Rotted Roots — Part 9: Where There’s a Will
Servaes’ lungs burned in the night air. His feet skidded along the pavement as he took a turn at a sprint. Way hurled along the alley and leaped — in a single bound — over a chain-link fence. Servaes scaled the fence as quickly as he could and kept on his foe.
They had run flat-out for five minutes, dashing around crowds of people still in shock and through buildings filled with confused onlookers. Servaes didn’t have his weapon because of the security at the game. Not that it would have mattered; the crowds were too thick to use it.
It had taken all of his energy just to keep Way in his line of sight. Way hurled people ten feet to the side with a casual swipe of his arms and was able to run at a full-on sprint without getting tired. Servaes’ legs screamed for rest. They got none.
Servaes, flying down the highway clogged with abandoned cars, seized the covers of two garbage cans and hurled them at Way’s back, anything to get the man — the beast — to slow down. The first skidded along the ground and rolled away. The other collided with the back of Way’s right leg. The monster went down just as they reached Harrison Plaza. A set of stairs rose above them to another street. An ornate fountain shot water into the air.
“Is that your best shot?” Way demanded as he rose. He was breathing at a normal pace. Servaes leapt into the air and slammed his fist down into Way’s jaw. Way tumbled down again.
“No, but we’re getting closer,” Servaes panted. His shirt stuck to his chest. Sweat dribbled off of his chin.
“Good,” Way said as he flexed his jaw. “That’ll just make this easier.” He sprung up and threw his forearms out. Both collided with Servaes’ body. He flew off the ground and collided with a concrete wall to his side. Spots flashed in his eyes.
“I was worried all you agents were just going to be a warm-up for me,” Way said as he walked over to Servaes, still grasping at the wall for support. Way slammed his foot into Servaes’ ribs. A crack rattled out of the exhausted body. “I assumed your other agent — Saturday — was easy because he was from the National Branch. You, on the other hand, should have been more of a challenge. I’ve heard many ghost stories about the International Agents.”
“I’ll try not…” Servaes whimpered through several broken ribs. “Not to disappoint.”
Way grabbed the lapels of Servaes’ blazer and lifted him up off the ground. “You already are.” He brought his fist back.
Servaes threw both legs into Way’s chest. As soon as he was free he leapt at the wide body and threw as many punches and kicks at it as he could. He went for nerve clusters and weak points to slow down Way’s attempts to seize him. Way was smaller than Servaes, so it was a challenge to avoid the swipes from the hitman’s blows. Both continued to fight. Servaes almost had Way on the defensive. Until Way tackled him and began to punch the agent’s body. Each blow was like the impact of a car crash.
“A little less of a disappointment than I thought,” Way sneered. “You should be proud.”
The motorcycle’s engine was like a whine at first. During their fisticuffs, neither Way nor Servaes had noticed it growing louder as it got closer. But as Way was about to cave in Servaes’ skull, just as he had Saturday’s, Ryder, hunched over the bike, came flying in from the street above. He soared over the stairs and headed right for the villain. Ryder leapt from the fiery red vehicle and rolled across the concrete. Way leapt out of the way of the tumbling cycle. It missed both him and Servaes by inches. It shattered into bits of plastic and metal.
“What did I miss?” asked Ryder as he pushed himself to his feet slowly. His body couldn’t bounce back from those kinds of moves like it had once.
“Way killed Saturday,” wheezed Servaes. He rose to his feet slowly, aided by Ryder.
“I thought we already knew that.”
“Well he confirmed it.”
“Does this mean we can arrest him?”
“Better. It means I can kill him.” Both men stood below the stairs, bronze plates set into the bricks to commemorate donors who helped build the plaza. Way stood on the other end towards the fountains.
“Well then,” said Way, “Let’s get this over with.”
They carried on. Way pushed his body to smash the men reigning down blows on him. Ryder and Servaes did their best to stop Way. When one went down, the other doubled his efforts. Ryder threw wild haymakers and did his best to dodge the swipes Way sent their way. A jab to the throat. An elbow to the temple. A stomp on his foot. Servaes was more methodical. He knew how to take down someone quickly. He kicked Way’s knees out. Grabbed Way’s hand and bent the fingers back, feeling two of them snap. Way screamed and bucked as Ryder wrapped his arms around Way’s waist and threw punches to his kidneys. Servaes continued punching Way’s chest to throw off the beating of his opponent’s strong heart.
They were winning. Way was slowing down.
“I want you to know,” Servaes said with a raw voice, “All of this is for Agent Saturday.”
“Guess he’d be disappointed then,” choked Way as Ryder pulled his forearm back against the assassin’s throat. Way, with two fingers bent against the back of his hand, reached to his belt. Before Ryder or Servaes could stop him, he pulled a metal filing from the buckle.
DING.
A flash of light exploded from Way’s midsection. Servaes, startled, was unable to block the sudden kick from Way to his gut. Instead of getting sent backwards, however, he collapsed to his feet. It felt like a normal kick. Way jabbed his fingers into Ryder’s eyes and punched the old man to the ground. Half-limping, half scuttling, Way moved up the steps to a black sedan. He climbed inside. The car was out of sight just as Servaes and Ryder reached the top of the stairs. Ryder thought he saw a marking on the back bumper in the fleeting glimpse of the car he saw. It looked familiar.
“Tell me you put a tracker on him or something,” Ryder said as he held one hand over his left eye. Servaes walked over to a bus stop bench and began kicking it repeatedly. He screamed and cursed. “That’s not going to solve anything.”
“It’ll make me feel better.”
Ryder walked over to Servaes and began dragging him away from the destruction he was wreaking. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To follow the car. And once we can’t follow the car we’re going to go back to my office, have a drink, and figure out what to do next.”
“That’s a pointless plan.”
“It’s at least a plan.”
Both battered men walked into the night, sirens screaming in the distance, a smoke column visible in the distance.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK…
Part 2: https://medium.com/the-assortment/rotted-roots-part-2-a-meeting-is-set-1c879ad163ee#.m5ejkesx1
Part 3: https://medium.com/the-assortment/rotted-roots-part-3-contact-is-lost-3a684d5ce7c9#.ooxxuts1f
Part 5: https://medium.com/the-assortment/rotted-roots-part-5-blood-and-bruises-6c28eb9dd94b
Part 6: https://medium.com/the-assortment/rotted-roots-part-6-family-reunions-f029c00e8b66
Part 7: https://medium.com/the-assortment/rotted-roots-part-7-the-fallout-from-addictions-473b4ecefefb
Part 8: https://medium.com/the-assortment/rotted-roots-part-8-jump-ball-ac5af15e8915
