Scar of shadows
By Ross Demma
Prologue
Panting…short of breath. Just rest for a sec—NO! RUN. Can't stop. Gotta get help. He ran through the corridors of the labyrinthine building. He never thought they'd take it this far. He assumed it was a farce, or at least impossible. But the things he's seen them do to meet their own agenda…God help us all. Turning a sharp right, a left and another left led him to the stairwell he was looking for.
Before he started to climb, he listened intently. Distant shouting and clamoring of footsteps told him they hadn't forfeited the chase. He quickly ascended the stairs and burst into the scorching cityscape. He wouldn't have much time. 12 hours, and that was being generous. He couldn't finish this on his own. He'd never been strong enough for this sort of thing. He made a silent prayer to God that if he could just get the word to the right person, he'd never touch the Black Tar again. After a second, the insight hit him and he took off running to the nearest private phone.
He pounded on the door too hard. It probably sounded like a "cop knock" but he didn't give a shit: this was important. Hearing a muffled "Fuck, clear it, CLEAR IT!" came from inside eliminated any doubt about the knock. Chains and deadbolts rattled and clicked. Tommy counted at least six. When the door finally opened, he saw the immediately relaxed face of Rocket Dave, the guy he bought from the most.
"Holy DAMN, man, we thought you were the police," he wheezed "why'd you have to knock like that?"
"Sorry, It's important."
"Sure, sure. Whatchu need? Got some special stuff this morning."
Tommy hesitated for a moment then shook his head and reluctantly said
"No…no. I just need to use your phone real fast." The understanding look of a true salesman came over Rocket's face.
"Alright, dude, fair enough."
He's thinking "He'll be back soon." Tommy mused
Tommy picked up the receiver for the phone and started to dial.
"Yeah?" the barbed honey voice answered almost immediately.
"John, are you at the precinct?" He tried to keep his voice down, but Rocket overheard him and shot him a harsh questioning look.
"When am I ever at the precinct…Tommy? Got a tip for me, I suppose?"
"Not so much a tip, something you need to see…shit, they're probably listening."
Upon hearing this, Rocket Dave scrambled from one side of the tiny apartment to the other trying to reach Tommy and get the phone. Tommy side-stepped and spun, avoiding Rocket and sending him toppling over his musty couch. "Listen," Tommy quickly blurted "just meet me where they arrested me last month." And quickly hung up the phone.
"What the FUCK, man?!" veins were swelling in Rocket's forehead now. "I thought you were cool, now I find out that not only are you a NARC, but the cops might be listening AND YOU LED THEM HERE?!"
Rocket was breathing so heavy; he was on the verge of hyperventilating. He sat down. Tommy put on his most calm face and voice despite his debilitating fear.
"Look, I'm sorry I came, I didn't know who to trust."
"Well the trust is GONE, you frickin' NARC junkie."
Tommy didn't know which accusation stung more: the assumption or the truth.
"No one's coming here. I promise. I just had to make that call and I'm gone. You'll never see me again." He turned to leave.
"Good luck finding another dealer that won't tap, ya junkie FUCK!" he heard called after him. Just keep walking.
The faster you get outta here, He told himself the greater the chance the Order won't track you here.
As he stepped off the last step in the building, he only vaguely noticed four men in hoodies ascending the opposite staircase: heading up to Rocket Dave's. Of all the promises he'd broken recently, that was the one he wished he could keep. He walked calmly out of the building and set off to find the only man that could help him.