Free Rider by Peter J Merrigan Page B

name of her husband almost lost on her. She tried to say something, then stopped.
    ‘Ryan had something,’ Dawson said. He had let go of his gun completely now, his fingertips coiling in towards his palms. ‘Something incriminating. Something David wanted back.’
    His head drooped forward and he whispered, ‘Documents. Damaging documents.’
    Kane twisted onto his knees, one hand on Margaret’s shoulder. ‘Why are you telling us this?’ he asked Dawson . ‘Why now?’
    ‘You think…I care?’ he said. ‘I owe nothing to David Bernhard.’ He coughed blood onto his shirt.
    Margaret choked.
    ‘Why did you have to kill him?’ Kane asked. ‘What’d he ever do to you?’
    Dawson ’s head turned just a fraction to look at the prostrate form of O’Reef, the small Swiss knife protruding from his chest. ‘You’ve…had your revenge,’ he said.
    He looked at his gun on the floor beside his hand. ‘Kill me.’
    Kane rose, kicked the gun away. ‘Tell me what Ryan took from you. What was it?’
    Dawson didn’t move. His eyes were glazed.
    Kane crouched beside him. ‘You said Ryan had documents. What documents?’
    When Dawson said nothing, Kane punched him in the wound. But there was no reaction; Dawson was dead.
    ‘K-Kane,’ Margaret breathed.
    He turned and rushed to her side, dropping to his knees, reaching out for her but afraid to touch her. The gunshot wound in her stomach looked ripe and crimson.
    ‘Margaret.’
    He patted his pockets but couldn’t find his phone. He shuffled over to Darren’s faceless body and searched his pockets, gagging as his hands were covered in blood. He pulled out Darren’s phone and called for an ambulance.
    When he hung up and dropped the phone, Margaret said, ‘Who—?’
    He soothed her. ‘Don’t. Don’t talk. It’s okay.’
    She closed her eyes. Kane thought he could hear sirens already.
    A deep guttural sound came from her throat. She opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘Kane…’
    ‘It’s okay,’ he said again.
    ‘Prom…Promise me,’ she said, her voice a whisper. He had to strain to listen to her. ‘Don’t let them res…resuscitate me.’
    He blanched. ‘Margaret, no—’
    She twisted uncomfortably. ‘Yes. If I…die. Please. Don’t let them resuscitate me. Promise.’
    Kane was crying. ‘Please, Margaret. I can’t.’
    Margaret reached up and feebly clasped his hand. ‘Promise me,’ she said.
    His lips trembled. ‘I can’t do that.’
    ‘Promise me.’
    He looked away, clenched his eyes, bit his lip. ‘I promise.’
    When he looked back at her, she had her eyes closed. Shallow intakes of breath made her throat rattle. He kept hold of her cold hand. ‘They’ll be here soon,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. They’ll be here soon.’
    In the moments of silence that followed, he was reminded of the last time, just recently, that he was kneeling beside a dying person. Ryan resembled his mother so much that it was hard to look at her without seeing his face, the eyes, the shape of the nose, the curve of the lips.
    Margaret pushed her tongue out between her lips and quickly drew it in again. She looked up at him. ‘Kane…’ she said, her voice a rasping whisper. ‘David is…in London .’
    Blood glistened on her shirt.
    ‘I won’t let you die,’ Kane exhaled, his own voice sounding strange, distant.
    ‘Damaging documents,’ Margaret said as though to herself. Her fingers gripped tighter around Kane’s hand. ‘Find him.’
    ‘What?’
    He could hear the whistle of ambulance sirens getting closer.
    ‘Find out…what he’s doing.’
    ‘Margaret, I—’
    ‘Stop him. Whatever it is.’ She paused, breathed. ‘I never…I didn’t…’ She choked. Kane waited as she caught her breath. ‘Stop him,’ she said again.
    ‘I will,’ Kane said. ‘I’ll stop him. Look, the ambulance is here.’ Someone was pounding on the front door.
    ‘Don’t leave me.’
    ‘I’m not leaving. Just hang on, okay?’
    She released her grip and he