Catwalk: Messiah Read Online Free PDF Page A

after the limo.
    Hitch had his victim and a head start. If Cat didn’t act fast, it would be the wrong inhabitant of the limo who’d be without a pulse by dawn. The four-banger limo was no match for the Honda-Suzuki in acceleration or handling, but Cat wasn’t certain how far Hitch would go down the highway before committing his murder and dumping the body. He didn’t fear for the young man, but he didn’t need the death toll piling up due to his lack of insight. Pissed at missing a clue, he pushed the throttle harder.
    Cat’s motorcycle roared through traffic, avoiding the armored taxis and limos. Armored escorts cost a little more, but as dangers like the Titan became more common in Downtown Nitro City, these vehicles began to take over. Riding in something that couldn’t buy you a few extra seconds to scatter was becoming a death-defying risk. The roar of the motorcycle’s engine frightened off the few courageous pedestrians trying to cross against the street signals. Cat raced through more than one light as it blinked red, but none of the NCPD showed up to pursue him. Either he was lucky to avoid them, or they bet against catching up.
    After a few minutes, the signature taillights of the limo appeared, growing larger against the increasing heat of the asphalt. Cat was closing the gap, laying out multiple courses of action as he did so. Offing Hitch meant one paycheck, but did it take away from the odds and ends he’d picked up as peripheral business from tailing Midas and his crew?  
    It didn’t necessarily make the best financial sense to eliminate Hitch. The most intelligent business decision would be to scare him into inactivity for a few months, collect on the bounty as if Hitch was dead, and then let him resurface, only to start collecting on his accomplices.
    When he first arrived in Nitro City, Cat would have done exactly that; let the smart business decision override all other options. After months here, he was willing to listen to the other, more human parts of his psyche. Letting Hitch live meant letting others die. The image of the innocent eight-year old girl from the video ripped through his skull with the vacant cries of a poltergeist. Cat gritted his teeth; a bead of sweat slipped down the side of his face. Given the predatory nature of the crippled miscreant’s crimes, Cat was willing to forfeit a few creds to see Hitch ushered into the Church of the No-Longer Living.
    With a twist of his wrist, he accelerated, intent on fulfilling that goal.

    Hitch caressed the back of the young man’s neck with a meaty paw. At first, his new prey had seemed distant, even frightened. Every advance pushed the boy away. Hitch sighed in response. He didn’t enjoy his prey’s fear or lack of intimacy. He wanted acceptance and hoped for desire. If neither could be received, then a motionless, still-warm body was preferable to one who would resist him. Hitch had met with rejection throughout his entire life. He wanted more.  
    “What’s your name, pet?” he asked. His hand brushed the pale skin of the slender young man.
    Bright eyes heavily framed in black eyeliner met his. “Jesse, sir.”
    Hitch smiled, showing his discolored teeth. “Don’t call me sir, Jesse. We’re here to be friends, after all.”  
    His hand trailed over the young man’s collarbone and pushed his thin shirt open. His fingers caressed Jesse’s chest. The dark, sparse hair on Jesse’s upper lip and the trail down his stomach that disappeared into his jeans told Hitch that Jesse was probably of age, even though the softness of his slender arms and legs and chest made a drag queen look butch. His skin was the signature pallor of those unfortunate Downtown dwellers that had never seen the sun. He represented little challenge, and that alone was an aphrodisiac to Hitch. The other women in the area were older, calloused, more experienced and more likely to point out his shortcomings. He would have none of that.
    Jesse was silent,