Page 35 of The Circle

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHRISTINE

Danny and I start moving ahead more quickly when we see Brasil step into Alec’s face. Goddamnit, I wish we had a way to hear what was happening. I mean, I can guess. Alec said some very Alec shit and got into Brasil’s head and now Brasil is going to try to do to Alec what all of us have wanted to do to Alec at one time or another.

And which I very nearly did when I shot him off a cliff. And I love the guy.

So, I get it. I know how crazy Alec can make someone become.

We’re looking left, right, forward, back. It’s a workday, so there are a number of guys wandering around, doing… whatever work they do here.

They’re looking at us. It’s hard not to notice two Americans carrying guns, sprint-sneaking toward a very public bridge which is also a tourist attraction.

Which causes me to realize: Whatever comes of this situation, we’re going to have to get the hell out of Belfast. Soon. Feels like we’re starting to run out of places around the world where we can go with impunity.

For the better part of the last ten years we’ve been globe-hopping, burning places down as we tear through them. The only reason we haven’t been picked up yet is Alec’s money. Money can be used to sponge away a shitload of sins and get people to look the other way. But there’s a limit to everything. We’re not going to be able to buy our way out of trouble if we continue making such a public spectacle out of our escapades.

Why don’t we ever wear masks? I wonder. If we make it out of this one, we should think about doing something to obscure our extremely recognizable faces.

“Keene,” Danny whisper-shouts, “deal with the fuckers in the truck. I’ll handle Brasil.”

“But—”

“It’s not up for discussion, Christine.”

Except for when we’re fucking, I don’t typically like being given orders. But there’s no time to have a lover’s spat about tone policing at the moment, so I just go with it.

Danny keeps crouch-running straight ahead as I curl around to deal with the van. We’re way, way too exposed. This sucks. Ever since we got to Belfast, shit has been slapdash as balls. It’s partially to do with the stakes of this situation, but also partially to do with the fact that we’re involved with a bunch of other people who aren’t us.

Even though they’re not here right now, we can feel the Watsons’ anxiety. Or, at least, I can. So we’re doing dumb shit. Like running out in the open. Or, y’know, leaving an entire cache of weapons like five miles away instead of bringing long guns capable of shooting at distance with us.

It’s like we’re fuckin’ amateurs all of a sudden.

As I approach the passenger side of the van, ready to pop a bullet in the brains of the two guys sitting there, I hear something. Something familiar. Something I recognize very, very well.

The crack of a rifle piercing the air.

It pulls the attention of everyone within range. Or at least everyone within range who also knows that sound well.

Me. The guys in the van. Danny. The guys on the bridge. We all turn our heads in the direction of the shot.

I glance quickly enough that I can see the end of the barrel being withdrawn from the open window where the shot came from. And as quickly as the bullet flying through the air, my head snaps back toward the bridge.

What I see takes a moment for me to process.

For the second time today, a mop of red hair accented by white and grey explodes, sending a blossom of bloody streamers into the air.

As Brasil Lynch drops to the floor of the bridge.

Dead.

DANNY

Watching Brasil go down is confusing. Confusing because this isn’t how this was supposed to go. Confusing because I thought I would be the one to end his life. Confusing because I have no idea who it is who just took the shot.

Eliza and her family are back at the warehouse with the Lynch boys.

Christine is behind me.