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Destined to Fail: Part 06.

The Hunt


Dan sat despondently flicking his sushi about the dish. He was too depressed to eat it. All of Holden's ideas had turned up empty. No, the doctor had not had a case of bullet wounding in a young girl. No, there had not been a man, a woman and an injured girl looking to rent a room. The only thing they'd been given was more police support, and so far they'd found nothing.

So here he was, sitting at Howie Lee's in Chinatown. Sitting where Dan Bridges had been sitting on that night.

He buried his face in his hands. As soon as they'd retired these reps, the public apology would be due. Then what? Demotion? He didn't know or care.

He liked Holden. He didn't want to disappoint him and he didn't want to associate his name with failure. So finding these reps was not an option. They had to do it. Then of course there was Steele. She and Holden were friends, and she had had a field day over the whole Bridges affair. Holden's sense of humour was slightly more sensitive than hers. Sam got the impression that she practically suspected him of being a rep for killing an innocent man. She was a hardened Blade Runner, no doubt about that.

Sam's mind flickered back to why he had come here, and he turned to the person next to him and produced the photo. The big mans face was buried in his sushi, and he didn't look as if he wanted to talk. Still, it came with the job.

"Excuse me, have you seen anyone with this tattoo?" said Sam, not caring about the answer, only interested in getting away and asking someone else.

The man briefly looked at the photo of the arm, his face mostly buried in his hood and grunted in the negative. Sam nodded. "Thanks for your time," he said. He dropped some chinyen onto the bar next to his dish, and walked off into the night. He was going to walk home tonight. It would give him a chance to clear his head.

The big man waited for a few seconds then dropped his share of money onto the counter. He watched Sam walk off into the crowds, then stood and followed him. His dark eyes burned into the back of Sam's blonde head, and his large coat, which he'd stolen from one of the CARS protesters billowed out behind him.

He followed Sam right up to where Sam walked through the double doors of a large apartment block, and disappeared.

Then he just stood on the opposite side of the street, and gazed at the big building.

He'd found him. The man he'd been searching for lived only a few streets away from their own home. He hurried into an alley, and found his way to the little familiar door. He rapped three times. There was a small wait, and then the door opened to reveal her. Her face was streamed with tears, and she grabbed him in as soon as she saw his face. They embraced.

"What's happened?" he whispered, but knew the answer as soon as he looked over to the girl. Her head was tilted on one side, and a thin line of blood ran from her mouth.

"She died about an hour ago. I was so worried that I'd lost you too…" her voice became lost in tears and sobs.

He shook her.

"I've found him," he said. "I know where he lives. He has an apartment a few streets over. We'll go together. We'll have to leave her, and go now. We won't come back here. We'll kill him, then find our way to a shuttle port or something."

She shook her head, desperately. "I don't want to leave her," she moaned. "Let's just wait here and die." She pitifully broke into loud cries, and he held her tenderly.

"I won't give myself up so easily. We can show him. Its people like him, who killed her," he nodded to the bed. "We'll go straight away. I'll wait down the street, and you wait outside opposite the entrance. Signal to me when he's coming out, and I'll come along and break his head open. Then we'll flee."

"He'll recognise my face!" she pleaded. He shook his head.

"Wear my coat with the hood up, keep your face hidden. He won't see your face. It'll be okay."

Two shadows stepped through the little door for the last time, that night, and made their way through the dark alleys and back streets to the huge apartment building.



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