I left Tony’s store feeling a little better about myself. I didn’t really feel up to going back to the apartment. Bert the landlord might show up. I would try to avoid that little conversation for as long as possible – all the way to never, if I could arrange it.

  “Hey, Smith, wha’cha doin’ here?” a squeaky voice call from a dark alley.

  “Hi, Shaun, a bit past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

  Shaun Neumann was a fourteen year old boy with a very long experience of crime. Short stocky and an over-the-top vicious bastard, he ruled the block’s juvenile delinquents with an iron hand, and not even the grow-up gang bangers fucked with him. Most people tended to ignore him, but only if they never heard of him, or stay out of his way if they had. Even the big boys in the neighborhood treaded lightly around Shaun.

  I liked the kid. He fascinated me in the same way a rabid lion would fascinate me. And he absolutely loathed Simon Burns, which made him an ally of sorts.

  “Har-har, Smith. Ya'r a fuckin' comedian,” Shaun grunted at me. “’eard ‘dey tryin’ t’ ice yo’ sorry ass again. Some whitey with peashooter?”

  I grinned at Shaun. “You’re a whitey yourself. But yeah, you’re right- someone came knocking.”

  “Should’ve taken my offa’!”

  “I’m still walking, right?”

  “Yeah, Smith, but fo’ ‘ow long?” Shaun snickered. “Well, Simon will prolly’ curse yo’ luck. I know he prays for yo’ death erry nite’.”

  “I’ll do my best to disappoint him.” I stepped into the shadows of the alley. “So, you wanted to say something?”

  Shaun threw me a dark look. “Y’see’ way too much, bastard.”

  I leaned against the cold brick wall, waiting for Shaun to gather his thoughts. If he had something to say, it would be pure gold. He had never made me run around in circles and he was always on the level with me. I wouldn’t call him a friend, but we had a mutual beneficial relationship. I gave him the scraps of information that came my way if they concerned him, and he did the same to me. It had done us both good.

  “Hmpf,” Shaun grunted again. “Well ‘de thing’ s‘ dat some really scary mothers’ ‘ave been pokin’ around ‘ere. An’ when I say scary, I mean jus’ ‘dat - SCARY, all capital letters! Dey’ be snoopin’ around yo’ buildin’ an’ axin’ strange shit, Smith. And axin’ ‘bout Tony. None o’ my boys talks to them, but othas’ do, ‘ya know?”

  I understood what he meant, or rather deciphered it. “Simon!”

  “Might be, yeah. ‘Dis is scary shit, Smith, but Burns might think ‘dat he can get to Tony with ‘dese guys...an’ ting’ is – I’m not sho’ he be wrong.”

  “Some seriously connected people negotiated Tony’s protection.”

  “Uhuh, but ‘deese guys are in ‘da same league, Smith, so ya watch yo’ ass! They be big ‘nuff to consider doin’ y’all in anyways. Warn Tony as well, ‘kay?”

  “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

  “Nuh-huh! ‘Dis shit is baaa-ad for ya’ health, man, no way ‘m gettin’ more in da’ middle o’dis. I only tol’ ya ‘cause I owe ya’. So you tell ‘im! ”

  “I will, Shaun. Can you at least let me know if more of these people show up?” Didn’t like to ask him that, but no-one had better intelligence about this neighbourhood than Shaun.

  “’Dat I can do, but no mo’, Mar. ’Cause I aint’ gettin’ myself killed fo’ none o’y’all!” He muttered as he slipped away into the shadows. “But I’ll try to get a mess’ to ya if tings get outta’ hand. I’ll give ya tha’ much. ” He said before the darkness swallowed him.

  Trying to decode what Shaun said always left me feeling slightly disorientated. I wasn’t sure how much was acting and how much was the real Shaun in the way he talked, but most of the time it took some effort to understand him.

  With so many people interested in my health over the years, I had grown eyes in the back of my neck and acquired some seriously spooky reflexes. This wasn’t exactly a new situation, but there were a bit more people than usual asking questions about me, so I was getting tense.

  The feeling of being watched grew stronger after talking to Shaun. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t catch anyone watching me or following me. I did the whole Paranoid-101 routine. Changing directions, pretending I was window shopping, tying my sneakers, phoning from pay phones, but I saw no-one. I only had the feeling that someone was stalking me, and I listened to my instincts.

  The shadows kept making me twitch and every now and again a shadow flickered but it must have been my imagination, because every time I looked closer there was nothing there.

  As long as no one had a clear field of fire I figured I would be alright. But if someone was up on the rooftops with a rifle there was little I could do about it. But I found that unlikely. It would almost have to be up-close and personal, to make it look like a mugging gone wrong or something like it. And Mike couldn’t be one hundred percent sure I hadn’t hid papers with names and dates for the cops.

  I had hid information, but not for the police. It was for my parents’ old friends in case of my death.

  I put the gloomy thoughts of my death out of my head and focused on the real problem; getting someplace to stay where neither Wilson nor lost sheep like John Goosan could find me.

  I called Tony’s uncle, Trin, who seemed only too happy to let me rent his old garage for cash, provided I fixed it up. That made me suspicious, but beggars can’t be choosers. He said he would get everything I need, and that I could do what I wanted with the place, but with taste. That meant I got the place real cheap and without a deposit, which was very lucky for me, because I doubted I could have paid more than two months rent anyhow. In a few days money wouldn’t be a problem, but right now it was.

  You get really hampered when you live like cash is king. Believe me when I say that people get suspicious when you need to pay for something expensive and you flash this big wad of notes. Most like cash, but when everyone else is a credit card junkie – cash is at best a prince if it is above board.

  I try to keep my electronic trail as hard to find as possible, but given enough time it’s possible to find almost anything. And people that say that “cash is king” don’t live in the real world. Companies want a hold on you, and credit is the operative word. Oh, it is nice with cash for everyday things and groceries, but when credit card, Internet banks, and e-bills makes life much more easy, it makes life harder for people like me.

  My new place wasn’t far away from Tony’s store, and the garage was actually two stories. And both were underground. It was perfect in every way. The lowest level had two small rooms and a toilet. I had no real shower but it had floor drain, so I would be able to hook a hose and a shower head to the faucet. It was perfect for me - cheap as fuck.

  Tony hadn’t lied when he said it needed a lot of fixing up. Trin had just showed me the place, thinking I’d figure out how much work needed to be done. There was a lot of junk left by the previous tenants. It looked more like a chop shop and like they all had left in a hurry. They had even left the nudie calendars, so at least I would have something to look at. I’m a girl’s girl through and through!

  The only thing that Tony’s uncle Trin uttered out loud was to ask me if I wanted the place and that I would get materials if I wanted to fix it up if I took it. I had just nodded and received the keys and he had gotten the money. That simple. No lease, no contract. There was nothing to connect me to the garage. Other than through Tony, but that wouldn’t be obvious, because Tony had very little contact with his family.

  I grinned to myself. If I wanted I could do simple car repair jobs here, but what I really wanted to do was courier work and security. And not all of the legal kind, but as long as I was on the the run, I couldn't. I could of course do some grey-area work on the side.

  I wouldn’t waste time on being a grease monkey, not that I didn’t find pleasure in working with my hands, but I enjoyed the cat and mouse game of true security work all too much to give it up. If I ever got everyone off my back, I would focus on the fun parts like industrial espionage, corporate security, building security, transporting information and things like that. It was risky business if you had no contacts or no reputation. I had the contacts to get me started - if I ever got started. That all depended on getting Mike off my back and surviving Simon’s tender attentions.

  The garage had worked out great though. There was loads of space that I could use and having a place that Wilson didn’t know about was a big, big plus.

  I briefly considered calling in some favors to help me out with my troubles, but there wasn’t anyone I hated enough to drag them into this. And I didn’t want to be in anyone else’s debt right now. I would pay for some information as soon as I could figure out what I kind of information I needed. I only hoped that I could keep it that way.

  The police was out of the question, even if Wilson would love getting such a call from me. Sending the Police after Mike Sunderland would be what is known as a “Bad Idea.” And Simon wasn’t a good target to aim Wilson at either. He would never buy that Simon was behind the attempts on my life. Everyone knew that Simon did his own dirty work when he could. There was no way he would spend his money on hiring hitters. He was too elemental for that.

  I took my time going through all the spaces. There were a lot of tools, car parts, and stuff like that left on the upper level of the garage. There were also old work clothes, garbage and filth spread all over the two levels. It would take days, even weeks, to clean the upper level, with all that grease, oil and dirt, and garbage. This place hadn’t really been cleaned for years. Oh, they had probably swiped, and dusted every now and again, but no one had scrubbed the floors, or even vacuumed for a very long time. Tools and junk weren’t the only things left behind. There was a very good safe at the bottom level and I also found cleaning implements. After I re-keyed the safe I would put my weapons and ammo in there. It wouldn’t stand up to a decent safe cracker, but for the skill level around here it would do just fine. Now I only had to tidy up.

  Whoever had rented this place before were real slobs. The smell was enough to turn my stomach and some of the things I had to clean out didn’t bear thinking about.

  It was late evening when I was through cleaning the little room and the hallway to the sink at the lower floor of my new place. It had taken me hours of single minded cleaning. I didn’t even want to think about how long the rest of this floor would take, not to mention the upper floor . It had five times the space and ten times the clutter. But at least I had done something instead of just waiting for the clock to strike ten.

  I opened a bottle of water. I drank some and the poured some over my neck. I was absolutely drenched in sweat and it was starting to itch. I had a space I could live in now. Well sleep in, anyway. I’m not obsessive about cleanness, but I like to have some order around me.

  I hosed myself down by the sink. I guess I hadn’t any real reason for cleaning the place up right away, but it was a way to pass some time and keep out of sight until dark. And if I lived through the night I could actually sleep without choking on the filth. Not an unimportant thing.

  The whole situation was getting out of hand. Mikey was sure to up the stakes now, since he had lost face. It was bad enough to have some amateurs after you, but I was pretty sure that Mike had tired of this and put some serious money on my head. Or would as soon as he made sure he was in the all-clear.

  I should have left town after the first attempt, but I just couldn’t. I had had enough of running and my situation seemed to have reached that critical level where you fight or lay down and die. A very simple choice you might think, but when you look at people who had to make the choice, you know that many just laid down and waited for death to come. Fight or flee reflexes doesn’t always kick in.

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  It was evening and I was bored. Imagine that, bored as hell. I needed to get out and wait for Mike’s call. I had better not be anywhere near my new place in case Mike had succeeded in assembling a little posse to take me down. I strapped my shoulder holster on and put my Px4 in it. I skipped the backup gun and took two knifes instead. I grabbed my jacket and slithered out into the alley.

  Wilson would love if I got caught with a concealed weapon. To have me in custody for that long would make his year I think. But it wasn’t likely.

  An hour later I was sitting at a night-open coffee shop waiting for the call. I was on my fourth coffee and it was getting cold. I was drinking small cups, but my stomach decided that was enough, just to annoy me. In the morning I can drink six large cups without problems, but after six pm my stomach isn’t working that well anymore. It’s the curse of the coffee addict. I mean have you ever heard the same about the tea drinkers? Have you ever noticed the same nervousness or irritability in a tea drinker? No, they’re so bloody Zen It hurts. “Its good for your stomach” and “It will relax you” don’t do me much good in the morning when I’m like something from the Pet Cemetery.

  Don’t get me wrong here, I like tea, but it won’t kick-start me like coffee does. I drink herb tea when I’m on a job that needs steady hands or when I need to wind down. Most evenings I like a cup of Lapsang Souchong, a tea that smells a bit of tar or smoke. Don’t know why, but it calms me.

  I looked at the clock. At two minutes past, I knew Mike was going to try and get a fix on me. Mike was going to try and track me and bag me, but I was no newbie. I guess he already had a good fix on me. But it would take him time to get his people into place. I walked out the door ready to turn off the phone. That’s when it rang.

  I ran around the back and saw an old Toyota Corolla parked at the curb. Easy to steal, small and nimble, and common enough. The phone rang again twice, as I hot-wired the car. I didn’t care about being seen. I wouldn’t use the car after tonight and it was dark as hell and I had my hoodie up, so being picked out in a line-up was unlikely.

  “Nice to know you’re spending money tracking me, Mikey, “I answered more calmly than I felt as the phone rang for the third time. “, but it won’t work. So now we only have two minutes to talk, I’ll have the first and you’ll get the second. So shut up and listen.”

  “I’m driving now, Mikey, so you can track me to your heart’s desire.” I know I sounded smug, but I wanted him to feel a little bit of frustration. “Here’s the serious part, so listen! I don’t care what you do, Mikey, but leave me the hell alone! If you send one more guy after me I’ll come looking for you, and you won’t like that!”

  Mike laughed. “Why haven’t you come after me before? I’ve sent guys after you for five years and you’re only now getting pissed off? You’re a laugh, Mar. I’ll tell you what, you do some work for me and you’re home free. Your contacts will stay out of this, because they use our services now and again, and the police will stay out of it because neither you nor I would like them to take a closer look at either of us, so here’s the deal; you come here and work for me for, let’s say three years and then you can strike out on your own. Until you have some contracts under your belt I won’t trust you. If you turn this down I will kill you, Maria!” There was no laughter in his voice by now. “I will kill you and everyone that has ever spoken a word to you, just to make sure that no secrets are told. Your little Vietnamese friend will die, your Chinese neighbor, Mrs Cheng, will die.”

  “No.” My voice was real quiet.

  “You’re turning me down?” Mike asked in a deadly voice.

  “Yes.” I responded in the same tone. I was getting mad.

  “Oh, goody!” Mike sounded happy. “I had to make you the offer because of your parents’ old contacts, but now I get to kill you!”

  “You can try, Mike. But if you start hitting bystanders and innocents and I will bring some of my fathers’ friends into this. I’ll accept being a target, but if you have gone crazy enough to hit bystanders, Silvio will get a call. Or I’ll just call someone in the Outfit and give them your number, how about that? You might have some respect, but you won’t survive a war with Silvio or any of the others. You know the rule; no bystanders unless you have proof they’re not bystanders. Old rule, Mikey. One to live and die by. Literally. Even for you.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t threaten him. He wouldn’t believe my threats, so I would have to settle for just killing him. If I survived.

  “Okay. Only you then, Maria. But the price is now one-hundred and seventy-five kays. Someone will collect it sooner or later.” Mike sounded confident.

  “Nice to know that even if I buy it, you’ll have to pay out of your own pocket. Hopefully it will hurt, Mikey.” I kept calling him Mikey, because he hated it. His big sisters always call him little Mikey, and being reminded of that might give him a stroke or heart attack one of these days.

  “You got guts, Maria, but….”

  I hung up the phone. If Mike wanted the last word he would get it garbled. Petty, but it was the only thing I could do to annoy him at the moment. I knew that Mike would put some real professionals after me now. He wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to annoy me. He was more…economical than that. And not only about money. All I had to do now was kill the guys with the contract before I went after him. Yeah, like that was all.

  Damn, damn and damn!

  I was sure Mike had put out an open-ended contract on my head. That meant the money was deposited at a third party and the contract would continue to be in effect until it was canceled. Even if Mike was dead. All who wanted could have a go at me. It was probably posted on some newsgroups and the money held by some third party. I would have to check out the old merc sites on the net. Perhaps the retired military classifieds as well, but right now Mike would have offered me to the best in the neighborhood. I sure hoped he canceled the old one, or there would be some kind of rush hour to mount me on the wall. Winner takes it all and all that.

  This wasn’t good. In fact, it was the worst thing that could happen. If he had decided to spend this kind of money on me why had he sent John after me? And while I knew he liked to distance himself from the “accidents” that his employees could have, but there wasn’t any real reason for him not to send Smiley after me. ..so why John?

  Then it hit me. John hadn’t been there to kill me. Oh, they wouldn’t have wept if he succeeded, but that wasn’t why he was at my place. He must have tried to put a tracer in my stuff! But I would bet my old granny’s teeth that he missed. Otherwise they would have found me by now, if they were not total idiots.

  My bet was that I missed to take it with me, or rather John missed planting it somewhere good, because they would have staked out the area where they lost the signal and I would have noticed nothing. And, of course, no one had tried to kill me, so it was a good bet that it was still in my old apartment. I slipped down to my little hideout and got some more clips and my backup gun as well. I looked longingly at my MP7 but decided against it. It’s not big, but it’s more bulky than the Beretta. I kept my knifes, though. Never know when a blade is needed.

  I’m a Beretta fan. If I have a choice I’ll pick Beretta everyday of the week and twice on Sunday. I find them sleek, reliable, and they fit my hand perfectly. The Cougar is my favourite backup gun, a vice I share with a lot of cops, and the Px4 Storm is my first choice. Everyone has their own favorite, like John Goosan has the Colt 1911 because he thinks it looks cool (he even has one as backup, the idiot), Mike likes Sig Sauer, Wilson carries a Heckler & Koch. There is no great difference between them; it is more of a subjective thing. It’s all depends on what you like to take to bed with you.

  I’ve been shooting and training since I was three. I have also been in real-life situations when I had to injure or kill others to keep my client safe since I was pretty young. I was no newbie. I had about ten years official security work behind me. If you added the first four years it was just about fourteen years. The work those years included planning, transporting, guarding clients. I have had extensive training from my foster parents and their contacts. Many of Poitr’s and Lou’s friends were former military guys with some real specialist training. I have international accreditations and licenses by the dozen, but right now they didn’t matter. I was still hunted.

  It was tired of being on the run. It drove you slowly mad by the way of increasing paranoia. I was reaching my paranoia limit at the moment; somewhere around every-one-in-the-fucking-world-is-my-enemy level. Not a healthy state of mind, I can tell you.

  After going through my stuff just to be sure the bug wasn’t there, and of course finding nothing I snuck back out, hugging the walls in the alleys. I was feeling really sorry for myself and my paranoia-meter was going through the roof. I felt nervous. My mouth was dry and I wasn’t sure if they had gotten a really good fix on me. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I would live thorough the night. Bur fear never made me sloppy. It sharpened all my senses, but I couldn’t get rid of that metallic taste of fear in my mouth.

  I don’t know if I can explain it, but fear has a taste. Something primal from our cave-men days I’m sure. It’s like an almost headache with a taste of copper. It doesn’t always dry you up, but you can taste even the smallest of fears. And you know exactly what it is, once you have identified it.

  I knew fear. It was a part of my job and my life. Fear is healthy, but it must never be in control. You use it to fuel your reflexes and your thinking and not the other way around. I use it to pump my adrenaline levels, and it keeps me paranoid enough to check the important things in life.

  It took me an hour to scan the surroundings of my old apartment, before I felt it was reasonably safe. I wanted the tracer. If I could find it and if I could hide it until I was ready to use it. I would use it as bait, but that meant I had to move fast and I would have to use it tonight. They wouldn’t buy it tomorrow. I wasn’t even sure they would swallow it tonight.

  It had started raining, and I was grateful for that. It would keep visibility down and I wouldn’t look stupid in my hooded jacket. I didn’t like crossing the road in the open, but the back door was locked and dead-bolted and padlocked. It would be a major pain trying to go through all that. I walked up the stairs like I was a tenant. I went passed my apartment and around the corner. I used the fire escape door to sound like I got into an apartment. I waited for the lights to go out before I made my way to the empty apartment at the end of the hall. I figured I could use the access to the outside fire escape to spy into my old apartment. So far nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  It took maybe three minutes to find the tracer once i was inside. John must have dropped it when he got shot. It had rolled out of reach for him, so he never had a chance to plant it. Damn, but he was incompetent in every way.

  As soon as I saw the tracer I knew I couldn’t use it. I had no real way to shield it securely and it couldn’t be disabled without breaking it. Not with the tools I had with me. Not even the tools I had back at the garage. It was a single circuit device, and it was small. Real professional spy-gizmo. Quite cool, if you’re into that kind of thing.

  I am into that kind of thing. I really like gadgets, guns, explosives, and cars. Your archetypal guy in that sense, but I also make a point of using my skills on my surroundings which might be construed as invading the privacy of my neighbors – okay not construed then, definitely invading their privacy. In that sense I am a peeping tom, but to be honest it don’t bother me one bit, since it has saved my life at least three times. So if you have a problem with that, you try being on the run for over near on five years and you see how you end up.

  I made a mental note to get some more tools and electrical parts, so that I didn’t have to miss out on an opportunity like this again. And jammer box, instead of tinfoil, if I needed to transfer any transmitter. On the whole ECM equipment is a pain in the ass to try and carry with you, but with a little warning you can do much with little. A SCORPION or a L3 would have scrambled any receiver or jammed a specific frequency band.

  This was not turning out to be my day. Everything seemed to be going straight to hell without a detour. Story of my life. Or perhaps story of my death?

  I pushed the gloomy thought from my mind and slipped out on the fire escape again. No sense in standing at a crime scene wool-gathering. I had places to go and things to do, and so on. Like going to my garage and getting some sleep. I had been up for eighteen hours and running on pure adrenaline almost the whole time. It took its toll.

  I willed myself sharp again. I studied the street and the alleys looking for something out of the ordinary. No need to rush things. Sleep would come, all in good time. There was the usual flow of people and cars. Nothing caught my eye. But I still didn’t move.

  I was thinking about the saying “just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they aren’t after you” and it certainly fit my mood sitting there on the fire escape. On the other, hand I was paranoid because I knew for certain that they were after me, and not because I was a mental case. But then the nut-cases are also certain that “they” are after them. It’s nice to know you are sane, right?

  I stuck to the fire escape for about an hour, moving in the shadows before I left the same way I got in. I always hated doing things like this without backup. With only my own instincts to go by I tended to get a little tense.

  I hugged the alleys on my way back. Sneaking from shadow to shadow.

  All the steam you see in the movies as soon as someone is walking down some alley – don’t work that way. You’d think that almost every alley was like a fogbank, but I haven’t seen many of those. It would have been great, though, but I knew that I wouldn’t get that lucky.

  I walked past Tony’s store on the way, but seeing his brother behind the counter made me pass on my shopping. To Dahn, or Ngyen Dahn to be correct, I was a bad influence on Tony and I should not even talk to him. I don’t know why he thought of me that way, but he did. And he told me that to my face whenever he got the opportunity. But then Tony was only marginally accepted by his own family. Something to do with going against their father’s wish in some way. Tony had never told me the story, so I had no idea what had happened.

  I would have to find a way to keep Tony and his family out of this. That was why I pushed Mike like I did. There is a rule about not hitting bystanders and innocents. An unwritten one. At least among professionals. It makes life easier and the police or the feds won’t look so hard at any another possibility than gang-related or organized crime. That way most of the deaths and shootings were written off and everyone could go on with their lives. Well, most could.

  What it boils down to is this; when you do something illegal you automatically leave a trail, which is unavoidable. As long as the law enforcement think it is a professional they will put the usual effort into finding out what happened. But if a bystander gets hit, then they try harder to solve it. Kill a cop and all hell breaks lose. So they look under every stone and that makes it harder for every other professional, which makes them annoyed. That’s okay if you have reasons, just be sure to watch your back. But if you kill indiscriminately the police will drag everyone in, question everyone and push until something gives and that is bad for business.

  Not everyone think like that. Every rule can be broken if you have enough reasons or is smart enough to get away with it. Sometimes innocents are killed to take the heat off other interests.

  This would not not be one of those times! I was going to do my damnedest to make sure it stayed that way.