Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 22 of 57

Damian stepped out of the bright juice shop with the bloody envelope in his coat. Parker lay dead behind him. The worker had run out the back. Somewhere above, the man who signed the orders sat in his glass tower. Damian looked up at the tall building and saw a shape move at a high window. Then it was gone. He had a name and a signature. He also had a body on the shop floor that would be found within the hour. He never reached the tower doors. Two men in dark coats stepped from the tower's base and blocked the way. Guards. One held a short club. The other rested a hand under his coat, where a blade waited. Damian read their faces. They were not surprised to see him. They were looking for him. "He knows," the club man said. "Parker's late. Parker's dead. So it's you." He grinned. "The boss upstairs wants you off his street." Damian understood at once. The worker had not just fled. Someone had already sent word up the tower. The mastermind had learned Parker failed and knew Damian would come. Now the guards hunted him in the open. He could not walk in the front. He would be cut down on the step. Damian backed away. More coats appeared at the corner, moving toward the shop. He counted five now, then six. Too many. He drew the gemmed sword. The runes on the long blade caught the light, and the jewels in the guard burned bright blue. The nearest guard slowed at the sight of it. A weapon like that was made for tales, not for street fights. Damian did not wait. He struck the club from the first man's hand, then kicked him back into the second. He did not stab. He cut coats, cracked knuckles, and drove them off balance. Two came at once. He turned inside their reach and hammered the flat of the blade across their arms. They dropped their weapons and stumbled. But six was too many to beat and hold the door. Damian broke the other way. He ran hard down the row of shops, the sword bare in his fist. Shouts followed. Boots pounded stone behind him. He turned one corner, then another, until the voices thinned and fell behind. He stopped in a narrow gap and pressed his back to the wall, breathing fast. His plan was dead. He could not walk into the tower now. The guards knew his face. They knew the shining blade. Every man in dark coats on this street was hunting him. Damian looked at the envelope again, then at the gemmed sword in his hand. The front door was closed to him. He would have to find another way up. And he would have to do it before the mastermind sealed the tower and slipped away.