Running on Empty (10 page)

‘Stay here, Feeney, and don’t you fucking move’ snapped Lowanski.

The rest headed up the stairs, climbing two at a time. Tom surveyed the scene. An office building, in God knows where, with no sign of staff in the middle of a working day. The minutes seemed like hours as Tom stood there, waiting. Waiting for what? French doors to one side of the reception led out into a small paved garden courtyard of sorts. Christ, I could do with a cigarette now, thought Tom. I wonder…

He slowly moved towards those French doors.

What if they’re alarmed?

Fuck it, what can they do, shoot me
?

He tried the handle, and to his surprise, the door opened easily. Out he stepped. The fresh air felt good, the nicotine even better. He calmed down a bit, and took in the scene. The garden was pretty overgrown, the bushes and shrubs running wild. Not surprising in an office with no staff, thought Tom. A movement in an upstairs window startled him, and he instinctively slipped behind a bush. He dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushed it underfoot, and waited. He could see Fielding in animated conversation with the Chinese guy, while Lowanski hovered menacingly in the background. Fielding clearly wasn’t happy with something the Chinaman had said or done, because his face looked like thunder, and his arms were flailing about like a man possessed. Tom had never seen him like this before, he usually appeared calm and reserved. Fielding’s eyes shifted from Li to Lowanski, who stood to one side, waiting. Following his bosses almost imperceptible nod, Lowanski, pounced. Grabbing the Asian from behind, the left hand wrapped around his forehead, while the right hand pushed a long thin blade swiftly into the rear of the Chinaman’s neck, forcing it upwards into the back of the skull. He collapsed like a rag doll, no scream, no struggle, nothing. It was over instantly.

Tom froze.

All thought deserted him. He could feel or sense nothing.

He just stood behind the bush, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to make sense of what he’d just witnessed.

Think!

He forced himself to glance back up to the window. No sign of anyone.
Maybe they’re coming back down.
He tried to gather himself.
Get back to that fucking reception area, NOW
.

He managed to get back in and close the French door, just as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He tried to stop himself shaking, tried to make himself look calm. He knew he wasn’t doing a very good job. One of the suits was missing, Tom noticed

‘Right, we’re outta here’ barked Lowanski, as they reached the foot of the stairs. ‘Fucking Chink was a waste of time’. His piggy little eyes were scanning everything, gathering information as he walked. They settled on Tom.

Shit, he’s rumbled me
, thought Tom suddenly, panic welling up inside. But his eyes reverted to sweeping the area again, as they all walked briskly towards the exit. When they reached the cars, they all jumped in, except for Lowanski.

‘Forgot to tell Carter something’ he muttered, as he turned on his heel and headed back towards the entrance.

There’s something up with that half Irish prick
, he thought.
What was he up to while we attended to business upstairs?
He surveyed the foyer, studying then discounting everything he saw, until his eyes settled on the French doors. He pushed them open, and out he went into the garden. He stopped, and looked up to the third floor window.
Someone could see things from this garden
, he thought.
Things a naughty little boy shouldn’t see
. Then he spotted the cigarette butt. It looked too fresh for its setting. He bent down, jabbed the point of a sharp pin into it, and dropped it into a small clear plastic bag.

‘Well, well, well now, what have here?’ he whispered to no one in particular, as he held up the bag and sealed the flap. He made his way back to the car, jumped into the front seat, and off they sped.

He turned back to Tom.

‘We’ll be passing by your place on the way back, you might as well hop off, what with you having your first day in the real world, and all. Don’t want you suffering burnout’

He turned to the driver. ‘Pull over at Feeney’s place as we pass’.

‘But shouldn’t I go back to the office?’

‘Quit your fretting, take the opportunity when it’s offered. Anyway, don’t know what you’re worried about, seems like you’re one of Harmon’s bitches now’.

Tom got out as the car pulled up outside his apartment block.

Lowanski rolled down the window.

‘Hey Feeney’ he asked, ‘Wouldn’t have a spare smoke on you, would ya. I quit a while back, but every now and then, I get the urge’

‘Sorry’ said Tom, ‘but I quit a while ago too’

‘You’re right there, kid’ said Lowanski,

‘Cause them things’ll be the death of ya’

Tom sat in his apartment on the couch facing his television, staring blankly at a screen he didn’t see, trying to make sense of what had happened earlier. It was no use. His brain had turned to scrambled egg. He couldn’t think. He felt like a little child again. Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He jumped. He stared at the flashing incoming light for what seemed like forever. Finally he picked it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Tom’ It was Christine.

‘Thought I might drop over this evening’ she said. ‘We haven’t seen each other since the funeral, and even then, we hardly spoke’

Tom tried to gather his thoughts. ‘Yeah, well, it’s not really a great time right now, Chrissie, what with the funeral, and all, and work has been fairly…hectic today’.

‘I know, I know. But I really would like to hook up. I’d like to talk’.

‘I’d like to talk.’ I’d like to talk to a fucking councillor,
thought Tom.

‘Ok Chrissie, what time will I see you, then?’

‘Straight after work maybe, around six?’

‘Ok, no problem, see you later’

‘I’d like to talk’, what the hell was that all about
, thought Tom.
Does she want to split up, join a convent, possibly change her hair colour? Maybe she murdered a Chink today, and wants to confess. Is there anyone else out there who’d like to pile some more crap on top of the heap?

For fucks sake.

On the ground floor back at base, Lowanski pushed through the swinging doors leading into the lab.

‘Hey Dawson, run this by a DNA, will ya’ he said, brandishing a clear plastic bag.

‘Make like this is for yesterday, and start with everyone in the building. Give me a call when you have the SP’.

Tom sat alone in his room, and pondered. What options did he have? Did he have any? What could he do, report it? To who, his boss? ‘Hello Mr Fielding, it’s Tom. I was just wondering why your lap-dog Lowanski rammed a blade up through some Chinaman’s skull today’

What about Harmon? But then, what did Harmon know, or not know?

Maybe Lowanski and Fielding were following his orders. Maybe he knew already.

The Police?

‘Hi, I’d like to report a murder please’.

‘And, where might this have happened?’

‘Somewhere north of Boston, I think. I say that because of the sun’.

‘And who was the victim, Mr Feeney?’

‘He was a Chinese Man’.

‘Right. There’s about one billion Chinese, but with him being a man and all, I think we may narrow it down to only half that. Good work Mr Feeney. We’ll get right on it’.

Again, the cell phone erupted.

‘Hey Tom, what’s up’. It was Chad

‘Oh, nothing much’ replied Tom.

If only he knew.

‘I’m after getting sent out on a wild goose chase by Lowanski, total bullshit waste of time’ continued Chad, ‘spent all afternoon getting blank stares from bored secretaries wondering what the fuck I was on about. I could do with a bit of R&R. Fancy going over to Harpers Ferry later tonight, there’s a band on that’s supposed to be pretty good?’

‘Can’t tonight, Chad, Chrissie’s coming over’

‘No problem. Actually, funds are low, and I’ve some stuff to catch up on work- wise anyhow. Might head back to base ‘till eight or so, keep them off my back. They seem to be curious about any info that’s available about some Mickey Mouse factory in Shanghai’.

Tom blinked.

‘Shanghai? What have you found out’? he asked, trying to feign indifference.

‘Not a lot so far’ replied Chad wearily. ‘It’s the usual Chinese business bullshit. You need a crowbar just to get their postcode. Anyway, enough shop talk, I’ll see you tomorrow’.

‘Ok Chad, talk to you later’.

Shanghai? Hey Chad, ask them if they have a vacancy on their staff, will you? I think they might have mislaid one of their bosses.

At around four o’clock Lowanski’s phone rang
.

‘Yeah?’

‘Em, hi, it’s Jim Dawson here Mr Lowanski. I have the result of that item you were looking for’

‘I’ll be right down’

Lowanski barged through the swinging doors of the lab.

‘I have the result, Mr Lowanski, and you were right, it does match someone from this building’.

‘Well, are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask the fucking audience?’

‘It’s the match for a guy called Tom Feeney’ said Dawson hesitantly.

‘Well, well, surprise, surprise ’ grinned Lowanski.

‘Is it serious?’ asked Dawson.

‘
Damn right it’s serious’
Lowanski snapped back, ‘Went into the crapper yesterday, and the smell of
smoke in there nearly fucking choked me. I’ll have this Feeney guy’s balls. He’s not gonna kill me with his passive smoke. Y’know Dawson, some people have no respect for other people’s lives’.

Christine walked across the courtyard towards Tom’s apartment block. She wore one of her outfits he most approved of, her black peep-toe heels and little black dress, over which she had a beige fitted trench-coat. There was a hint of a frost in the clear evening air.

She was out to impress. She was hoping for a positive reaction.

‘Oh hi Chrissie’ said Tom, then closed the door behind her, and headed back into the apartment.

No reaction!

Tom clearly hadn’t made as much effort. He wore trainers, navy tracksuit bottoms, and a black ‘Born to Run’ t-shirt.
I hope that isn’t an omen,
she thought to herself. She sat down on a black leather couch which backed onto the large bay window in the lounge.

‘Like a drink?’ asked Tom.

‘Just a coffee, thanks’.

She could do with something stronger
, she thought
, but she’d have to consider cutting back on her drinking, she knew that. Maybe now would be a good time to start.

‘So, how are you?’ he asked absently.

He seemed distant, distracted, thought Christine, maybe this isn’t the right time. But when is? Christine braced herself.

‘I’m pregnant’.

‘What?....’

‘I’m pregnant’ she repeated

‘I’m not in the mood for jokes right now, Chrissie’

‘It’s not a joke Tom, it’s true’

‘But that’s not possible. I’ve used protection every time since that doctor took you off the pill. Every fucking time! How is that possible?’

‘I don’t know, Tom. I .. just..don’t..’

Tears began to well up in her eyes. She didn’t know what Tom’s reaction was going to be, but she wasn’t ready for this. Tom noticed her moist eyes, and relented.

‘Look Chrissie, I’m sorry...I’m sorry, ok?. Things have been complicated these last couple of days’. He sat down on the couch beside her and took her hand. ‘It’s not just the funeral, there are other things. Something happened at work today. I don’t mean some shitty little problem like losing some files, or the boss chewing me out. Something I can’t go into, not now anyway’. His voice got softer. ‘Look, I am sorry, ok? We’ll work this thing out. It’s not like we’re two wide-eyed teenagers. We both have good jobs, it’ll be fine’.