CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
Duck licked his lips, his gaze shifting between the door and Conor. “I’m fine, Mike. Check back if I’m not out in a minute.” He waited a beat before eyeing Conor and whispering, “If I was you, I’d leave before that minute is up.”
“One of my friends is in the hospital because of you,” said Conor.
A small rivulet of blood ran from under the toilet stall toward the drain by Duck’s feet.
Duck stepped away from the blood. “If one of your friends got hurt, it’s because he was somewhere he shouldn’t have been, doing something he shouldn’t have been doing,” he said.
“ He drew himself up to his full height. “You know, this isn’t going to go well for you or your friends. In all the years I’ve known your father, he never acted like this.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it, but I’ll do something. Your conduct bothers me.”
Conor turned his back on Duck. He touched his temple, feeling his pulse pound. “My conduct?”
“This isn’t something I’ll forget. I’m afraid I’m going to have to—”
Conor punched him in the mouth. Blood spurted from Duck’s lip as his head snapped back, cracking the mirror behind the sink. His knees buckled and his face bounced off the edge of the sink. He fell on the floor and rolled through Artie’s blood. Conor grabbed the back of his neck.
“Couple things to remember about my conduct,” Conor said. “If people hurt my friends, I hurt people back.”
He smeared Duck’s face in the blood. Duck lifted his face, gasping, blood staining a shock of white hair above his forehead. Conor stepped on the back of his neck.
“And another thing,” he said, listening to Duck wheeze.
“My dad doesn’t know you.” He took his foot off Duck’s neck.
“So, stop talking about him and start thinking about my friend that’s in the hospital.
Better yet, start praying for him, because if he doesn’t pull through, you’re gonna see me again. ”
He opened the men’s room door and looked back. “And by the way, I don’t know who told you about that safe, but either they’re stupid, or you’re senile, because it was empty. This whole disaster of a night is because you don’t know what you’re doing anymore. Time to retire, Duck.”
Conor stepped out of the men’s room and saw the bartender pushing through the crowd, holding a bat.
Conor met him halfway and jabbed his thumb toward the men’s room.
“They’re gonna need more toilet paper.” He patted the bartender’s shoulder and walked out.
He glanced back once and saw the bartender talking on his cell phone.
A driving rain soaked him as he rode toward his apartment complex.
Before he went to the hospital to meet up with Fitz, he had to stop and talk to Julia.
He had to tell her what happened. How he’d planned to steal the bishop’s gold, and how it all went to hell.
She might not like hearing that he was a thief, but he felt like he needed to come clean.
After tonight’s epic failure, it was time to make a new plan.
One where they both decided what to do. Whether that meant staying here, or going somewhere else, he was ready.
It was time to see what life could be like with someone at his side.
But he needed to step on it. It was already a quarter past midnight.
Fifteen minutes was a long time to keep a girl as perfect as Julia waiting.
He squinted through the rain, motoring up a hill toward the apartment complex.
A car turned on its high beams behind him, racing toward him.
That fucking bartender must’ve called someone.
He glanced in his sideview mirrors. He couldn’t make out who it was—the lights were blinding.
But the car was bearing down on him. He sped by the entrance to his apartment complex.
One thing was sure—whoever was following him was trouble.
The last thing he wanted was to bring trouble to Julia’s door.
He downshifted and took a quick left. It shouldn’t be hard to lose whoever it was in this rain.
He heard the screech of tires and glanced back.
The car skidded into the turn, barely missing a line of parked cars.
He could hear the car’s engine roar as the driver floored the accelerator.
Up ahead, Conor could see the bridge that went over the Mohican River.
There were no street lights on the other side of that bridge.
Nothing but dark roads winding through parkland.
Even some dirt roads. And he knew them all.
Whoever was tailing him would never be able to keep up with him once he got past the bridge.
And after he lost them, he’d head back to get Julia.
He flew up an incline toward the bridge. The car closed in from behind. His motorcycle went airborne as he crested the hill.
The bike settled with a heavy thud on the bridge.
The front wheel landed solidly. The back wheel hydroplaned on the wet asphalt.
The tail of the bike swept right, then left, fishtailing.
He muscled it, trying to keep it on the road.
For a moment, he got control. Then the car tapped his back end.
If he hadn’t lost speed from hydroplaning, he would’ve already been over the bridge.
But he did lose speed. Just enough for the car to tag him.
A motorcycle moving at high speed is a dangerous machine. The combination of weight and speed can kill a man as easily as a man can squash an ant. The nudge from the car unleashed that danger in an eyeblink.
The motorcycle’s back end swept out to the right. Conor put both feet on the ground, straining to keep it upright. The back wheel caught asphalt, then lost traction again. He felt the bike sliding out from under him. There was no option.
He jumped.
He expected to hit the asphalt. But his bike had slid more than he thought. It crumpled into the guardrail. He flew over the guardrail, plummeting toward the river below. The river, swollen with rainwater, roared. He plunged into its cold, raging current.
He spun head over heel. A whine filled his head. He needed air. His back slammed against a boulder. He broke the surface and gasped. The current drove him back underwater.
He rolled over and over in darkness. His head smacked a rock, filling it with an explosion of light.
He tumbled and tossed like a leaf in a hurricane.
This couldn’t go on much longer. Any moment now, he’d pop to the surface, climb out of this river, get back on his motorcycle, pick up Julia, and ride out of town. He just needed air.
His head slammed into another rock. He breathed in involuntarily, cold water filling his lungs. His whole body went slack. The current gathered him up and carried him along. He relaxed and went along for the ride, listening to the roar of the river transform into the rumble of his motorcycle.
He was driving to the apartments. Everything glowed.
The trees. The street. The grass. Everything.
Jewels of rain fell as he pulled into the parking lot.
A downed tree limb was under Julia’s balcony.
He pulled next to it, watching its leaves tremble in the soft rain.
Julia leaned over her balcony’s railing. He cut the engine on his motorcycle.
“You made it!” she yelled. Then somehow she was behind him, sitting on his motorcycle with her arms wrapped around his chest. He started his motorcycle and pulled out of the parking lot. Julia’s grip tightened around his chest.
“This is the best day of my life,” she said, kissing the back of his neck.
“I can’t breathe,” he said.
The glow from the street, the trees, the grass, and everything else brightened. He drove into the glare as Julia’s embrace became a relentless pressure, crushing him. It felt like his heart would explode, but it didn’t matter.
Julia was with him.
He opened the throttle full bore.
They were leaving.
It was time to start a new life.
He inhaled, drawing cold water into his lungs.
Everything was perfect.