The road ended, and the van turned left, entering traffic, and this time, I was able to slip smoothly in behind it. There were three other vehicles between us, the road single lane, both of us hemmed in by cars on either end until our suspects saw an opening and swung sharply to the right. I cut off an oncoming sedan in order to follow, and a horn blasted angrily in my wake.
“Is there a plan for when we catch up to them?” Fletcher asked, one hand wrapped tightly around the panic bar on the roof. “We didn’t actually see them doing anything incriminating. Loitering isn’t technically a crime.”
“Then why’d they run?” My knuckles were white on the steering wheel as I bore down on the accelerator, eyes locked on the back of the van.
“Still not proof.”
“I’ve seen that van before. Outside Finn’s school, and outside the bar last night.”
“Yeah, because that’s what most delivery vans look like,” Fletcher pointed out.
“I’ve got a gut feeling.”
“Gut feelings don’t hold up in--” Her words cut off as I spun the wheel as hard as I could to follow the van down an alley barely wide enough for it, and she smacked into the door.
We were barely a car’s length behind them. Truth be told, I didn’t know what we’d do when we caught up, but I was certain they knew something about Finn’s disappearance. Maybe they were even in league with Richard Smith, keeping an eye on the investigation for the man.
The delivery van shot out of the far end of the alley, back end fishtailing as the driver struggled to control the turn, losing speed.
“Get ready,” I said. This was where we would get them. I was sure of it.
I was primed to cut in front of the van as soon as we hit the wider street, but as soon as we cleared the alley mouth, something slammed into the driver’s side of our car. The world went black and white as we jerked sharply to the side, bumper clipping the edge of the wall, spinning us around. My head reeled, every screech of metal on metal a flash of colour across my eyes, and I could barely tell that we had skidded to a halt, car rocking but staying on four tires. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t feel much of anything, either, as the entire world continued to tremble around me, its features blotted out by too many blobs of sharp, white light.
Someone shook my shoulder, but their words were a buzz against my eardrum. I could only hear that screech of metal, over and over again. They grabbed my face and turned it towards them, shaking me again, still speaking, and slowly, Fletcher’s face swam into view, concern writ across her features.
“Callum, are you with me?” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Hands off my face,” I grunted. I began to hurt, now that she’d dragged me back into reality, the entire right side of my body throbbing, but it didn’t feel as if anything was broken.
Fletcher quickly let go of me.
I struggled to shove my door open as the whole thing was bent out of shape and then tumbled out of the car, my legs jellied beneath me, the pavement rough on my palms. Coloured spots still danced at the edges of my vision, playing around the dark pant legs and leather boots that walked towards me. I craned my neck to look up, but the person’s face was blotted out by the sun, and I shoved myself upright as they reached me, wobbling slightly. The driver’s stubbled face blinked into view just before he grabbed me by the duster and slung me into the road.
I hit the pavement hard but managed to turn it into an awkward roll, stumbling upright. I went for my gun, but someone grabbed my arm from the right and twisted it, forcing me to let go of the pistol. I swung with my other fist, pivoting into the blow, and punched my assailant in the solar plexus. They dropped my arm, wheezing, but they stood over my weapon, and I saw the angry face of the van’s passenger as he glared up at me.
“Who are you? What do you want with Haruto?” I growled, but before he could answer, I felt someone coming up behind me, and I spun to find the driver creeping up on me, silver knife in hand.
“Freeze!” Fletcher yelled. She had her gun drawn and pointing at the driver’s head.
The man did as he was told, but there was a sick smile on his face that I didn’t like.
The SUV that hit us finally divulged its passengers, spitting a man and woman out into the street between Fletcher and me. Each had a gun pointed at her, and I saw fear flicker across her face.
Hell of a second day on the job, rookie.
But I couldn’t help her. I had my own problems. The man behind me, who I would call Goon due to the rather squashed quality of his nose, recovered from the blow to his stomach and kicked my gun away. It skittered down the cobblestones and under a dumpster, and as he drew his own, he leered at me while his friend, Turtleneck because of his fashion choices, continued to approach me.
“Who are you people?” I asked again.
I heard Goon’s gun cock, and I immediately dropped to the ground. The silenced shot whumped through the alley, and without wasting a second, I flung myself into his legs, sending us both crashing into the wall just behind him. I scrambled for his gun
