I needed mine.
The train was hot, crowded and sticky. It only served to get my blood up. Once I got out downtown, the walk was short. My legs carried me faster than I knew they could. In my mind I could see images of the people I knew. Had known. And had never known.
My father.
My mother.
Jack.
And Stephen Gaines. The brother I never had.
I arrived on the block with half an hour to spare. I checked my watch every thirty seconds, trying to contain the rage building inside of me. Everything had led up to this.
I paced up and down, breathing steady, controlled. It wasn't easy. The last time I remembered feeling like this, helpless yet ready to explode, was several years ago when my then girlfriend Mya was attacked and nearly raped.
That night I paced the street, a fifth of vodka in a paper bag, praying I would somehow find the man who was cowardly enough to attack a woman half his size. Though
Amanda and I had been through some trying ordeals, to the point where I wondered if we would live to see the next day, we were both strong-willed people. We could overcome it. We knew that. Stephen wasn't strong enough to overcome his demons. He'd been seduced by the vial, the needle, and once they were in they were in for good.
And suddenly I turned around and there he was.
Wearing a brilliant suit, slightly disheveled after a long day's work. A briefcase slung over his shoulder. His shoulders were slumped as he walked, his eyes cast down to the street. As he got closer I could see the birth mark on his neck. The same one Helen Gaines saw the night he killed my brother.
He didn't see me waiting for him. That was probably for the best.
'Scott Callahan,' I said.
Scotty's eyes snapped up to meet mine. At first he was confused, then a small smile crossed his lips when he recognized me. Then that smile disappeared when he realized I was not there for a social visit. Nothing like it.
'Henry?' he said, trying to understand what I was doing there.
I walked toward him. Picking up my pace with every step.
'Cops are on their way,' I said, voice even, teeth gritted. Scott kept on walking, tentative, until we were just a few feet from each other. 'But they won't be here for a little while. So we have some time to chat.'
Scotty's face went an ashen gray. 'The cops?' he said. 'Wha…I don't understand. You promised me you'd keep my name out of this. Goddamn it, you promised me!'
'I promised I wouldn't turn you in for dealing. I was looking for something more. But I never said a word about keeping your name clean from murder, you piece of shit.'
'Murder? What the hell…' Scotty was breathing hard. I saw his eyes flicker to the building next to us, where he lived. He was carrying nothing but his brief case and his wallet. There was nowhere to go. No place to hide.
And then, from the opposite end of the street, we both heard the faint shrill of police sirens. Scotty whirled around. The cops weren't within sight yet. He was sweating, nervous. Then all of a sudden Scotty came around and punched me in the stomach.
It wasn't a hard blow, but I was unprepared. Rather than buckling and trying to absorb the hit, it landed square in my gut, knocking the wind from me. I fell to a knee, gasping for air. Scotty began to run. So I did the only thing I could. I grabbed his ankle as he ran past.
Scotty's leg went out from under him, and he landed with a thud on the pavement. His briefcase went flying, fluttering pathetically in the wind. Forgetting about my own lack of air, I leaped up and pounced on him. I dug my knee into the small of his back, then rolled him over and reared back to deliver my own blow. Scotty brought his elbows up to protect his face, and my punch hit nothing but bone. The pain was terrible, but it dissipated in an instant. I connected with a solid right to Scotty's ear, knocking his face sideways. A scream escaped his mouth.
I threw another punch, but Scotty was able to block it, twisting sideways. I still hadn't recovered from his punch, so I was thrown off balance and fell off him. I managed to keep my hand on his shoulder, pulling him back down as he tried to get up.
Scotty was crawling for something; I couldn't see what. My face was still close to the ground, and I could smell the concrete. Then I heard a clang as something toppled over, and that was followed by a whoosh of air as he swung what appeared to be the lid of a garbage can at my head.
I managed to roll away, catching a glancing piece of the aluminum on my jaw. It stunned me and I fell back.
Scotty stood up, limping, clutching his knee. The sirens were growing louder. Not long ago the police had been after me, and I'd managed to escape. At least for a while. Scotty had lived here for years, knew every inch of the city. He had friends who would protect him. If
Helen Gaines, a frail junkie, could find a safe house, no doubt a dealer with innumerable contacts could as well.
I couldn't let him get away.
As Scotty began to run, I got to my feet, dived forward and tackled him from behind. His legs gave out, and Scotty screamed again as his knee slammed down on the ground. By this point I could see several
pedes trians watching us, hands over their mouths in shock and terror. A few were on their cell phones, no doubt calling 911.
A little late, but I appreciated the gesture.
Scotty was still writhing, and I managed to turn him over, placing my knees in the crook of his elbows. Just like I had to the guy who tried to jump me at the apart ment. Scotty's head was bleeding from where I'd punched him. There was a ragged hole in his pants by his right knee. There was a nasty cut that was bleeding pretty heavily. I could feel the slow, hot trickle of blood running down my neck, where he'd clipped me with the lid.
I raised my fist, ready to exhaust all the rage and fury of the last few days. To get payback for my brother's murder, for my father's incarceration.
This man, this killer, this hired dealer. The world would be better off without him.
Yet as I stared at my own fist, poised and ready to strike the helpless murderer, suddenly my hand went slack. My fingers uncurled. I couldn't do it. Justice wasn't about taking an eye for an eye. I was above that.
I had to be.
So I sat there, knees on his arms, the man below me in terrible pain, tears streaming down his face.
'Please,' Scotty blubbered, 'let me go. You don't know what you're doing…'
'I know exactly what I'm doing,' I said. 'I'm giving you the chance you never gave Stephen. I'm going to let you live.'
The sirens grew closer. I could see the red and blue flashing off the windows on the street. The air was hot, swirling around us as I waited, my breathing heavy, angry.
'Get the hell off of him.'
I didn't recognize the voice. The sirens screamed all around us. I hadn't heard a car pull up. It wasn't a cop talking. The voice did sound familiar, though…
Turning my head, from the corner of my eye I saw Kyle
Evans standing two feet from our sprawled bodies. He was holding a gun in his hand. It was pointed right at my head.
I heard more screams, and anyone who had been on the street watching had run off when the gun was pulled.
It was just the three of us.
I took my knees off Scotty, who scooted backward.
He clutched his knee, biting his lip.
I stood up. Air was coming back to my lungs, but I was still doubled over slightly.
'He's a killer,' I said, the words coming out in bursts. 'He's-'
And then I saw it. And whatever breath had found its way back into my lungs vanished.
Kyle was holding a black pistol. And attached to the end of it was a thin metal tube. And I remembered
