Rules of Honour - 08 Read online

  As he moved by, I fell into step a dozen yards behind him. He didn’t glance at me, and wouldn’t be concerned if he did. All the homeless people here knew who he was, what he did for a living, and didn’t hassle him for change. He walked alongside the Hyatt, a huge structure of tiered rooms and balconies to make the best of the view across the bay. The Embarcadero Centre was on our right; a three storied shopping mall that spanned several blocks of the city. Apart from security lighting all of the shops remained in darkness and there was no one else around. My boots scuffed the ground, and to me sounded like cannon fire, but Chaney seemed oblivious and carried on to the corner of the hotel where he took a left. Coming round the corner after him, I saw him check his watch and his pace picked up.

  Valets on the hotel door watched Chaney stride past, but didn’t give me as much as a glance: it said something about human nature to me. There was a junction in the road here, a boarding point for the cable cars that carried tourists up and down Nob Hill, but Chaney didn’t approach the stop, instead making for the stairs down to the underground BART system. I counted to ten then followed. He was already past the ticket machines heading for the southbound platform. There was no one else in sight, but I wasn’t worried. The big man was rubbing his eyes and yawning expansively. I fed coins into the machine, took my ticket and then shuffled towards the platform. This time Chaney did look at me, but it was a glancing blow that didn’t stick. He went back to yawning, turning away from me with lack of interest. I slouched against a wall, at the opposite end of the platform.

  The Bay Area Rapid Transport system is on the ball at all hours of the day and night, and it was little more than a minute before the train squealed into the station. Chaney was at the doors in a second, rocking on his heels while he waited for them to open. He squeezed inside even as the doors hissed open. I waited a few seconds more, then clambered aboard the second carriage along. A middle-aged Chinese woman sitting in my carriage gave me a brief fearful look, before quickly averting her eyes. She was sitting with a couple of bags on her lap and as I moved past her she pulled them tight to her chest like a shield. I cringed inwardly, thinking about how I’d frightened the woman, but it was neither the time nor the place to reassure her she was in no danger. The only person in danger on this train was Chaney.

  The next carriage along was deserted.

  I moved through it as the train pulled out of the station and began swaying along the tracks.

  Coming to the next connecting doors, I paused.

  Peeking through the glass I could see Chaney midway along the carriage. He was facing my way, but had taken out his cellphone and was involved in checking the screen for messages. He didn’t see me, and was totally unaware of the other person who had entered the carriage from the far end. He’d obviously had it too easy of late and had lost the intrinsic paranoia necessary for a criminal.

  My friend Jared Rington moved along the carriage with a measured pace, but even from this end I could see the muscles working in his jaw, an old knife scar standing out as a white slash against his tawny skin. Rink hadn’t gone to the trouble I had. He wasn’t disguised, and didn’t see the need. He wanted Chaney to know who was coming for him, and who his executioner was going to be. The only modification to his usual colourful attire was a pair of black leather gloves. Chaney had his back to Rink, but my friend isn’t the type to do a hit from behind. Rink’s voice was muffled, but I still heard his sharp command: ‘Stand up, you piece of shit.’

  Chaney dropped his phone and went for his gun, already turning as he rose.

  Rink struck him with the edge of his hand, a chop to the side of the big man’s neck. Uncontrolled, the blow could kill, but Rink had tempered the force. It was still enough to stagger Chaney and while he was weakened, Rink took the gun from him with a practised twist of the wrist. Chaney grunted something, continued his turn and tried to grapple for the gun. Rink hit him again, a sweeping elbow strike that made contact with Chaney’s face and knocked him back a few steps. Rink followed him, bringing up the Glock he’d liberated to point it directly at Chaney’s forehead.

  Time I did something.

  I hit the button and the door swept open.

  As I entered the carriage my view of Rink was slightly obscured by Chaney’s thick body. I had a horrible feeling that Rink would shoot, and the bullet would go directly through Chaney’s skull and hit me. I sidestepped, placing myself in the open next to the exit doors. Rink was taller than Chaney, and I knew he’d seen me from the slight narrowing of his eyes. That was all the notice he gave me, though, because his attention was on the man he was about to kill.

  I brought up my SIG SAUER P226 and pointed it at Chaney’s back. My other hand I held open to Rink.

  ‘Don’t do this, brother,’ I said to him. ‘Chaney’s a piece of shit, but he doesn’t deserve this.’

  Rink didn’t even look at me. Nausea squirmed a passage through my gut.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said again.

  ‘What’re you going to do, Hunter?’ Rink’s eyes never left Chaney. ‘Shoot me?’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ I said.

  ‘That’s something, at least.’ Rink ignored me then and took a step nearer Chaney.

  The enforcer reared back on his heels, bringing up his hands in a placating motion. ‘Whoa! What’s this all about?’

  ‘I’m about to kill you,’ my friend snarled.

  ‘Rink. Don’t do it.’ I hurried towards him. ‘Don’t cross the line, brother.’

  ‘It’s too late for that, Joe.’

  I knew then that there was less than a heartbeat to spare.

  I fired.

  Chapter 3

  Rink is more than a friend to me. He is like a brother, and I love him as such. When he’s thinking straight he’d die for me, as I would for him. There’s no way on earth that I’d shoot him and he knew it. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I shot Sean Chaney instead.

  I shot him to save his life.

  My bullet struck him in his left thigh and he dropped like an ox in a slaughterhouse. He bellowed like one too, his hands going to the wound in his leg. The speed at which he’d collapsed saved him the bullet that Rink was about to put in his skull. My friend blinked over the top of the writhing man at me.

  ‘What the hell’d you do that for?’

  ‘To save you from making a big mistake.’

  ‘There’s no mistake.’ Rink turned the gun on the fallen enforcer, but I could see a flicker of doubt passing across his features.

  By now I was alongside my friend and I put my hand on his wrist.

  ‘Trust me,’ I said.

  He continued to train the gun on Chaney, but I could feel the doubt in his body now, and finally he allowed me to press the gun down.

  ‘It wasn’t Chaney,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t him or any of his guys.’

  ‘And you know that how?’

  I flicked a cautionary nod. ‘Later, OK?’

  At our feet the enforcer was sitting with his back against one of the bench seats. His jaw was set in a grimace of agony as he grasped at his wounded leg, and his eyes were brimming with fear as he watched us. He made the mistake of opening his mouth.

  ‘Who the fuck are you? Do you realise who you’re messing with?’

  Rink rounded on him.

  ‘You’ve just got a goddamn reprieve, punk. Now shut your hole!’

  Chaney looked at me. ‘You shot me, you bastard. You should’ve let your buddy kill me, ’cause I’m gonna . . .’

  ‘Going to what?’ I glared down at him. ‘I barely scratched you. You’re an ungrateful piece of crap; I’ve just saved your life.’

  ‘Says who?’ Chaney struggled to get up, leaning on the bench with a blood-slicked hand. ‘The way I see it your buddy is too much of a pussy to shoot. If he was gonna do it, he’d have goddamn done it. Just wait ’til I get up and—’

  I kicked his support arm from under him. Chaney went down on his backside with a solid bump. Anger flared in him, shame a
t what he perceived as the ultimate humiliation. He began to struggle up once more. Rink and I shared a glance and it was just like old times, before all this started. I shrugged at him. Gave him the go-ahead.

  Rink turned up the corner of his mouth in a smile. Then he slapped the butt of the Glock against Chaney’s skull. The enforcer was out cold before he’d slumped all the way to the floor.

  ‘What now?’ Rink looked at me.

  ‘We get off at the next station and make ourselves scarce.’

  ‘Thought you’d maybe explain yourself first.’

  ‘There’s no time.’ I left Rink while I searched the floor and came back a moment later, pocketing the flattened round I’d put through Chaney’s leg.

  Rink grunted. ‘That’s why I wore gloves and used his gun. No forensics to worry about.’

  ‘As if that would make a difference? Doesn’t look like you made an effort to avoid the CCTV cameras.’

  ‘They’d have seen a big guy with black hair, but only the top of my head. Could be one of a thousand dudes, even in this shirt.’ He tugged at the collar of his bright Hawaiian number that was only partly hidden by a black leather jacket. It would look like a warning beacon anywhere else but here; there was still a large contingent of hippies and arty types in San Francisco who sported much gaudier attire. Rink nodded at me. ‘I see you’re still dressing as classy as ever.’

  I was pleased to hear the tongue-in-cheek insult; it meant my big friend was back, thinking a little clearer than before.

  ‘It’s academic now,’ I said, referring to the concern about forensics. ‘Chaney isn’t going to call the police. He didn’t die, and when he wakes up he’s going to realise how lucky he’s been. All that talk was just bluster. Fear. He’ll keep quiet. But that won’t mean a thing if we’re still standing round here when we reach the next stop.’

  Rink crouched down and pushed the Glock into Chaney’s holster, then arranged his coat so that it was hidden from view. Then he followed me through the carriages, away from where the Chinese woman sat oblivious to what had just occurred. We were pulling into the next station at Montgomery Street and I could see that some bleary-eyed passengers were waiting on the platform.

  ‘What’s the time?’ I asked.

  Rink calculated. ‘Has to be coming up six o’clock by now.’

  ‘Good. Some of the shops should be opening. Don’t know about you, Rink, but I need a cup of strong coffee.’

  ‘What you need is to get rid of that coat. It smells like someone took a crap in it.’

  The doors opened and we had to stand aside to avoid a suited man who rushed aboard, already conducting business on his BlackBerry. He didn’t give us so much as a glance and went for the nearest seat. We got off the train and made for the exit stairs. The train was already moving away and, as it slid parallel to us, I glanced into the carriage where we’d left Chaney. He was still sound asleep. Probably he wouldn’t wake until the train reached the terminus at San Francisco International Airport. Wherever he’d been heading this morning, he was going to be late for his appointment.

  I dumped the coat first chance I got. The jeans and boots should have gone in the Dumpster with it, but they were all I had with me. I threw the wool cap in with the rubbish, made do with smoothing down my hair. It was short so didn’t look too bad. The shirt and canvas jacket I’d worn beneath the coat weren’t filthy, so I looked reasonably dressed and wouldn’t be kicked out of the coffee shop we headed for. Rink was silent as we strode across a thoroughfare beginning to swell with foot traffic as people headed for their workplaces. Rink is the epitome of the strong, silent type – until he gets going – but this morning his silence was deeper than normal. I could feel it like a living thing, caged for now but ready to be let loose to ravage and tear.

  I gave up smoking and hard liquor years ago, but the old habits had been replaced by my overreliance on strong coffee. I ordered the largest cup on sale, together with a fruit smoothie for Rink. The shop had only just opened its doors and the barista was overworked. As soon as he’d delivered our drinks he continued the task of stocking the shelves we’d disturbed him from doing. That suited us: there were no other customers and we could speak in private. We took a table where we could see the entrance and out of the front window, so there’d be no surprises. It was an old habit I’d been unable to lose.

  ‘I saw you.’

  ‘Thought you might’ve,’ I said, cupping my drink with both palms. ‘But you were still going to go ahead with the hit?’

  ‘Figured you might try to stop me.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘If you were determined enough to kill Chaney there was nothing I could’ve done about it.’

  Rink closed his eyes briefly. ‘No. But I’m glad you did. You said I made a mistake; I trust you. But you’d better tell me how or I’m going back for the punk.’

  I took a long swallow of coffee. ‘Chaney is a thug; there’s no denying it. And I don’t doubt that he deserves the bullet you planned to put in him, but it wasn’t him.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I went back and talked with your mom again, Rink.’

  ‘She told me it was Chaney.’

  ‘She was . . . uh, lying.’

  Rink’s forehead creased, not at my suggestion that his mother was less than the symbol of virtue and goodness he believed, but because my words had struck a chord in him.

  ‘Not lying per se,’ I went on, ‘but guessing: putting two and two together and getting five. As you know, there had been some trouble with Chaney’s lot throwing their weight around, so it was only natural that your mom should mention him to the police, and to us when we got here. But she’s had more time to think and she doesn’t believe that Chaney’s the one responsible any more. For a start, she doesn’t believe that a clown like him could’ve done what he did.’

  ‘No,’ Rink said. ‘Now that I’ve met him and tested his mettle, I don’t think so either. But it doesn’t make a difference to me, Hunter. Someone is responsible and I’m gonna find him. And when I do, even you won’t be able to stop me next time.’

  ‘As if I’m going to try? I’ll be right there beside you, brother.’

  Rink hadn’t even looked at his smoothie until now, and he chugged it down. ‘You went back to see my mom. How is she?’

  ‘Hurting. Physically and mentally. She was more concerned about you running off the way you did than anything else. She was frightened that she sent you after the wrong man and asked that I stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.’

  ‘Chaney wouldn’t have been a loss . . . to anyone.’

  ‘Maybe not, but the way you went about it, there’d have been only one suspect. Your mom didn’t want to see you going to prison for the wrong man.’

  ‘That’d put a wrench in the works . . . no way I’d find the right one then.’ Rink squinted at me. ‘I take it the disguise wasn’t for my sake?’

  ‘I had to get close to Chaney in order to find you. Like many, he’s blind to anyone he deems beneath himself. It worked. I was able to find him, and he led me to you. Had a feeling that you’d do him on the early train where there was little chance of collateral damage. But I wasn’t positive and decided I’d shadow him for as long as it took you to make a move. Would’ve made life much easier if you hadn’t done a runner from the hospital, or if you’d answered your bloody phone when I called you.’

  He curled a lip at my ear bashing. Usually the tables were turned the opposite direction. Then he grew melancholy, and his hooded eyes sparkled with unshed tears. ‘Didn’t want to bring you down with me, brother.’

  ‘Jesus, Rink! It’s your dad we’re talking about here. I want to avenge his murder as much as you do.’

  Chapter 4

  ‘I’ll wait outside, Rink. I think it’s important that you speak with your mom alone.’

  ‘She’ll be glad to see you, too.’

  ‘I know, but there’ll be time for that later
. You need to speak with her in private. There’s something she wants to say, but my guess is it’s for your ears only.’

  I watched as Rink headed into the intensive care unit, then went to stand in the parking lot, kicking my heels against the kerb while I killed time. The hospital, considered one of the finest public hospitals in the US, nestled at the foot of Potrero Hill in the city’s Mission District. I didn’t doubt its reputation. Now that the early mist had burned off, I was happy to feel the Californian sun on my face, but that wasn’t why I chose to wait outside. I preferred things that way.

  Though I respect doctors, nurses, in fact everyone in the medical profession, I hate hospitals. For me a trip to a hospital usually means that I’m injured, or someone I care for is hurt, suffering illness, has already perished or soon will. The smell is often enough to cause a negative reflex surge inside me, but then it’s been said that the olfactory sense has the greatest memory. It isn’t so much the antiseptic smell that raises my gorge but the underlying odour of pain. It’s a distinct aroma that has dogged my memories most of my life.

  Visiting the hospital this time there was one thing that made me grateful, and that was the fact that Rink’s mom was on the mend, her injuries not as life threatening as we’d first feared. She had suffered blunt force trauma, most probably from the barrel of a gun, but thankfully she’d been struck a glancing blow. It had been enough to rip her scalp, to scar the bone beneath, but not split her skull completely. The blow had knocked her unconscious, left her with concussion and a throbbing headache, but nothing lasting. The surgeons’ greatest fear was that there could be an internal bleed, but MRI scans had shown her brain to be uninjured. Their second fear was that the elderly lady’s underlying health problems might kill her.

  For some years now Yukiko had been suffering cardiac problems, and the concern was that her failing heart might not be strong enough to sustain her recovery: particularly when she was told her husband had died. Yet Yukiko had surprised us all and was much stronger now. Probably the relief of seeing her sole surviving child by her bedside helped. Yesterday, when Rink had made off from the hospital, Yukiko had looked at me and I had recognised terror in her face. She had outlived her husband, and two children; she did not want to outlive her youngest boy. She had made me swear that I’d bring him back safely to her. I’m glad that I was able to do that and to give her some comfort.