Free Easter City by iancrooks Page B

alongside the curb. The driver’s door
opened and a tall man with a buzz cut and a black suit and a solid
black tie and sunglasses stepped out.
    Now or not at all. I popped out around the
staircase. Hesitated. The man before me was not elderly—somewhere
in his late thirties maybe. He had broad shoulders, good color in
his lips and his blonde hair had a healthy sheen and hung unruly
over his eyes. His eyes were blue like mine but vibrant—electric
even. They were shocked at the sight of me. When he saw me, the
man’s mouth neither wrinkled in disgust nor smiled with intent of
sadism. Instead he frowned, and a curious look flashed across his
face and his eyes blaze with recognition.
    I gaped, rooted to the spot. There was
something about him. I’d seen him before, somewhere, many times
before, but I couldn’t place his face.
    The man scratched his stubble-dotted jaw.
“Say…” he began.
    “Hey! Cochon!”
    I whirled around to see the driver charging
across the street. I swallowed and blinked rapid fire and turned
back to the man. I reached out, tore the bag from his loose grip
and dashed back up toward Main Street.
    My breath was ragged and spit flew from my
mouth. I glanced back, sure I would find the driver on my heel.
Down the street, the man with the cane was waving at the driver,
calling him off.
    My heart steadied for a moment but kicked
back up instantly when I saw that the same group from before—the
one whose leader was in a relationship with someone called
Julia—was standing on the sidewalk near my gutter. What was more,
they were accompanied another other group—two men and a young,
richly dressed woman.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 2
     
    “No big deal that they got
away… really .
Besides, even camel hair doesn’t stave off this cold.” The burly
man plucked at his coat, shivering violently. Snot trickled into
his mustache and crusted.
           
The man who had spotted me hopping out of my grate, the one with
greasy brown hair and the red shades shivered, his back pressed to
an ATM.
            “I’m with Spot.
I’ve been keeping Julia waiting too long. You know how she hates being cheated of
her—”
           
“You know how I despise that name, Cranston!” Spot protested,
dragging the back of his hand across his nose. His voice was high
pitched and whiny like a toddler’s and it clashed with his
stature.
           
“— me time…”
finished Cranston, glaring daggers at his cronie.
            “We let the Cochon escape!” wailed a
green haired woman. “Julia’s ‘me time’ can wait! Our us time can
wait!”
            Cranston
lunged. Smack. The
escort staggered. Smack. She landed hard on the curb.
            “Shut your mouth,
whore! I don’t pay you to gab.”
           
The sniveling splotchy man and the other two escorts flinched.
Cranston sighed and gestured to Spot and the escorts.
            “Come. This hunt is
over. We’ll get our blood pumping another way …”
            He
and Spot walked to the cross walk. I was in sight now. I flattened
myself to the side of the building. But Cranston and Spot were
caught up discussing a certain long awaited magic show at La Rouge
and they didn’t notice me.
           
The escorts consoled their sobbing comrade whose cheek was swollen
and red. When the walking man flashed on the opposite sidewalk they
hoisted her and walk-dragged her across the street behind Spot and
Cranston.  
    Still pressed to the bricks
I looked behind and around the corner of the restaurant, then
across the street. Cars skidded down the side street; their drivers
wouldn’t notice me unless I crossed the street. There weren’t many
people across the street; the casinos and hotels were packed this
dismal day. I squinted. Cranston was tipping the doormen at La
Rouge. Now .
            I
dashed up to the crosswalk and, when the light had turned