Deadly Drafts - CH 45

A JUMP FROM THE TOP ROPE 

 

Bernard shivered. His whole body felt painfully tight. Flurries danced through the blue lamplight outside his windshield. Even wearing his leather coat, every few heartbeats brought a violent wave of shivers. The light from the reporter's apartment mocked him. Here's the home you haven't got. In the calm between shivers, Bernard imagined living at this apartment complex; walking the sidewalks some spring morning, dog trotting on a leash ahead. The other residents, out jogging, in from a third shift, would nod and smile as they passed. 

He'd driven across creation looking for the Irregulars. Desperate to find them and poke Seb in his stupid eye. He would have had them at the bowling alley if it wasn’t for that bartender and his cross-dressing friend. Now the rats had scurried and Bernard didn’t know where to go. Cops crawled around each of their houses. Bernard even drove to the detective's apartment, sure he'd sniffed out something even Seb didn't know, only to find the place empty. This reporter girl was his last hope; Arthur had gone to her before—maybe he would again? But even by Bernard's standards, the logic seemed pretty thin. If only he hadn't chucked that brick through her window; the plywood made it near impossible to see in. 

"You're in over your head." The words tumbled on cottony breath. He felt empty, guts ripped from his chest. Arthur wasn't a bad guy. Kind of dull, maybe...? The other two seemed okay enough. And when he came to it, Bernard simply couldn't bring himself to kill that woman. A few cuts, the rope around her neck…but he couldn't. It was different than the brutality of his wrestling. This was real. Irreversible. Miss Leslie wasn't going to run out from the dressing room during next week's match. Was it worth Seb's promised money to continue chasing these poor people? Bernard reached to the keys dangling from the ignition. "Even if the Irregulars are inside, what are you going to do? Better just—" 

But then he saw it. Like a light house flashing ships to safer shores. The thin, watery light around Sheila's plywood window flashed four times in rapid succession. Fear and excitement warmed his veins. He heard the phantom boos of ringside fans. The lights around the plywood flashed again: there was more than one person moving around in Sheila's apartment. 

Bernard tucked his hands under his arms and slouched for a comfortable perch. He didn't want to risk starting the car, bringing undue attention. Just like your old matches, he thought. The real ones, headgear and mats and actual referees: wait for your opening then shoot. For all he knew, the cops had a plainclothes unit out here already. Bernard hugged himself tight as the aches and throbs would allow and wracked his brain. He probably had until morning to formulate a plan. Adrenaline faded, as it always did after a jump from the top rope, after the fans fell silent, leaving only the cold.

 

Chapter Forty-Six