Marcus Sakey - The Blade Itself

Evan whirled, instinct driving him back from the detective, bringing his arm over, aiming without hesitation. Danny stood frozen, impotent in the face of death, and waited for the impact. Some part of him wondered if you heard the shot before you felt it.

Then Evan laughed. “All those times you told me not to play with guns, you should have been learning how they worked.”

On TV, the cops slid the top part of the gun back before firing. He tried it. But when he pulled the trigger again, another click rang out.

“It’s empty.” Evan smiled, his pistol never leaving Danny’s chest. “Dirty Harry over here didn’t see me sneak around. All I had to do was wait till I heard him pop the clip to reload.”

Danny let his arm drop, the gun falling loose to clatter on the ground beside the duffel bag. He was too far from Evan to charge, and there was no cover for forty feet in any direction.

He was out of moves.

“Funny.” Evan smiled. “We got ourselves a reunion tonight. All the boys from the neighborhood.”

“Except Patrick.” His voice came out weary, too tired for rage.

“Can’t make an omelet, you know?” Evan shrugged. “But it’s still quite a picture. We got the whole range. The criminal. The cop. And whatever it is you are, Danny.”

“I’m…” He paused like he was hesitating, then took a step forward. “I’m just a regular guy.” If he could get close enough, he might be able to make a lunge.

Evan smiled again. “You’re starting to piss me off. Stop trying to win. Don’t you get it? You scored last time. Now it’s my turn.”

Danny froze, his arms out. “Easy.”

“Easy my ass.” With his left hand, Evan dug in an inner pocket, came out with cigarettes. Shook the pack until one popped up, took it in his lips, lit it with his silver Zippo. His gun hand never wavered. “You know what? Since we’re here, let’s settle something. Which are you, Danny-boy?”

“Which am I?”

“I know you like to believe you’re an innocent civilian, but it’s getting a little thin, don’t you think? Fighting, breaking-and-entering, jacking a car, kidnapping, plus you just tried to shoot a man in the back. That’s a hell of a week. Tell the truth.” He blew a puff of smoke. “Felt good, didn’t it?”

No point in lying. “Yes.”

Evan smiled, took a step back, and turned to Nolan. “You hear that, Sean? Got your cuffs handy?”

Nolan’s voice was calm, almost clipped. “Shut it, convict.”

Evan’s smile twisted into a snarl. His fist lashed out, pistol-whipping the detective across the face. Nolan’s head snapped sideways, but he didn’t make a sound. A line of blood cut across his cheek.

“A little respect , motherfucker.”

Danny’s mind felt sluggish, tired. An overdose of adrenaline had turned his limbs to concrete. He considered his options, dealing them out in front of him. Not a winning hand in the bunch.

“Hey,” Evan said, his voice suddenly light as he turned back to Danny. “Wanted to ask you. How’d you get up to the roof, man?”

“I climbed.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Now that sounds like fun. I bet you felt more alive than you had the last ten years.”

Danny shrugged, looked down. An idea occurred to him. A slim chance, but the only one he saw.

“Come on, admit it, man. It’s just like the game. You remember? Pisser?” Evan smiled, an old comradely grin.

“I remember.”

“You miss it, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.” Danny spoke slowly, cocking his left hip out. Putting all the weight on it. Last call . “Sometimes I do. But you know what, Evan? Mostly, I’m tired of it. I don’t want to play anymore.”

Evan stared at him like he was reading something in his soul, the smile slowly fading. He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice came out soft. “Don’t you get it? The game never ends.”

And despite everything, for an instant, Danny saw through the man in front of him, the hardened killer, the engineer of his undoing. In his place stood a twelve-year-old boy with freckles and curly hair and a taunting smile that seemed to float in the air. Floated above the thousand humiliations of poverty, above the bruises from his father, above the whole stinking unbalanced system that would lead him here. A smile that floated because it had to.

And then Evan shook his head. “Ah well. Time to go.” He raised the pistol to point at Danny’s head. “It’ll be quick, amigo. For old times’ sake.”

The slapping of his heart seemed to bend the ribs of his chest. Danny’s mouth went dry, his tongue a slab of meat. The round eye of the gun stared at him, eager to offer that fatal wink.

“Wait.” He stared past the pistol, to Evan. His fingers tingled. “One last favor?”

Evan cocked his head. “Your credit isn’t much good here, Danny-boy.”

“For old times’ sake.”

“What?”

“Do him first.” Danny gestured at Nolan with his head, careful to keep his hands out.

Evan narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Danny stared back, blinked. “Because… it’s like the game. It’ll be easier once I see it done.”

Evan looked at him for a long moment. His eyes grew colder, and darker. “Never would have believed it.” His voice dripped contempt. “You’re a coward.”

Danny looked away, looked back.

Evan stared at him, then slowly shrugged. “All right. For old times’ sake.” He took two steps toward the snapping plastic, and turned to Nolan. “Good night, Sean.” He raised the gun like a piece of clockwork, bringing it to Nolan’s forehead.

Danny jerked downward, his right hand finding the strap of the duffel bag and hoisting it up. Keeping his momentum going, he hurled himself forward, his left leg planted as a pivot, arm flinging out and up from the weight, putting every last cell of screaming muscle into it.

The thirty-pound duffel bag took Evan dead in the chest. He staggered backward, arms flailing, fire blasting from the gun. His back hit the sheeting, and for one terrible moment it held.

Then his weight ripped it from the ceiling and Evan McGann fell out into the city night.

The silence that followed was broken only by the wind-whipped crack of the loose tarp and the sound of Danny’s beating heart. His legs went rubbery, and he dropped to his knees. After all of the pain and exhaustion, he wanted more than anything to collapse and sleep.

More than almost anything.

With trembling arms, he crawled over to the open ledge and looked down.

Evan lay splayed across a stack of metal girders three stories below. The top and bottom half of him seemed somehow wrong, like an action figure twisted too far. One arm curled around the duffel bag. The seam had split on impact, and a handful of bills spilled out to swirl in the October wind, the money blowing like dreams, tangling in the dirty weeds and sullen mud. Beside him, he heard Nolan speaking into his radio, calling for backup. Sirens sounded immediately, beat cars only blocks away.

Danny rocked back to his knees, shut his eyes, and let the darkness come.

“You don’t have to do this.” Karen’s voice was flat.

Danny looked over at her, rigid behind the steering wheel. Her face was strained, but at least it wasn’t slack. Sometimes he’d find her staring out the window or standing in the kitchen folding and refolding a dish towel, her eyes a thousand miles away. Gone so deep that even speaking wouldn’t break the trance. Those times he would slide an arm around her waist to remind her she was safe, and watch her come back slowly, blinking like she was swimming up from the bottom of some enormous sea.