The Getaway

FIFTEEN

Katic lived in a small place in the East Village, just off 1 Avenue on 13 Street. The journey from Columbus Circle took about fifteen minutes, the driver weaving his way skilfully across town, avoiding the traffic in and around Times Square. They’d asked the guy to get them there as soon as possible, and so far he was definitely earning his tip.

On the back seat, Katic pulled her phone and called her home number.

‘Won’t the other mum be waiting with her?’ Archer asked.

Katic shook her head, holding the phone to her ear. ‘The woman has a key. She lets Jessie back in and locks the door and leaves. I work unpredictable hours and I’m not paying her to babysit.’

Thankfully, someone answered the call. But Archer was surprised. Katic didn’t start talking to her, or warn her, or tell her to hide. She just said one word.

‘Turtle.’

That was it.

One word, loudly and clearly.

And with that, she hung up, sliding her phone back into the pocket of her suit.

‘Turtle? What was that?’ Archer asked.

Katic ignored the question.

‘Can you drive faster, please?’ she asked the driver, as they moved fast down 2 Avenue and past 20 Street.

‘We’re almost there, miss,’ the guy said politely. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how to do his job but he also didn’t want to sabotage his tip.

Katic nodded, her leg jiggling as she released nervous energy. The streets flashed past outside the windows as they moved on downtown.

18.

16.

‘What the hell is going on, Archer?’ she asked him, anxious. The cab driver could hear what they were talking about, but she didn’t seem to care.

‘Siletti. Had to be.’

‘But why?’

‘He’s tying up loose ends. Parker was his partner. Siletti’s covering his tracks. Maybe even the idea that Parker knew something was enough for what happened in the bathroom to happen.’

She looked at him, her face pale. Archer chose to save the rest of the conversation for when they were out of earshot of the driver.

Soon enough, they arrived on East 13. The driver turned left, and headed across towards 1 Avenue. They hit a red at the end of the road, but it didn’t matter. Katic told him to pull up where they were and paid the fare. She and Archer stepped out, shutting the doors, and the taxi sped off, the driver happy with the tip they gave him.

Katic went to walk forward, but Archer grabbed her arm and held her back. He stepped to the left, into the shadows, with her beside him.

‘Wait,’ he said.

Her maternal instincts were screaming at her to just cross the street and get to her daughter as quickly as possible, but she held back. Just ahead of them, 1 Avenue was busy, people out enjoying the Saturday night. Across the street though, 13 looked quiet. Archer had his Sig back in his hand in the pocket of his coat, and Katic had her own pistol in the holster on her hip. The game had just changed. Any rules that were in place had just gone out the window. If they kept trying to play them, Katic knew it could be the two of them next who would be pushed face-down into the bathtub.

Satisfied that no one was about, the pair of them crossed the street quickly and headed down 13. Katic said she lived at Number 20, which was within a stone’s throw from the cross street and on the left side. The street looked pretty empty. Archer scanned the interior of any cars parked in the area, looking for anyone sitting inside, or anything that seemed unusual. But it looked clear. Besides, they’d be in and out in a couple of minutes. The sooner they got on with it, the sooner they would be safe and could hole up somewhere.

Katic walked quickly up the steps and up to the door as Archer double-checked the street, watching a man walking his dog pass them by. She’d already pulled a key from her jacket and she slotted it into the lock, pushing the door open. Archer turned and ran up the steps, moving inside and closing the door behind them.

Inside, out of sight of the street, Katic pulled her pistol from her holster, checking the safety was off. Archer lifted his Sig from his pocket.

They both stood there in silence, waiting, listening, looking at each other. The building was old, lots of old wooden floorboards, and the two of them were standing next to the lines of letterboxes.

Archer closed his eyes and listened.

Nothing.

‘Which floor?’ Archer whispered.

‘Third.’

They approached the stairwell and moved up the flights swiftly. Archer let Katic take the lead. Behind her, he was impressed. He’d already seen that she was tough, but the idea of anyone doing harm to her child seemed to have given her an added layer of resolve that made a protective mother the toughest fighter in the world. Her dynamic with Archer had subtly shifted too. She had gone from ordering and commanding him to engaging with him and they were now working as a pair. For the time being, they were partners. She needed his help as much as he needed hers.

He needed to clear his name.

And she needed to make it through the night alive with her girl.

The stairwell was empty and they moved up the old set of stairs swiftly and silently, arriving on the third floor. Katic still had the wad of keys in her hand, and she grabbed one of the keys, letting the others fall away, holding them so they wouldn’t make any noise. She came to a stop outside Apartment 3D and slid the key silently into the lock, the floorboard under her foot creaking as she stepped on it. In the same instant, Archer pulled her to one side and against the wall in a flash, thinking instinctively. If anyone was inside, they would have heard the noise.

The way he had moved her meant they were close, face-to-face, her back against the wall. He looked at her, putting his finger to his lips, and they both listened, tense. The two of them stared at each other up close for a moment that felt like a minute. Moving aside, Archer nodded and she twisted the key, opening the door. The two of them moved inside quickly, weapons up. The hallway was clear. Archer waited for a little girl to appear, rushing over to her mother.

But she didn’t.

Archer shut the door behind them quietly. They both stood there in silence, listening, pistols up, in the aim. Even if someone was inside somewhere, a homeowner could tell if the atmosphere was different somehow. Katic moved forward and swept the place quickly, Archer staying where he was by the door. She reappeared soon after, looking relieved. There was no one here. They were clear. Katic holstered her sidearm, nodding to Archer, who lowered his and tucked into his belt, hidden under the coat, the safety catch on.

‘Turtle,’ Katic suddenly called.

Archer looked at her, then heard a rustling and scuffle from the room next door. The next moment, the door was pulled back and a girl in pink pyjamas appeared, running over to her mother. She swept her daughter up into her arms, giving her a strong hug and kiss and exhaling a long sigh of relief.

‘Turtle?’ Archer asked, watching the mother and child with a smile.

‘That’s our code word,’ Katic said, looking at her daughter proudly. ‘What do we do when I say turtle?’

‘We find a hiding place and curl up in a ball. Like a turtle,’ the girl said, beaming, hugging her mother and giving her a kiss.

Archer smiled. It was a good plan. Katic was well-prepared and he liked her even more for it. The two of them turned, and headed off to the bedroom, Katic telling her daughter they needed to pack up for a trip. Archer took the opportunity to walk into the living area and examine the apartment around him.

It was cosy, new enough to still be well-maintained but old enough to have some atmosphere. The interior was lots of golden lights and wooden floorboards and comfy-looking furniture. Given the East Village’s history, he figured this single apartment was probably once home to maybe ten or twenty immigrants fresh from Poland or the Ukraine, long before the hipsters and artists arrived later in the 20 century. Maybe it had been an art studio once. It had that feeling of quiet focus. It was a nice place, just about as good an apartment a mother raising a child in New York City with a monthly Bureau pay-check could afford.

Aside from the living area, there seemed to be two bedrooms and a bathroom. As Katic rustled away in the girl’s room, packing some clothes, Archer walked forward and looked closer at the decorations and ornaments in the living room. Plenty of books, which showed Katic was a reader. All kinds too. He saw Shakespeare, Faust, Virgil. The classics. Then some fiction to balance it out. Clancy, Connelly, Child. No chick-lit. Education and thrillers, knowledge and adrenaline.

Below the books, he saw a picture frame holding a photograph of Katic with a man and the child. The father. He had to be. His daughter had his smile. He was young, mid-twenties, around Archer’s age and looked like a nice guy. The three of them were together on a playground, smiling at the camera, the brown and golden leaves on the trees and on the ground around them showing it was autumn, or fall as the Americans called it. Archer glanced around, but there were no traces in the apartment of the man in the photo. He didn’t know what had happened, but he guessed that smile on his face had faded at some point since.

He turned to find the girl standing there, staring at him. She was out of her pyjamas, and dressed in a white t-shirt and blue dungarees, white sneakers on her feet.

‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘My name’s Archer.’

He offered his hand. She thought about it, then stepped forward and shook it.

‘I’m Jessie.’

‘Pleasure to meet you. Do you have all your things?’

‘Archer. Like a bow and arrow,’ she said, ignoring his question.

‘That’s right. Where’s your Mum?’

‘She’s finishing packing up. Apparently we’re going on a trip tonight.’

‘We are.’

‘Are you coming?’

‘I think I am.’

‘I want to stay here, but Mom said I couldn’t.’

‘Where’s your dad?’

‘He’s not here. He’s in Heaven.’

Archer paused.

‘I’m sorry.’

She nodded. ‘Do you have a dad?’

‘I did. He’s in Heaven too.’

At that moment, Katic reappeared. She had a holdall swung over her shoulder, lightly packed, enough for one night. She was still dressed in her dark work-suit, but her hair was now loose and over her shoulders. She looked great.

‘Ready to go?’ she asked, with a smile.

Archer went to reply, but something suddenly made him stop.

He paused.

He heard something, a soft noise outside the front door.

A creak.

In the same instant, he ran forward, scooping up the girl, and pushed Katic into her bedroom, slamming the door.

And behind them the lock on the front door exploded.



Houses in the old neighbourhoods like the East Village were often as dry as tinder, and fire escapes had been installed to provide safe passage if someone inside the building was trapped or found themselves in trouble. The architects probably hadn’t envisaged escaping gunfire when they installed the metal steps, but danger was danger, whatever its form.

Katic ran to the window, pulling it open, whilst Archer locked the door and grabbed a chair, jamming it under the handle. Katic had swept the girl up in their arms and she was already outside, making her way rapidly down the metal steps. Archer backed up fast to the window, and heard rushing footsteps and the reloading of a shotgun, a double-crunch as another shell was racked into the barrel. He grabbed the Sig from his pocket and fired five shots through the wooden door, splinters bursting from the door into the air, the empty shells flying out the ejection port of the weapon, the air stinking of gun-oil and cordite, the gunshots echoing in the air. It would buy them time. Whoever was on the other side of the door didn’t know what to expect from inside the bedroom.

Archer ducked outside and hurtled down the metal stairs, and heard another boom as the shotgun blew the lock off the bedroom door. In the courtyard below, Katic had fired the engine in her car already and Archer jumped off the rail, skipping the last flight and dropping to the ground. He raced over, pulling open the passenger door and jumping inside.

‘Go!’ he said.

She didn’t need an invitation. She was already flooring it. There was another boom, and Archer heard a smash as one of the brake-lights was hit. Jessie screamed, covering her ears, as her mother screeched the car forward. They were facing 1 Avenue on 14 Street, the opposite side they had arrived, and the car sped down the street. Archer looked over his shoulder, past the girl on the back seat, and looked up at the top of the fire-escape as it came into view.

There were two men standing there.

One had white tape and a splint over his nose, and a pump-action Ithaca in his hands.

Another man was with him. He was older, with red hair, and was also brandishing a shotgun.

They stood there, side-by-side, watching them go.

It had been close.

Too close.

They got lucky with the traffic lights, and hit a green straight away, and Katic sped on over 1 Avenue, speeding down 14 Street towards 2, headed towards Union Square. She turned a hard right when they got to 3, and they moved off uptown, gaining more and more distance from the apartment. Archer breathed a sigh of relief and checked Katic and the girl in the car beside him. Jessie was in tears, upset and scared, but both of them were unharmed.

‘It’s OK, baby, it’s OK. I’m here,’ Katic said, reaching behind and rubbing her daughter’s leg as the girl sobbed, terrified. As the girl grabbed her mother’s hand, Katic turned to Archer.

‘Who the hell was that?’