Chapter 6

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John took the next right turn at a neck-breaking speed, forcing his passenger to hold onto the door handle for dear life. "Care to explain why there's an entire squad of hitmen out to kill you, Louis?"

Candrall looked incredulously at John. "You wanna have that conversation now?"

"I could always pull over and ask your friends," said Reese, easing up on the gas pedal as they neared a busy street. He threw Louis a look that made it clear that he meant it before cutting his eyes to the review mirror. A pair of high beams turned onto the road a good distance behind them. Although there was no way to discern what type of car they belonged to, John figured it was a fair guess that the vehicle was a dark SUV. "Which is it, Louis?"

"Alright, alright," Candrall replied. He looked anything but thrilled, but eventually sunk in on himself like he was literally giving up on pushing back. He let out a breath. "Where do I start?"

Never taking his eyes off the road and the car's mirrors John quietly said, "How about with your real name."

"Right. I haven't used my real name in so long." Candrall paused and tiredly wiped a hand over his eyes. "My name is Doug Mitchell. I used to work as a bookkeeper for a small building enterprise here in Brooklyn. What I didn't know was that the company was actually run by the Gambino family. I found that out when I accidentally walked in on one of their captains fitting some union guy for concrete shoes." Louis laughed, although it lacked humor. "I was so young and naive back then. Thought that I needed to do the right thing and go to the cops. Well, forty years and three new identities later and they are still after me. There you have it. Satisfied?"

Reese shot the man beside him a quick look before returning his eyes to the road. If what Louis was saying was true then they were running the danger of pissing off yet another prominent crime organisation in New York. Like they hadn't made enough friends already.

"Finch, did you get that?" John asked and changed lanes, noting that the beams of the dark SUV that was five cars behind them did the same.

"Yes, Mr. Reese. I did."

Changing lanes again - with the headlights behind them following suit - John stepped down on the accelerator just a little bit more. He knew Finch would let him know what his search yielded as soon as he'd found something. For Reese their tail was the far more pressing matter at the moment. And whoever was driving the SUV obviously had skills.

"I found the records of a Douglas Mitchell, born October 3rd, 1939 on Staten Island." There was a pause as Finch skimmed through the information. John took a quick right turn, speeding up even more. As expected the headlights followed. "It seems like his story is adding up," Harold said. "I've found several news articles detailing his disappearance on the day of the trial in which he was supposed to be the key-witness against one Silvio Taldore. It was suspected that Mr. Mitchell had met with an untimely end, but no body has ever been found."

Still, his gut told John that something was off with their Number, and he had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts on these matters. But currently their pursuers were definitely giving him the greater headache. Apparently trying to hide in the traffic didn't work - their shot up rear end was most likely a dead give-away. And with the traffic he couldn't risk a high-speed car chase. It would certainly draw unwanted attention by the fellas in blue. And so far the SUV didn't seemed to be having any trouble catching up to them, no matter how far John pushed down on the gas pedal. Well, if he couldn't outrun them he'd have to get creative, and an idea was already starting to form in the ex-op's head.

"Finch, is Fusco still heading in our direction?"

"No. Why?" Finch asked, a little puzzled.

"Tell him to turn around." Without warning, John slammed on his brakes, eliciting a cacophony of blaring horns, squealing tires and screeching metal from behind them - along with rather explicit cursing from the man beside him. Yanking the steering wheel to the left, John floored the gas, skidding the car through a gap in the oncoming traffic and into a side street.

John sped down the nearly deserted street and scanned ahead, looking for a suitable spot. He knew it was only a matter of time before the SUV would untangle itself from the small pile-up he'd caused and be hot on their trail again. Spying a cluster of dumpsters and trash cans ahead he turned to Louis. "Get ready to get out."

"What?" The man looked shocked, which only lasted for about a millisecond before his usual angry expression returned in full force. "You son of a bitch. You said you'd help me!"

"Mr. Reese, what are you doing?"

Ignoring both Candrall's outburst and Finch's question, John slammed on his brakes and pointed towards the dumpsters hidden in the shadow of the building behind them. "Go, hide. A man named Lionel Fusco will come and pick you up in ... Finch?"

"15 minutes."

"In 15 minutes, while I'll be leading your friends away from here." Louis looked at him - distrust written all over his face. "Get. Out. Now." Reese used his most intimidating stare and voice - the one that promised certain bodily harm if not obeyed. It had the effect John was aiming for as Louis fumbled for the doorhandle and stumbled outside. Trusting that the man would have enough of a self-preservation instinct to hide and not move until his ride arrived, John peeled off the curb before the Number even had a chance to close the door.

And as it turned out almost not soon enough. The by now familiar headlights were back in the rear view mirror, closing the distance again, and speeding past where John had left Louis hiding. So far, so good.

He pulled out his phone and hit speed-dial.

"What?" greeted the grumbly voice of the detective. "I'm already driving as fast as I can. You know you guys have me going back and forth, right?"

John ignored Fusco's griping. "Finch told you where to drop off Candrall?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"I want you to stay with them. Don't leave Candrall out of your sight."

"You do know I have a day job, right? I can't just be lounging around one of the Professor's bachelor pads all night."

"Lionel," John breathed, turning the name into an undisguised threat.

"Alright, alright. Babysitting it is."

John hung up and for the next ten minutes he had to actually struggle to keep the SUV far enough off his tail. Whoever was driving the vehicle knew damn well what he was doing, he had to give him that.

"Mr. Reese?" Harold's voice was almost drowned out by the screaming of the engine. It was a small miracle that they hadn't attracted a patrol car's attention yet.

"Yes, Harold," replied John calmly.

"I just got word from Detective Fusco," Finch said and Reese swerved the car around a slower vehicle ahead. "He's picked up Mr. Candrall and is on his way to one of my safe houses. It seems like they've bought the bait."

"Good." Reese expelled a breath. About time. "I guess it's time to lose the company."

The driver of the SUV might have been good, but John still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Pushing down on the gas pedal he forced his car to its limits. He zick-zacked through the streets and noted with satisfaction that he'd managed to slightly increase his lead. He knew that there was a small alley coming up, branching off of the main street, and he took the turn at the very last second with screaming tires.

Racing down the alley he saw what he was looking for. The dumpster behind the Italian restaurant was quickly and steadily drawing nearer. He clipped the edge of the dumpster with his right fender. John allowed himself a small smile when a quick look in the rear view mirror confirmed that the container had spun with the impact, and was now effectively blocking the road. Enough to slow his pursuers down.

Reese continued his evasive manoeuvres for a couple more minutes - never once glimpsing the familiar headlights in the mirrors. Slowing down he tapped his earpiece. "Okay, I think I've lost them."

"That's good to hear. I'm on my way to the safe house. I assume I will meet you there?"

John relaxed into the driver's seat. "Yeah. I'm just gonna drive around the block a few more times to make sure -"

He hadn't noticed the approach of the darkened second SUV until it switched on its high beams, blinding him. By then it was too late to react. The SUV burrowed into John's driver side door with brutal force, easily spinning the smaller car over 180° and forcefully pushing it 50 more feet down the intersection. Caught off guard by the impact Reese was tossed around like a ping pong ball. The side of his head collided with the driver's door window before his face impacted with the air bag. The restraining force of the seat belt thankfully held him in place while the car spun around its axis, but it also forced the air out of his lungs. As the vehicle came to an abrupt stop the ex-op was once more jostled against the seat belt - its restraints digging into his chest. Although the car was finally standing still, the interior continued to spin madly and darkness crept in on the edges of his vision. John blinked, knowing that he couldn't lose consciousness if he wanted to have even the slimmest chance of getting away. However the beating had just been too much for his battered body and he succumbed to the darkness before the hot engine uttered its last dying tick.

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To be continued...