Unit 33

They were no strangers to the area. They worked at 2nd National Bank, kitty-corner to the Hyatt on Market Street. More specifically, they worked for the company’s corporate security department. Along with several of their coworkers, they had all but closed O’Toole’s Bar and Grill a few blocks away and now it was time to catch the train.

Abbey was tired and looking forward to cuddling down with her feline companion, Bootsy, under a warm heating blanket. She liked Ron all right, but he was more coworker than anything else. If you asked him, though, you might get a different answer. They both lived in the East Bay. So, for Abbey, it was only natural that they would try to catch the same train.

"Strange," she thought, looking up towards 2nd National as they hurried down the street. "The office lights on the sixth floor corner window were still lit. That was her boss, Dan Holmes,’ office. She knew he kept odd hours but her gut told her something wasn’t right."

"Ron, do you see the lights are still on in Mr. Holmes’ office?"

"Probably the cleaners," Ron answered.

The usual friendly clang of the trolley car coming down California Street had long ago gone silent for the evening. The large shoeshine stand that accommodates four patrons at a time sat empty, looming near the entrance to the stairs leading to the underground train stations.

"Where are they?" she mumbled to herself.

The street seemed suddenly deserted. She instinctively picked up the pace.

Ron seemed oblivious; his thoughts were on what he was hoping for a little later at his place.

The underground stairway to the train stations came into full view. Abbey looked up again at the sixth floor. This time the lights were out.

"You’re not scared, are you?"

"No, just a little anxious. I’m not used to walking around here this time of the night. Strange, how I don’t even think about the area during the day when I’m working. It’s really unsettling. There’s not even a taxi or police car around. Are we really the only ones?"

She slipped her arm into his. He smiled; things were going his way.

As they approached the stairs, a black SUV accelerated towards them down Drumm Street, tires screaming. Someone ran right by them. Where had he come from, and who was he running from? He was overweight, fiftyish, breathing hard, gasping for air as he passed them, trying to maintain his balance but clearly losing the battle. Ron caught sight of his eyes as he stumbled past. He was scared—really scared.

Ron tightened his grip on Abbey’s arm and literally pulled her down a couple of steps. The runner managed to cross the BART plaza and make it to Market toward the front of 2nd National. Then, exhausted, he fell. He got up but fell again. Then got up a second time, only he didn’t make it more than twenty feet before he fell again. The SUV was still hurtling down the street. The driver hit the brakes and screeched through the intersection, turning hard, momentarily accelerating then slamming on the brakes, coming to rest.

The chase was over.

Ron and Abbey looked at each other in disbelief. They climbed slowly up one step to get a better view without being noticed. Abbey’s heart pounded. She began to shake. Ron tightened his grip on her arm.

Suddenly, the rear door of the car opened. The SUV was menacing, its windows blacked out. It sat there for one of those moments that felt like an eternity. Finally, a large figure emerged and grabbed the runner who was screaming.

The big guy had a tight hold on the runner. He pushed him into the back seat, even as the runner yelled for help.

His screaming went unanswered.