Them or Us

compound. I drop them in the footwell and have to duck down and stretch to reach them, my wrist still attached to the door. I eventually manage to unlock the handcuffs. Do I make a run for it now? For a moment I consider it until I catch a glimpse in the side mirror of a mob of people in the street behind us. I look up again and see even more of them on either side of the road up ahead.
    “I’m going to leave you just short of the courthouse, okay?” Llewellyn asks, focused and oblivious. “Just do what you’ve been told and you’ll be okay. Understand?”
    “I understand.”
    He throws the van around a sharp right-hand turn.
    “We both want the same thing, McCoyne, we both want to get rid of Hinchcliffe. But I swear, if you—”
    He stops talking abruptly, and I look up to see what’s wrong. The road ahead is blocked. Familiar-looking fighters advance toward us and surround the van. Curtis, Llewellyn’s deputy, hammers on the glass, and Llewellyn winds his window down.
    “Hinchcliffe wants to see both of you,” he says. Llewellyn looks across at me, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.
    “Doesn’t change anything. Just makes things a little more complicated. I’ll square things with this bunch. You go in there and feed him as much bullshit as you can.”
    Before I can argue he’s out of the van. Patterson opens my door and pulls me out. Llewellyn tries to speak to Curtis.
    “We need to talk.”
    “Not interested. Get moving.”
    “But Curtis—”
    “If you’ve got a problem, tell Hinchcliffe.”
    Llewellyn tries to struggle but stops when the stunted barrel of a shotgun is shoved into his ribs. With that we’re led toward the courthouse, surrounded by a phalanx of fighters.
    “Good morning,” someone shouts. I glance around, but I can’t see who’s speaking; then I look up and see Hinchcliffe standing on the roof of the courthouse. “Bring them straight up here, boys,” he orders. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

 
    38
    WE’RE ESCORTED QUICKLY THROUGH the building. Llewellyn is in front, marching with an arrogance that belies the nerves I know he must be feeling. The place is almost completely deserted. The corridors are empty, and there’s no one in the usually busy courtroom hub. We continue through Hinchcliffe’s personal quarters. Most of the fighters don’t follow us, and I can’t help thinking that, in spite of everything, there are some places that are still sacrosanct. No matter what happens, Hinchcliffe’s ivory tower remains intact. His rooms are in as bad a state as ever, like a particularly rebellious teenage boy’s bedroom. There’s a woman lying on the floor, sprawled out on her back. I only notice her when Curtis treads on her outstretched hand and she yelps with pain. Her face is drugged, expressionless and blank. Another private extension of Hinchcliffe’s foul breeding program, no doubt.
    Past the conference room, through another door I haven’t been through before, and we reach a dark staircase. I climb the first flight, Llewellyn right in front of me now, then turn through one hundred and eighty degrees and climb a shorter second flight up. Out through a final door where Hinchcliffe is waiting for us, and I find myself standing in the middle of an area of flat roof. Curtis goes back down, and suddenly I only have Hinchcliffe and Llewellyn for company. Hinchcliffe pushes the door shut.
    The roof is completely clear except for a deckchair and a pile of half-used supplies. An empty beer can rolls into a dirty puddle, blown across the asphalt by a gust of wind. It’s damn cold up here, and it’s starting to snow again. Llewellyn tries to talk to Hinchcliffe, jabbering like a nervous kid, but the KC’s not listening. He just walks away, then stops and turns back to face us both.
    “Find the plane?” he asks casually.
    “I—” I start to answer, trying to remember what my story’s supposed to be.
    “Not you,” he interrupts. He points directly at Llewellyn. “You.”
    “Listen, Hinchcliffe,” Llewellyn begins, “I just—”
    “Wait a second,” he says, cutting across him. “Before you start, do me a favor and spare me the bullshit, okay? Honesty only on my rooftop, right?” He winks at me like a psychotic, old-school serial killer, playing with his victims and taunting them before going in for the kill. Crazy bastard. He takes a sudden step forward and I take half a step back, not sure how much space there is between me and the edge