Hard Rider

“But what if he does it again?” she asked. I could see the worry etched all over her face as she looked at the block of ancient tech I’d handed her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a flip-phone, let along one that big.

“He won’t be able to do any of that stuff so long as you don’t make any calls to anyone but the cops or me. Those things can’t be traced.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

Tanya nodded, heaving a great, big sigh before she glanced over at her old phone still lying on the table. I’d told her to turn it off and take the battery out of it—making it all the harder for anyone to find her.

You can’t run forever.

I could only hope that it had been a bluff, some big scare tactic to make my sister panic all the more. But I couldn’t take that chance.

“No opening the door, either. Not for anyone.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t know what else I could do to keep her safe—to keep that monster from doing God knows what to her.

“I’m going to talk to a friend of mine to see if he can make this investigation go a little bit faster.”

“A cop?” she asked. She sounded pretty hopeful.

“No, not anymore. He’s a PI, but he knows the system and he knows what buttons to press.”

Tanya’s worried expression never left her, my assurances having little effect to boost her confidence. Somehow I had to make her think that everything would be okay—despite all evidence to the contrary.

“I just feel like all of this is never going to end—that it’s all my fault. I feel like I dragged you into something you should never have gotten involved it. You’re taking all of my problems on your shoulders when I should be the one who takes care of this.”

I shook my head, resting my hands on both her shoulders.

“None of this is your fault, Tanya. You shouldn’t have to deal with some freak pretending that you belong to him—some weirdo in a mask playing like he’s the Phantom of the Opera. You don’t deserve to be in this mess.”

“But—”

“No. None of this is your fault, and I don’t even want you thinking that I shouldn’t be helping you. I love you, Tanya, and I’m going to make sure this asshole gets locked up for good.”

“Maybe we should just let the police take care of it—what if he hurts you, what will happen then, if you’re hurt and I’m left all alone. I don’t think I can handle if I lost you, Gunner. I can’t lose you and Mom.”

“I told you I won’t let that happen. I’m going to keep your safe. I tried to talk to the detectives, but they’re dragging ass on this. No leads, no suspects. You think I’m just going to let this go?”

Tanya smiled, blinking at my through the tears as she rested her cheek against one of my hands. I brushed my thumb over her skin, wiping away the trails of moisture her sadness had left behind.

“My hero.”

I tried to give her an encouraging smile, but all I could manage was a grimace. More than ever I felt connected to Tanya, almost like our bond had evolved into something I’d never thought I’d have in my life—love. And I wasn’t about to let that get taken from me by some mouth-breather.

“I should get going. I’m meeting my friend at a restaurant to talk about what he’s found out so far.”

“Okay,” Tanya said, wrapping her arms around herself almost like she’d gotten a sudden chill. Maybe she was feeling the same emptiness that I was feeling. “Just make sure you call me. I don’t want to find out you got killed or something on the news.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, giving her an optimistic smile before I turned around and headed out the door. I only hoped I was right.

My friend Simon and I had gone to community college together—not the most glamorous of institutions, but it got me the education I needed to become a firefighter.

Simon, on the other hand, became a cop—at least, for a few years. After he was denied his detective’s shield, he decided that he’d fair better in the private sector. And he was right.

I saw him the moment I walked through the door—he was the guy in the oversized goat and fedora. It killed me every time the two of us had lunch together, he loved all that Dick Tracy shit—and so did his clients. They ate it up and even recommended all their friends. Cheating husbands, fraud, corporate espionage—you name it, Simon took care of it.

“Gunner!” he called, waving me over the second he spotted me. I just shook my head as I sat down in the booth, watching him take a bite of a BBQ-sauce-covered chicken wing.

“You still eat this crap?” I asked, waving down the waitress and ordering myself something off the appetizer menu. “You’re going to have a heart attack.”

“I could think of worse ways to go,” Simon said, shrugging as he took a drink of his beer. As unprofessional as I found Simon, it was almost endearing. “How’s shit with you? I almost didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”

I snorted. “You slept with my date!”

“She didn’t have your name on her.”

“Yes, she did,” I replied, laughing.

“Ok, fine. She was a little weird. Never tattoo someone’s name on your arm, especially not after the first date!”

“Do you have something for me, or not?”

Simon laughed, wiping his mouth on an already stained napkin, careful that none of it got on his “priceless” coat.

“I do! And this is very interesting. I mean, there are people who would pay a fortune for the work that I’ve done here for you today.”

“I’m still not paying you, Simon.”

“You hurt my feelings, Gun! This is a favor between friends! I would never ask for any kind of compensation—”

“I’m already picking up the bill, Simon. Out with it!” I said, sighing as my order of mozzarella stick was set down gently in front of me. I gave the waitress a smile in thanks before I began to eat.

“You know what you mentioned before? About how this freak talked about killing his mother?”

“Yeah, you found something?” my eyebrows raised as I leaned forward. I hadn’t expected results this fast from Simon.

“Yup. Unsolved homicide about a year ago—Sandra Williams. COD was asphyxiation. She had—and I quote—‘her panties forced down her throat, blocking her airway.’ Sounds a lot like what your sister talked about. This could be our link, my friend.”

I frowned. “What’d you find out about her?” I had really hoped that whoever was after my sister had just been trying to sound tough with the whole “I murdered my mother” line.

“She was in her early fifties, and had...” He stopped a second, flipping through something on his phone. “...two kids. Husband left when they were younger. She had a son named Connor and a daughter named Chelsea. She liked her ‘C’ names, apparently. Not to mention the brother had a few temporary restraining orders filed against him and a sealed jury record.”

“What for?” I asked, dreading the answer. I didn’t like the sound of this one bit. It was one thing if this guy was just a bit off, but from what Simon was saying, he was almost a dead match for Tanya’s stalker.

“Your favorite—arson.”

I sighed, pressing my head into my hands. This was just perfect. It was like the pieces of a puzzle all falling into place, all pointing to this guy, Connor.

“Tanya has a friend named Chelsea. She was talking with her right before she got that fucking text.”

“You think she might be involved in all of this?” Simon asked, taking another bite off of a drumstick.

“She just might. Or at least, she might know what the fuck is wrong with her brother. You have an address?”

“I have one for her, but not for the brother, and once I’m done with my lunch, we can—”

“Now, Simon. Not later.”

“How about letting me get a to-go box then, yikes! Impatient, much?” He picked up his plate and carried it over to

the counter, grumbling all the way. I wanted to get out of here and get to this girl Chelsea’s house as soon as possible.

I left a couple of twenties on the table, more than enough to cover Simon’s enormous plate of wings and the tip while he shoveled every scrap of meat he could into a box. Something deep down told me that if we waited any longer, something bad was going to happen.

---THE FLAME---

Firemen in this town stood out like sore thumbs.

It wasn’t the uniform or the gear. It wasn’t the crappy cars they drove. It was in everything they did. Everything they were. The way they walked and talked; the ubiquity of their swagger. It was all over them like a putrid stench. They lived and breathed firefighter.

And here came one now, sauntering through the hotel doors fresh from handing the valet his keys, the ones that went to a Volvo straight out of the nineties. Dark hair, medium build. An older man, one of the rough sorts.