Rules of Honour Read Free

who he was, what he did for a living, and didn’t hassle him for change. He walked alongside the Hyatt, a huge structure of tiered rooms and balconies to make the best of the view across the bay. The Embarcadero Centre was on our right; a three storied shopping mall that spanned several blocks of the city. Apart from security lighting all of the shops remained in darkness and there was no one else around. My boots scuffed the ground, and to me sounded like cannon fire, but Chaney seemed oblivious and carried on to the corner of the hotel where he took a left. Coming round the corner after him, I saw him check his watch and his pace picked up.
    Valets on the hotel door watched Chaney stride past, but didn’t give me as much as a glance: it said something about human nature to me. There was a junction in the road here, a boarding point for the cable cars that carried tourists up and down Nob Hill, but Chaney didn’t approach the stop, instead making for the stairs down to the underground BART system. I counted to ten then followed. He was already past the ticket machines heading for the southbound platform. There was no one else in sight, but I wasn’t worried. The big man was rubbing his eyes and yawning expansively. I fed coins into the machine, took my ticket and then shuffled towards the platform. This time Chaney did look at me, but it was a glancing blow that didn’t stick. He went back to yawning, turning away from me with lack of interest. I slouched against a wall, at the opposite end of the platform.
    The Bay Area Rapid Transport system is on the ball at all hours of the day and night, and it was little more than a minute before the train squealed into the station. Chaney was at the doors in a second, rocking on his heels while he waited for them to open. He squeezed inside even as the doors hissed open. I waited a few seconds more, then clambered aboard the second carriage along. A middle-aged Chinese woman sitting in my carriage gave me a brief fearful look, before quickly averting her eyes. She was sitting with a couple of bags on her lap and as I moved past her she pulled them tight to her chest like a shield. I cringed inwardly, thinking about how I’d frightened the woman, but it was neither the time nor the place to reassure her she was in no danger. The only person in danger on this train was Chaney.
    The next carriage along was deserted.
    I moved through it as the train pulled out of the station and began swaying along the tracks.
    Coming to the next connecting doors, I paused.
    Peeking through the glass I could see Chaney midway along the carriage. He was facing my way, but had taken out his cellphone and was involved in checking the screen for messages. He didn’t see me, and was totally unaware of the other person who had entered the carriage from the far end. He’d obviously had it too easy of late and had lost the intrinsic paranoia necessary for a criminal.
    My friend Jared Rington moved along the carriage with a measured pace, but even from this end I could see the muscles working in his jaw, an old knife scar standing out as a white slash against his tawny skin. Rink hadn’t gone to the trouble I had. He wasn’t disguised, and didn’t see the need. He wanted Chaney to know who was coming for him, and who his executioner was going to be. The only modification to his usual colourful attire was a pair of black leather gloves. Chaney had his back to Rink, but my friend isn’t the type to do a hit from behind. Rink’s voice was muffled, but I still heard his sharp command: ‘Stand up, you piece of shit.’
    Chaney dropped his phone and went for his gun, already turning as he rose.
    Rink struck him with the edge of his hand, a chop to the side of the big man’s neck. Uncontrolled, the blow could kill, but Rink had tempered the force. It was still enough to stagger Chaney and while he was weakened, Rink took the gun from him with a practised twist of the wrist. Chaney grunted something,