Chapter 4 - The Alley behind the Red Line
Clare didn't panic. Panic was a luxury for people who had somewhere to run.
She accelerated her pace, turning sharply down an alley shortcut that led toward the subway platform's secondary side entrance. The alley was narrow, lined with heavy industrial dumpsters and overflowing grease traps from nearby steak houses.
Footsteps echoed behind her—fast, heavy, and closing in.
"Hey! Girl! Hold up a second!" a rough, gravelly voice barked from the darkness behind her.
Clare broke into a full sprint, her rubber-soled shoes slipping slightly against the wet brick pavement. She grabbed the handle of the metal security gate leading to the subway stairs, pulling with all her weight.
It was locked.
A heavy chain wrapped around the iron bars held it shut, accompanied by a bright yellow OUT OF SERVICE sign.
She turned around, her back slammed against the iron gate, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
The two men stepped out of the shadows, blocking the narrow alley exit.
The man with the crow tattoo on his neck grinned, showing two gold teeth near his back molars. He was wide-shouldered, wearing a heavy black coat, his right hand buried deep inside his coat pocket. His partner was leaner, carrying an iron tire lever in his left hand.
"Clare Bennett, right?" Gold-Tooth said, taking a slow, predatory step forward. "We just want to ask you a couple of questions about your shift today."
"I don't know you," Clare gasped out, her eyes searching the ground for anything—a brick, a broken bottle, a iron pipe. "Get away from me."
"Don't make this difficult, sweetheart," the lean man with the tire lever sneered. "Our boss noticed someone spent fifteen minutes near the south fire exit on forty-two today. We like to make sure the staff at the hotel keep their eyes on the carpet."
"I was cleaning room 4217!" Clare lied, her voice cracking under the terror. "I didn't see anything!"
"That's funny," Gold-Tooth chuckled, pulling a dark silver hand-held scanner from his pocket. "Because the master key log says your card cleared the lock on suite 4227 at 2:14 PM."
Clare couldn't speak. The lie died in her throat.
"Marcus Duca pays us very well to make sure forty-two stays completely dark," Gold-Tooth said, his voice dropping into a flat, lethal register. "If someone was inside that suite, and you saw him... you're coming with us to explain what he looked like."
The lean man stepped forward, raising the tire lever. "Grab her."
Clare grabbed a heavy iron trash can lid resting beside the dumpster, throwing it with all her strength at the lean man's face.
It caught him square across the bridge of his nose, sending him staggering back with a bloody roar.
Clare tried to duck under Gold-Tooth’s arm to escape into the street, but his thick hand shot out, grabbing her by her hair, pulling her backward until her knees struck the cold pavement.
"Bitch!" Gold-Tooth growled, pulling her head back.
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A soft, mechanical CLICK echoed from the dark mouth of the alley behind them.
"Put your hands on her again," a voice spoke from the shadows, quiet, calm, and terrifyingly clear, "and I'll empty this magazine into the back of your skull."
