Charley broke into a sprint down the dark street, Lucky bouncing against his chest like a furry alarm bell.
His feet pounded against wet pavement, each step echoing off the narrow walls of the district.
"HEY!" he shouted at the stumbling figure ahead. "STOP!"
The drunk man turned around, and in the harsh streetlight, Charley saw his face clearly for the first time.
The glazed eyes were gone, replaced by sharp, calculating intelligence. The stumbling gait straightened into coiled muscle. The loose grin became predatory.
He'd been playing drunk perfectly.
"Well, shit," the man said, his voice suddenly clear and focused. "You figured it out faster than most marks."
Without another word, he took off running.
The transformation was instant and terrifying. Gone was the shambling drunk; in his place was a lean machine built for speed and escape.
The thief moved like liquid mercury, flowing over obstacles with practiced ease.
Charley charged after him, desperation driving his legs harder than they'd moved since high school track. Lucky's claws dug into his jacket as the cat tried to maintain balance during their wild pursuit.
'Professional pickpocket,' Charley realized, his mind racing as fast as his feet.
The thief vaulted over a fire hydrant without breaking stride. Charley tried to follow the same move and nearly face-planted into the sidewalk, catching himself with his free hand while protecting Lucky with the other.
'Okay, different strategy,' he thought, scrambling back to his feet. 'He's faster and more agile, but I've got motivation he doesn't understand.'
The chase wound through the district's maze of side streets. The thief knew exactly where he was going, taking sharp turns down alleys and shortcuts that spoke of intimate knowledge of the neighborhood's layout.
But Charley was learning too. When the thief cut left through a narrow passage between buildings, Charley kept going straight, gambling on the geometry of the city blocks. If he was right about the street layout…
He burst out of a parallel alley just as the thief emerged from his shortcut, catching him by surprise. For a moment, they were running side by side, separated by only the width of the street!
"Persistent little fucker, aren't you?" the thief panted, no longer sounding amused.
Instead of answering, Charley angled across the street, trying to cut him off. The thief saw it coming and pivoted, leaping onto the hood of a parked car and using it as a springboard to clear a chain-link fence.
Charley hit the same fence at full speed, his fingers threading through the metal links as he hauled himself up and over. Lucky yowled in protest as they tumbled down the other side, but the cat held on with grim determination.
They were in some kind of industrial courtyard now, filled with loading docks and delivery trucks. The thief was twenty yards ahead, moving through the maze of vehicles like he'd mapped every inch of it.
'He's heading for something specific,' Charley realized. 'This isn't random running. He's got a destination.'
The thought sent ice through his veins. If the thief reached whatever safe house or bolt-hole he was aiming for, Charley would lose him forever. And with him, the Divine Black Card.
His mother's salvation!
Adrenaline flooded his system like rocket fuel. Charley put on a burst of speed he didn't know he possessed, closing the gap as they emerged from the loading area onto another street.
But this street was different. It was more familiar to Charley, but also busier, even at this late hour. Neon signs advertised 24-hour diners and all-night pharmacies.
A few people walked the sidewalks, night shift workers heading home or early shift workers heading to jobs.
'He's trying to reach the commercial district,' Charley understood with growing panic. 'Once he gets there, he can disappear into crowds, duck into businesses, blend in with foot traffic. I'll never find him.'
The realization gave him a desperate idea.
Instead of following directly behind, Charley cut diagonally across the street, ignoring the honk of a late-night taxi.
He was betting everything on his memory of the neighborhood's layout from his college days, when he'd explored every corner of this part of the city.
If he was right, the thief was heading for the intersection of Morrison and Fifth—the heart of the all-night district.
But to get there from where they were, he'd have to pass through the narrow alley behind the old Paramount Theater.
Charley knew a faster route.
He sprinted down a side street, his lungs burning and his legs screaming in protest.
Lucky had stopped meowing and was simply holding on for dear life, his small body pressed against Charley's chest like a furry talisman.
The alley behind the Paramount was a bottleneck—narrow, with high walls on both sides and only one exit. If Charley could reach it first…
He burst into the alley's mouth just as the thief appeared at the other end, thirty yards away.
They saw each other simultaneously.
"Son of a bitch," the thief muttered, slowing to a predatory walk. "You're smarter than you look, puppet boy."
The alley was a canyon of brick and shadows, lit by a single flickering streetlight that cast everything in sickly yellow tones. Dumpsters lined the walls like metal sentinels, and the air smelled of grease and urban decay.
"Just give me the wallet," Charley said, also slowing to a walk as they approached each other. His heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat.
"What's so special about it?" The thief pulled out Charley's wallet, flipping it open with theatrical precision.
"Let's see… twelve bucks in cash, three credit cards, and…" He paused, extracting the black card. "What the hell is this thing?"
In the sickly light, the Divine Black Card seemed to absorb illumination rather than reflect it, a piece of impossible darkness in the urban night.
"It's nothing. Just a membership card."
"Bullshit." The thief held it up to the light, studying its surface. "No numbers, no bank name, no chip. This thing feels expensive. Heavy. Like it's made of something that costs more than my car."
"It's worthless to you. Just give it back."
"Really? Then you won't mind if I keep it as a souvenir." The thief grinned and started backing toward the alley's exit. "Thanks for the workout, hero. Maybe next time don't chase people with—"
Charley launched himself forward before the man could finish the sentence.
Eighteen thousand five hundred dollars. His mother's blocked artery. The ticking clock of cardiac muscle dying with every minute of delay!
Rage and desperation fused into something that felt like pure electricity in his veins.
The thief was ready for him. As Charley charged, the man sidestepped with fluid grace and drove his elbow into Charley's ribs. The impact drove the air from his lungs in an explosive gasp, doubling him over in pain.
"Stay down, hero."
But Charley was already moving, desperation overriding the fire in his ribs. He grabbed for the wallet with one hand while trying to tackle the thief with his body weight.
His fingers actually touched the leather before the thief's fist caught him across the jaw like a sledgehammer.
Pao!
The impact snapped his head sideways, filling his mouth with the metallic taste of blood and sending stars exploding across his vision.
Charley staggered backward, his equilibrium shot, but somehow kept his feet. Lucky had jumped clear during the exchange and was now watching from the safety of a nearby dumpster, his yellow eyes reflecting the streetlight like twin moons.
"I warned you," the thief said, producing a switchblade from his jacket pocket. The blade clicked open with a sound like a death sentence. "But you had to be a hero."