It seems to continue forever. When I see someone who looks even slightly like Kane, I hold my breath and focus my sight in on him. It never is. I can see Noah shaking his leg. His attempts to hold in the anger somehow without racking up an even higher taxi bill.
I see the huge skyscraper draw a shadow over the day. The Prudential has finally overcast us. I focus on the task at hand. Managing to pick Kane out of a crowd. I had always prided myself with that ability when we were together in high school but now that my son's life depends on it, I put very little faith in it.
Noah's phone starts to ring. He pulls it out of his pocket. It worries me who it is. For all I know, Kane could have tapped into Noah's phone. It wouldn't be the first time. Noah's face does not contort so I remain hopeful that it is not a threatening call. He answers it and quickly becomes emerged in the conversation.
He looks up at the driver abruptly.
"I need you to go to Adam's Bar and Grill on Cape St." He says to the cab driver.
The driver nods and takes a sharp left turn. Traffic begins to build and my ever racing heart begins to beat so loud that I can hear it over the humming engine of the cab.
"Thank you so much," Noah says into the phone. "We'll call back later."
Noah hangs up the phone and looks at me.
"One of Tabitha's friends saw him here earlier," he says. "Let's hope he is still there."
Almost immediately the cabs stops and we lay in front of probably the shittiest in bar in the city. It is entirely run down and the fluorescent signs that hang in the front window aren't lit anymore. We get out of the car. I have a bad feeling about this.
Noah breathes out and tries to act casual. He opens the door and a wafting smell of marijuana and 99 cent Vodka shots pours over me. What is it with bars having the most overwhelming scents.
Noah sits at the bar and casually taps the bar. I sit next to him with a faux smile glued to my face. I would attempt a neutral appeal but with all of the chaos pumping through my face, it would quickly move to an emotion anyway. I may as well try to make it one that seems less suspicious than a sobbing wreck.
The bartender walks over and looks us up and down. She looks oddly uneased by our appearances.
"What can I get you?" She asks.
"Just something off the tap," he says. "She'll have the same."
She nods and pours our beers. While she does, her eyes remain plastered on us, like she is waiting for us to cause a commotion. She pushes the beers to us.
Noah grabs him and sips. He looks around the room, analyzing its every detail. He is looking for Kane. I nervously watch him. He has only seen his face once but I am sure by his reaction at the mental facility that Kane's face is imprinted on his brain. I take my beer and take a large gulp. This is the first bit of alcohol that I have drank in almost 9 months. It feels good going down my throat and helps create a distraction from the hell swirling around me.
"Is there an apartment upstairs?" Noah asks.
The bartender tenses up. She looks back and forth between us once again.
"No," she says. "Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering where those stairs lead?" He points to a long stairway that is blocked off by a pool table.
"That's just our storage closet," she responds.
Noah slips his hand onto my thigh and squeezes it. He gulps down another portion of his beer and stands up. He stretches his hand out. He looks at me. I am trying to read his signals but they are very confusing. I stand up with him. He grabs my hand.
"Does it cost money to play pool?" He asks. I think I am picking up on his plan.
"Just slip quarters into the table and it'll release the cue balls." She says.
We walk hand in hand to the pool table. I can feel every eye in the room on us. My heart beats louder and louder. Noah digs in his pocket and pulls out two quarters. He puts him into the table and the balls begin rolling out. The wooden triangle lies on the center of the table. He pulls out the balls one by one in places them in the triangle. He looks at me as he does so.
"One." He nudges to the door directly next to me, blocked entirely by the side of the table.
"Two." The ball collides with the table making an unpleasant clunk!
"Three!" He yells, grabs my hand and jumps onto the pool table. He jumps from the table to the stairs and races up them as quickly as possible. He basically carries me the entire time until my feet land on the stairs. I hear chairs fall over and patrons begin to yell. Noah kicks the door open and pulls me in. He slams it after we are in. The ruckus outside of the door grows. He clicks the lock and grabs a stray chair from the room in front of us. He secures it under the door knob.
The room around us is wide open. The ceiling are high and the walls freshly painted white. Only a few pieces of furniture lay around but definitely not enough for this space to be lived in. The pounding on the door grows more intense. Noah pulls me away just a knife is thrown and cracks through the old splinters. The blade just barely missed my back. The adrenaline is too high. I can feel myself trembling.
I hear footsteps. I listen as they get closer and closer until he becomes visible. Kane. He stands in a cocky stance. He wears loose jeans but I can see a black object weighing them down. A gun. Shit.
Noah sees him and his anger erupts. He tackles him. Kane is forced to the ground with the impact. Noah holds him against the ground. Kane remains calm and snarky. The gun in Kane's pocket raises my anxiety. Noah didn't see it.
"Where is my son?" Noah barks. He holds Kane down with both of his arms and legs, nearly quartering him.
"Your son?" Kane asks. He chuckles lightly. "That would explain the blue eyes."
"Where is he." Noah screams. Noah pushes his elbow into Kane's chest and with his newly freed hand, digs in his pocket. He pulls out a knife.
"Remember this?" Noah growls at Kane. He takes the knife and hold it against Kane's throat.
"Now, tell me where my son is or I swear to God I will slit your throat."
Kane's smile falters slightly. He puts his hands up to signify that he has surrendered. This isn't a good sign. I have known this man for seven years and I know for a fact that he has never surrendered.
"Alright, I'll tell you." Kane puts one of his hands down and grabs the gun out of his pocket. He pushes the barrel against Noah's head.
"No!" I scream. Noah may be able to survive a knife wound to the leg but not a gunshot to the head.
"One for one?" Kane laughs.
I stand mortified as I watch Joseph's potential fathers in a fight to the death. He may never know his real father—whoever that might be.
Noah gets off of him and stands up. He throws down the knife and holds his hands up. He knows that the gun will win over the knife any day. Kane gets up and keeps the barrel pointed at Noah in his right hand. I feel my anger swell up and the fire enter my palm. With all of the strength I can muster, I slap Kane's arm right arm. He hits the trigger just as the barrell points to his left leg. He falls to the ground, a large bullet hole in his calf. Blood flows out of it like a river. He screams and clutches the bullet wound. Noah bends down and gets close to Kane's face.
"Tell me where my son is." Noah demands.
"I'll never tell you, he deserves to die," Kane says maniacally. "Just like his whore mother."
The anger rises in Noah and nothing can stop him now. He lifts his bad leg and stomps down on Kane's face. Kane calls out in pain.
"TELL ME." Noah demands.
Kane spits on the floor while making direct eye contact with Noah.
Noah grabs the gun that laid on the floor. He points it directly at Kane's temple. Kane turns his head and looks at me in the eyes. His deep brown eyes reflect seven years of memories.