The Chase (Moves in Mysterious Ways)* Cars flash by, just-waxed and gleaming too harshly against the lackluster sea across the road. Frank doesn’t notice, though. Doesn’t notice the static salt air, doesn’t notice the windows safely showcasing the latest designs and jewels behind glass, doesn’t notice the people mingling around. Just as they never noticed him. Frank shoulders through the crowds, one hand firmly gripping a necklace in his pocket and the other curled in a fist as he elbows people aside. Where was Rak? He’d promised he’d be here, slapping Frank’s shoulder as he said, “Don’t worry about it Franky, I got your back,” and tossing him a smirk before striding away. But Rak wasn’t here. Rak was late, Rak was late, Rak was late. Christ, where was he? Stumbling into an alley, he scrambles behind a rusting dumpster that reeks of rotting meat and prays for a miracle as one hand taps a rapid onetwothreefouronetwothreefour into his thigh. Frank shakily crouches and risks a glance around the dumpster to see the street he’d run from. He spots the same three men from before and Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. He spots them and jerks back, stuffing a fist into his mouth as he tries not to scream. Where was Rak? He should be here, he should— A hand yanks on his shoulder, dragging him backwards as a voice hisses, “Idiot! What the hell did you do?” He nearly cries in relief. Rak drags him through the nearest open door and climbs the stairs two at a time, ignoring Frank’s babble as he tries to explain what happened. Rak cuts him off. “I thought I told you to ditch them. God, are you that stupid? No,” he snaps when Frank tries to interject. “Shut up. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got a plan.” Rak rams into a door and yanks Frank through. Pushing him across the roof garden until he’s pressed against the railing, Rak says, “Jump.”
Pillars of Salt 59
