under the tape.
"I need help here!"
Selene touched the cop's face as she approached. The policewoman
halted as if she'd been slapped.
Selene reached forward, Henry's bag dangling from her frozen finger
tips.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Numbly, the policewoman accepted the bag.
Selene felt her knees buckling and the sensation of falling. And
then all faded to black.
                           <---===***===--->
"Hello?"
The voice sounded worn and thin, the voice of a grieving widow, all
hope drained from her, the world heavy upon her shoulders.
For a moment, Selene couldn't speak. Tears fogged her vision and the
breath froze in her throat. This was the consequence of Cody's last
score. This was the result of paths taken and followed. Her jaw
screeched at her but the pain this woman endured was far, far worse.
"Alice?" Her voice wavered barely above a whisper. Every syllable
drilled pain into her jawbone and teeth, but she would continue.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Selene," Selene whispered. Nails drove into nerve
endings wrecked by Henry. Her jaw would heal, she knew, but before
they worked on her, gave her drugs to forget, the red haired
policewoman had allowed her make this call, even finding her a
borrowed cell phone and dialling for her. Yes, her jaw would mend
eventually, but not all hurts healed, did they? "And I'm so sorry."
There was silence. Selene filled it.
"Nathan thought about you at the end, Alice. His last words were:
'Alice. Karen.' He loved you. You should know that. I think I might
have killed the man that killed him. You should know that, too."
Other flashing lights screamed off into the night towards the seedy
motel. Selene watched the blue and red through ambulance doors.
She thought about Cody. And Nathan. And Alice. And Karen. And
forest paths.
Selene didn't wait for an answer from Alice, or absolution, or
forgiveness. None of those concepts applied to her. She merely
disconnected the phone with her fingertip and closed her eyes,
hoping for closure, and waited for the police and the paramedics to
return.