Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

elevator and down the hall. He tried to support Charlie’s bulk, and they shuffled back with excruciating slowness. They stepped over the dead thug sprawled at the mouth of the foyer. The man’s chest was bright crimson, a blossoming stain spreading out onto the cold floor beside him. Finally, they made it to the lift, and Simon waved his gun toward the controls. “Hurry it up. Is Mack awake?”
    The man trembled as he shook his head.
    “Is there anyone else down there?” Simon asked.
    “No. Just Vic,” he said, nodding his head toward the dead man.
    “Good. Now, get this thing moving.”
    The trip down to the lobby seemed to take twice as long as the trip up. Charlie was bleeding badly, but gathered himself well enough to walk unassisted as they slipped out the back door.
    Simon helped Charlie to the car. “We need to get you to hospital.”
    The barkeep shook his head. “Not in the city. King’s men’ll be all over it.”
    Simon put his gun back into his pocket, vaguely aware that he had four bullets left.
    Charlie opened the driver’s side door and managed to heave himself up into the seat. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his gun. “You might need this.”
    Simon nodded and took the gun. He slipped it into his waistband.
    “Better make sure it’s not cocked,” Charlie said with a smirk.
    Simon quickly pulled the gun out. It was uncocked. With a relived sigh he put the gun back in his jacket pocket. “Very amusing.”
    “Can’t be too careful.” The brief moment of levity faded and with it Charlie’s smile.
    “I’ll be all right. I got some friends in Yonkers owe me a favor.”
    Simon was torn. Charlie was in no shape to drive, but night had fallen and he was no closer to Elizabeth. If anything, he was further away.
    Sensing his dilemma, Charlie shook his head. “You do what ya gotta do.”
    Simon heaved a sigh. How could he ever possibly thank this man? No matter what he said, it would pale in comparison to the debt he owed. A debt he could never repay.
    “Give Lizzy a hug for me,” Charlie said, and stuck out his hand, fingers drenched in his own blood.
    “I will,” Simon vowed and gripped his hand tightly, moved as much by Charlie’s faith as his courage.
    A wealth of understanding passed between the two men in the silence of the deserted alley. Charlie pulled his hand away and started the car with a grimace of pain. Simon stepped back and eased the door closed. Charlie put the car in gear, and with one last look, drove off into the night. The car turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Knowing he couldn’t linger there any longer, Simon headed back to Fifth Avenue.
    The city moved on, oblivious to the drama that played at its very heart. In a little over forty-eight hours the eclipse would come. Simon patted his pants pocket. The watch was secure. The gun was loaded. But his last chance to find King and Elizabeth had evaporated with the empty room upstairs. Or had it? With a new purpose, he fell in with the foot traffic, shoved his bloody hand into his pocket and started for St. Patrick’s.

Chapter Twenty Eight
    E lizabeth opened her eyes. White hot pain pierced her head like railway spikes. She tried to think, but her mind was still wrapped in gauze. She blinked against an ungodly bright light that sliced through the louvered blinds. All she knew was she had to shut those damn things. But when she pushed herself up, the raging headache was joined by a wave of gagging nausea. She fought to keep from retching and the effort drove the ten penny nails deeper into her brain.
    She took a deep breath to try and stem the upsurge of bile, but the stale odor of rotting fish and thick, salty air had other ideas. She coughed and cradled her head. Her tongue felt tacky with a thick paste, and she could barely manage to swallow.
    Dying on the spot seemed like a good idea, but she settled for not moving. She stilled in mid-movement, caught in an awkward position, half upright, and one hand curled over the top of her head, pressing cool fingers against her throbbing temple.
    Slowly the fog in her head began to lift, and she dared to sit up the rest of the way. Either this was the worst hangover in the history of man, or she.... Slowly, it came back to her. Memories swimming upstream. She had been washing her hands when the door opened behind her. Just when she was about to politely remind the woman that the room was occupied, two huge men filled the doorway. A sweaty hand clamped