In Too Deep(158)

"Three," I whispered into the cacophony of the CD player music, opening the door and slipping into the hallway. The hallway was clear, I had been lucky so far. Either nobody had seen the shot, or they weren't sure where it had come from yet. Still, I didn't expect my luck to hold out forever, so I jogged down the hallway to the stairs to the roof, making my way up and out. The late twilight gave little illumination to the rooftop, but it was helped by the diffused city lights around. Moving quickly but not rushing, I made my way to the end of the roof, looking across at the next roof. It wasn't too far, just over seven feet, so I backed up a little bit and took a light running jump, landing with a little thrill on the other side.

"Didn't suck," I said to myself, enjoying the adrenalin rush. I heard yelling from below and behind me, someone had found my room. Picking up the pace, I started running, not even pausing as I jumped the next two roofs, before facing the big choice. If I was confident, I could take this building's fire escape down to the street level and disappear onto the light rail system. If not, I could turn right and flee another three blocks before taking another fire escape, but my escape route would then be going through the city storm drains for over a mile before emerging and then catching a city bus.

Looking behind me, I couldn't see anyone. While my lead may only have been a few minutes, it was enough. Chucking my Glock to the side, not wanting to get caught with one by a local cop, I took the fire escape, controlling my slide down the ladder using my hands. It's harder than it looks, especially when the ladder is old and a bit rusty. The hardest part actually was the end, when I was faced with a twelve foot drop. They make those fire escapes hard to climb up for a reason, after all. Still, even dangling, I was a good six feet above the ground, and the drop onto the trash littered street below didn't look all that inviting. Saying a quick prayer that there were no rusty nails or drug needles below me, I let go.

Thankfully, the worst that I landed on was an old flyer for the weekly discounts at the local department store. Brushing off my hands, I pulled the gloves off and tucked them in my pocket to be washed and disposed of later. Walking calmly to the train stop, I only had to wait three minutes before the next train. Stepping on, I held my cool until the doors closed, and I found a seat. Only then did I start to let the tremors begin in my hands.





Chapter 46


Mark




The news of Illuysas Petrokias' death barely made page four of the local papers. He was a low life who got shot in a club that was known more for the size of the waitresses' breasts than those of the chicken dishes. His death was only notable because of the fact that he had been sniped from a long distance, although the police would only say they were following leads. Considering that the police worked for Owen Lynch, I doubted they would get too far, although I pitied the poor detective who had been assigned the case. I was sure they would get stonewalled at every turn.

Han Faoxin, or more accurately Anita Han, on the other hand, was front page news. A celebrated, popular, and quite beautiful teacher at one of the best high schools in the state being killed in her own classroom was the stuff of television reports and lots of press coverage. For the next three days, there were daily reports and updates from obviously flummoxed reporters who kept trying to put a new spin on what obviously was no new information.

I had to admit, it was quite dramatic. The grainy images of me, clad in my loose fitting coveralls and my false ID soon flooded the local newscasts, highlighted by the fact that after the kill, I had apparently just walked off casually, like I didn't have a single care in the world. One local newscaster had even put forth the theory that I was some sort of new serial killer, even though there was no other crime like it in recent memory. I didn’t like that I had to do it in the school, but any other way would have been very dangerous.

On a quieter level, I could see the effect the two deaths had caused. The signs were subtle, but in my next few night patrols, I saw there was less cooperation among the street level thugs used by the various Confederation members. Members working for one member who were in the territory of another were treated with more suspicion, and each person's territory was patrolled a bit more vigilantly than before.

Sal Giordano being at Petrokias' shooting actually was a lucky break in our favor. I could understand why. After all, why was the smaller Confederation member hit while the big boss man himself not even shot at? The fact that Sophie had used a specially configured AR-15, a weapon that I was known to favor, raised even more questions. Was the hit done by me? But if so, how, when the room was rented to a woman, and the clerk swore that nobody else went in the room? If it was me, why didn't I take a shot at Sal, or was I working for him again? Was this just a way for Sal to unleash an unknown factor into the carefully balanced Confederation system?

Of course there were questions pointed at Owen Lynch as well. However, the death of Han Faoxin sowed even more confusion in that area. The Confederation wasn't sure what to think once the word got out who had actually been killed. The suspicion on Sal Giordano increased even further, as he was one of the few Confederation members who knew who she was, and routinely claimed to meet her in person.

"All in all, a good start," I told Sophie a week after the hits, as we were reviewing the paperwork to put Tabby in charge of our investments in the city. The biggest headache was setting up another shell corporation, which we named MJT Holdings. Thankfully, while a basic pain in the ass, I'd done shell corporations plenty of times before, and had a connection with a lawyer's office in Connecticut that could get us the paperwork quickly.