Jack Thompson's Arc

Chapter 24 of 25

Jack hit the ground at the base of the tower and bit back a yell. Across the street, 13 was already moving, a black pistol in one hand, a gold one in the other, sigils on both burning soft in the dust light. He walked straight for the chained doors of the red brick warehouse like a man late to a job. Jack ducked behind a stack of crates and counted the distance. Too far to run. Too far to throw himself in front of it. And somewhere inside that warehouse, or above it, Dr. Owl was waiting for the door to open. A shout would carry. A shout would also bring the doctor down on both of them before 13 could turn around. Jack pressed his back to the crates and felt his bad leg pulse cold under the black flame. He looked at his hand. The bridge inside him held steady, quiet, waiting. He had cards. He had a partner who could read a hand. Jack drew four from his sleeve and fanned them. He thought about the arched wooden doors across the street, the iron bands, the chain hanging loose where someone had already cut it. He pictured each card landing where he wanted it. Then he flicked his wrist. The cards cut the air in a low arc. They struck the wood one after the other, soft as knocks, and stuck there. T. R. A. P. Four letters at eye level on the warehouse door. Jack held his breath. 13 stopped three steps from the threshold. His head tilted. He looked at the cards. He looked at the empty street. He looked up once, slow, at the lookout cabin on the water tower, and Jack saw the moment the kid put it together. 13 took two steps back from the door without turning his back to it. He brought the black pistol up to cover the high windows and the gold one down to cover the seam between the doors. He did not call out. He waited. Jack moved. He kept low along the crates, shotgun under his arm as a crutch, dragging the bad leg in quick jerks across the open ground. He reached the wall beside 13 and pressed flat to the brick. 13 didn't look at him. He kept the pistols steady on the door. "Nice mail," 13 said, quiet. "Owl inside?" "Above," Jack said. "Or was. Thermos still warm in the tower." 13's mouth twitched. "Two doors. One trap. You pick." Jack looked at the four cards pinned to the wood, then at the partner he had almost watched walk into a grave. The bridge inside him pulled once, gentle, like a hand checking he was still there. He pulled it back the same way. Steady. His own. "We don't open it," Jack said. "We make him come out."