Mile
after mile, I ran. Faster, feet pounding against the broken asphalt, breath
crystalizing in the air. I’d been fleeing along the edge of the road for what
seemed like eternity. Trucks zoomed past me, taillights fading in the distance,
and still there were no sirens.
The moon slipped behind a cloud and left me
moving blindly. Finally, a whistle filled the darkness. It was what I’d been
waiting for.
Let’s see how bad they want this.
I spun in the opposite direction and
spotted the familiar red and blue lights. With a quick jump, I vaulted over the
damaged guardrail and found myself tumbling down a steep ravine.
Landing on my stomach, blood dripped from
my nose, and the taste of rust flooded my mouth. I didn’t take the time to wipe
it away. I had to keep moving. I’d started this game and I was going to finish
it.
Quickly, I leapt to my feet and began to
run again. When a sharp burning and throbbing pulsated in my right ankle, I
knew my speed would be impaired. I must have twisted it in the fall. With
everything I had, I tried to ignore the pain.
Adrenaline pumped through my bloodstream,
making my heart race and giving me the strength I needed. I was no longer on
the pavement and my terrain was harder to navigate. Trees, broken branches, and
the sickening smell of the stagnant river surrounded me. I pushed onward.
It could have been worse—at least there
wasn’t any ice.
Still, it was fucking freezing out here. Snow
fell around me. Chilled to the bone, I tugged my hat farther down over my ears.
I didn’t stop, though—I had to keep going.
When my eyes were streaming from the cold
and my leg muscles began to seize up, I knew my body needed a break. I’d find
cover and play the wait-and-see game.
The dilapidated abandoned warehouse a few
yards away seemed like my best choice. The hinges were rusted and appeared
broken, but when I yanked on the door, it wouldn’t open.
With a sigh, I stomped my salt-stained
shoes in the slush I was standing in and looked around.
No sign of them, yet.
They’d be here soon enough.
My lungs burned as I bent over with my
hands on my thighs in an attempt to catch my breath.
Poised to move in any direction, I thought
about my decision to bait them.
Smart?
Stupid?
I couldn’t believe the game of cat and
mouse I had entered into—with the Boston Police Department nonetheless.
But I’d had enough. They’d been following
me around for almost a week. Their more-than-obvious tail was bordering on
harassment. Pushed to the limit, today I’d decided it was time to find out what
it was all about. I was going to force their move. I left my vehicle and took
off. They were tracking me, but what they were waiting for to approach me, I
had no idea. At this point I had two choices—approach them or keep going. Since
I didn’t want to make it easy, I kept running.
Time seemed to be at a standstill as I
looked around again. I knew they were close. Yet, as I searched my
surroundings, there were no signs of life; everything around me was dark except
for the golden glow from the cables of the Zakim Bridge.
The bridge.
I couldn’t believe I’d ended up on the West
End. That was more than a slight hike from the tip of the South End, where I’d
started all this.
What time was it anyway?
Before I could look at my watch—the one my
grandfather had given me, the one worth more than most of the houses in the
surrounding area, the pretentious Patek Philippe with an authentic enamel dial
and custom-made rubber watchband, the one almost a match for his own—a yellow
beam of light shined down on me.
I guess the BPD finally decided to make
their move.
A heavily Boston-accented voice carried
through the wind. “Put your hands in the air where we can see them.”
“Fuck me. Really? You’re going to arrest
me? For what?” My gaze scoured the area until they came into sight.
There were three of them and one of me. I didn’t
plan to keep running. I didn’t need to, but even if I wanted to, there was
nowhere to go. The riverbank was on one side and they were on the other. The
trio moved closer and drew their weapons. I responded with equanimity and
raised my palms. Still, not a single one of them lowered a gun. Step by step,
they moved toward me. When they were about five feet away, I decided to help
them out and face them, but before I could, the tallest figure lunged for me.
He pinned me to the wall. “I just wanted to
talk. I wasn’t going to arrest you until you assaulted me. But thanks for
giving me a reason.”
“I was putting my hands behind my back,
asshole,” I grunted.
“Right,” he snickered.
Nostrils flaring, the fatter one grabbed me
by my collar and yanked me to him. “Stop resisting.”
What the fuck?
A quick punch to the gut and a kick to my
leg had me belly down in a matter of seconds.
Most men would have been scared shitless,
but not me. I grew up living in two very different worlds, the only similarity
being power and greed. To look at me, you wouldn’t believe I was capable of
doing the things I had done. Born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I was the
grandson of one of the wealthiest men in New York City.
It wasn’t my trust fund background that
anyone had to worry about, though. I was also the grandson of the former head
of Boston’s Blue Hill Gang—a piece of me I had tried to renounce. That I wanted
to escape. But my family ties kept me bound. The Irish Mob might have changed
since my father’s father ran things, but there were some things that never
changed.
I’d been raised in both worlds and these
cops knew it. They were counting on the Blue Hill Gang part of me to greet
them.
Well fuck them very much—but that’s not
what they were going to get.
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