Sam Marlowe's Arc

Chapter 5 of 14

Sam clutched the wooden harbor model and ran for the loading door. Headlights filled the yard. He could not walk out the front with the relic in his hands. Every hood in the city knew what it was. Carrying it in the open would paint a target on his back. He needed a place to hide it, fast. He ducked behind a rusted vat and pressed the model against his chest, thinking. The office door burst open. Knuckles Malone filled the frame, his purple bulk blotting the light. The ogre held a pistol the size of a wrench. His loud tie hung crooked over his black pinstripes. "Marlowe," he growled. "You got somethin' that ain't yours." He'd hunted Sam across the city, and now he'd cornered him at last. Sam did not run. He set the wooden model on the floor, in plain sight, and stepped back with his hands raised. "Take it," he said. "It's yours. Tell your boss you found it." Knuckles blinked. His slow brain chewed the offer. He shoved the pistol into his holster and reached for the prize. "Smart human," he grunted. The moment the ogre's fingers closed on the model, a small grey shape stepped from the dark behind him. Mister Big. The goblin came no higher than Knuckles' belt, but the men in the doorway froze at the sight of him. Gold chain. Yellow eyes. A smile full of teeth. He was the boss nobody in the city dared name aloud. "Knuckles," Mister Big said softly. "That belongs to me." Knuckles turned, still gripping the model. Confusion crossed his heavy face. Two loyalties pulled at him at once, and his hands did not know which to obey. "Boss said bring it to him," the ogre mumbled. "Not you." "Wrong boss." Mister Big snapped his fingers. His men raised their guns. Sam slid sideways along the vats while the two crews stared each other down. Scarlett had wanted her Mister Big wanting less. Instead Sam had handed the relic straight into a fight between him and the rival crew. He reached the loading door and slipped into the cold yard. Behind him the shouting started. Then the shooting. He did not stop until the cannery was two blocks gone. He pressed his back to a wall and breathed. His hands were empty. The relic was lost. But he was alive, and the two crews were now killing each other over a wooden toy instead of hunting him. A phone booth glowed on the corner. Sam dialed. Lysander answered on the second ring. "You're breathing," the elf said. "You didn't keep the relic." "They've got it," Sam said. "Both of them. They're tearing each other apart to hold it." "Then you know where it will be," Lysander said. "With whoever's left standing." Sam watched smoke rise over the rooftops. Whoever won that fight would own the relic next. And he meant to be there when they did.