I don’t have to follow Mara because I already know where she’s going.
So intent am I on sprinting ahead of her, that I don’t realize I’m not alone in the alleyway. I hear the click of a safety coming off. Then the voice of Officer Hawks ordering, “Don’t fucking move.”
I turn slowly, already knowing I’ll be staring down the barrel of a gun.
Hawks is still dressed in his rented tux, though he’s lost the bow-tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons. His glasses are slightly askew, the eyes behind them bloodshot with lack of sleep and at least one or two glasses of EBA champagne.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I say, trying for boredom in my tone. Unable to hide the edge of tension running underneath. I don’t have time for this—I don’t have time for any delay at all.
Hawks doesn’t give a fuck about my plans.
He’s here to ruin them.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he barks. “I’m arresting you,”
Fuck fuck FUCK!
“You can’t arrest me,” I sneer. “You have no warrant and no probable cause.”
“Turn around,” Hawks hisses through his teeth, “Or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
FUCK!
I turn slowly, trying to buy time as my mind races.
My options are few.
“Mara just left the party,” I tell him. “Shaw is following her. He’s going to kill her.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Hawks barks, coming up behind me. I hear the clink of metal as he pulls out his cuffs.
The urge to yank my hands away, to fight him, is overwhelming. But he’s closing the manacle around my wrist one-handed while he keeps his gun shoved against my side.
He frisks me roughly, finding the knife in my pocket.
“What’s this?” he crows. “Looks like probable cause to me. Can’t wait to run that through analysis.”
I want to slam the crown of my head against the bridge of his nose. I’m dying to do it.
Does he really think I’m stupid enough to carry a murder weapon around in my pocket?
I mean … one I’ve already used.
“We have to get to Mara!” I snap. “I can show you where they’re going.”
“Shut UP,” Hawks hisses, jamming the barrel between my ribs. “I want to shoot you. I’m fucking itching to do it. Just give me a reason.”
I keep my mouth shut as he hustles me to the end of the alleyway, to the cruiser parked a block down the street.
God DAMN it! I was hoping he brought his own car.
He shoves me in the back, where the doors have no interior handles and I’m trapped behind the thick metal mesh separating the driver from the back seat.
Hawks drops my knife into an evidence bag and stows it in the trunk, before climbing into the front.
“This is pointless,” I tell him. “I’ll have a team of lawyers down at the station in an hour. I’ll run this all the way up the chain—you’ll be writing parking tickets in Excelsior by the time I’m finished with you.”
“Yeah?” Hawks scoffs. “Well at least I get to ruin your night first.”
He’s right about that. With the speed the SFPD moves, I won’t even get my phone call within an hour. By then, Mara will be long gone.
Hawks turns right on 18th Street, driving away from Corona Heights Park.
In the moment that his head is turned watching for cross traffic, I slip my bound wrists under my legs, bringing them around in front of me. Hawks glances at the rear-view mirror. I sit still, pretending that I haven’t moved at all.
I wait, the seconds whipping past, the car traveling several agonizing blocks in the wrong direction.
Then Hawks turns onto Sanchez and speeds up. He’s distracted, changing lanes to merge into traffic.
Leaning back against the seat, I lift my feet and drive both heels into the metal mesh as hard as I can. I kick it once, twice, as Hawks shouts and swerves the wheel, scrabbling for his gun. My heels breaking through on the third kick, knocking Hawks in the jaw and shoulder, sending the car careening the opposite direction.
Hawks pulls his gun free, but now there’s no mesh between us. I drop my wrists over his head and pull the chain back against his throat, yanking it so tight that he has to let go of the wheel entirely, and the gun too, both hands grabbing for the chain as he strangles.
The cruiser barrels into the cars lined up along the street, hitting the bed of a Tacoma and flipping over. Hawks and I are both unbuckled. We’re flung up out of our seats, still grappling and twisting in the air, landing in a crumpled heap on the inside roof of the car.
I keep throttling him with all my strength as he claws and punches backward. He hits me in the eye and the ear, but I hang on doggedly, choking him until I feel him losing strength. His blows weaken. Finally he slumps forward, both of us covered in broken glass, bleeding from a dozen cuts.
I ease the pressure off his throat.
There’s no covering this up—I just assaulted a police officer. I’m in deep shit. I don’t need Hawks dead on top of everything else. I steal the keys off his belt, unlock the cuffs, then leave him there with a livid chain mark across his throat and his pulse still beating.
I crawl out the shattered windshield of the cruiser.
A half dozen people have already gathered around, pulling out their phones, calling the police and an ambulance.
They stare at me as I slither out of the cop car, cut to ribbons by the glass, blood pattering down on the cement from the side of my face, my knees, and my hands.
“Are you okay?” a girl asks me.
A bald man in glasses takes a step back, understanding what it means that I was in the back of the cop car when it crashed.
“You better wait here for the ambulance …” he says, hesitantly.
I’m not waiting for shit.
Ignoring the bystanders, I turn and start running back in the direction of the park.
I’m not returning exactly the way we came—I’m cutting through cross-streets, sprinting down sidewalks and through alleyways, taking the most direct route to Mara.
I’m running faster and harder than I’ve ever run in my life. My shoes pound the pavement, my chest flames like a furnace stuffed full of coal. My head throbs where it slammed against the car door as the cruiser flipped over. I can’t pay attention to any of that—all I can do is sprint and sprint until I taste blood in my throat.
I’ve been delayed too long.
Mara might already be dead.
19
Mara
The wind hits me like a slap as I run down the steps of the theater.
For once, it actually feels like Christmas Eve.
The air is so cold that my breath comes out in silvery plumes, and my sweat freezes on my skin in an instant. Thick clouds blanket the night sky, blocking out every star.
I’m hurrying up Castro Street, trying to find the right pace where I can stay ahead of Shaw without losing him.
I have to look distraught, which isn’t hard to do. Fighting with Cole was awful. I know we were both playing a part, but it made me feel like shit hearing him speak to me that way, seeing the ugly look on his face. I hated putting Sonia in the middle. I’ll have to apologize to her for that—assuming I’m still alive come morning.