Free Sleight by Tom Twitchel Page B

climb the stairs again. The walk was short but my stomach was rumbling before I even got to the shop’s front door. It was called The Grub Stop and featured fresh-baked bread and fresh sliced to order meats and veggies. It was counter service which was fine with me. I grabbed my order after a short wait, and took a seat at the long bar running along the windows facing Seneca Street. Smiling, I bit into my grilled Reuben, a little juice running down my chin. When I happened to look out the window I almost choked.
    Walking down the street and heading for the waterfront was the one-eyed weasel that had been part of the duo that had kidnapped me and Justine. Wearing a gray windbreaker, black jeans and black boots he practically blended in with the surrounding buildings, which considering what he did for a living was probably the whole idea. His hair was long and flopped back and forth as he walked. I won’t lie: I smiled a little when I saw the eyepatch. The little creep had been getting ready to blow me into oblivion when I’d hit him there with a card I’d thrown.
    Cramming two huge bites into my mouth and forcibly washing it down with a swig of soda, I hurried to get outside before he disappeared from view. His bow-legged swaying gait and the floppy hair made it easy for me to spot him across the street. Impatiently waiting for the light to turn green I loped after him to close the distance between us. He was moving in an unhurried but purposeful way that was taking him down toward the waterfront.
    I followed him for several blocks. We were getting pretty far from my neighborhood and the sun was dropping fast. I hung back about fifty feet but he never looked back. I wondered how he had gotten back on the streets after his involvement in the kidnapping, especially considering that he had already been in custody at the hospital where he’d been receiving care for his injuries.
    He crossed over First Street and walked past the no-man’s land between First and the waterfront and turned right heading toward the lower portion of Pike Place. And in the direction of the burned out pier. There were fewer pedestrians so I allowed the distance between us to grow and hugged the buildings and doorways as I manifested my camouflage knack. As he drew closer to Pier 55 he started acting more secretive, frequently looking around and moving more erratically. He looked over his shoulder and dodged behind a massive concrete pillar that supported the freeway viaduct. I stopped and waited. When a couple of minutes went by and he didn’t reappear I carefully made my way to the pillar where he’d vanished.
    Keeping my camouflage in place I edged around the pillar and found nothing. A moment of frustration passed when I noticed a metal square set in the ground immediately adjacent to the pillar. It was hinged on one side. On the leading edge there was a finger-sized gap between the metal and the ground. Hesitating for only a moment I got my hand under it and started to lift it, using my knack to help. The hinge didn’t make a sound and the metal cover was actually very light. As I opened it all the way I saw metal rungs set in the wall of a square shaft that yawned below me.
    That made me pause. I looked out at the water and realized that the sun would be setting soon. The freeway overpass made the area where I was standing even more shadowy. A gust of wind whipped through, sending exhaust fumes and dust drifting around me. My early months in Seattle had taught me a few lessons and caused me to develop some rules. One of those was not to be caught on the streets after dark.
    I had my phone and a flashlight app so I wouldn’t be blind but I was also following him into an area that I was unfamiliar with and all by my lonesome. I reached under my sweatshirt and touched the stunner for a little reassurance and started down, leaving the metal door open above me. The floor was about twenty feet down and looked level. As I began climbing down I