Max Payne

Roscoe Street Station

The motel was mob infested dive. I came in from the cold and the dark and almost welcomed its chintzy, warm decor. Outside, the city was a cruel monster with a frozen heart. I warmed my hands with my breath before surreptitiously moving to my usual pay phone. No one lingered in the drab lobby, not even the clerk who was probably in the back room with some hooker.

Since transferring and going undercover I’d slowly worked my way from small-time to the big fish, trying to get to Medusa’s head—the source of the Valkyr drug. I’d gone deep, Alex and his partner B.B. my only contacts in the DEA, the only ones in this decrepit city who knew I was down here among the roaches and dirty needles.

The pay phone rang. I picked it up on the second ring.

“V for victory,” I whispered.

“Maxey, B.B. here. Listen, something urgent has come up with Lupino. You need to meet with Alex, immediately.”

“Where?” I didn’t like the fear in B.B.’s voice.

“Roscoe Street Station, thirty minutes.”

I hadn’t had a face-to-face with Alex since going undercover. My mind raced. What had happened with Lupino urgent enough to risk blowing my cover? 

“I’ll be there.” The line went dead.

Back outside the mercury was falling fast. It was colder than the Devil’s heart, raining iced pitchforks as if the heavens were ready to fall. I pulled my coat about my neck, buried my hands deep into the pockets. Everyone was running for shelter, like there was no tomorrow. The atmosphere didn’t get any better when I reached the subway.

The feeling hit me like a point-blank shot straight in the face. Something was wrong with this scene. People were moving quickly, trying to stay warm, trying to keep ahead of the storm. My Beretta stirred nervously under my coat, but it was too late. The train doors rumbled shut behind me, and I was in for the ride. Next stop, Roscoe Street Station.

And Alex.

#

I reached Roscoe without any delay. No one but me wanted off at the station. I pushed passed a half dozen weary commuters, stepped onto the platform. The station was drenched in gloom and Alex was a ghost nowhere to be seen. I had thought he would meet me at the platform. I checked my watch, looked around. No one. The train rumbled away.

“Alex?”

My voice bounced around the empty station as if it were a tomb. A few steps toward the exit and I froze. The gates to the surface streets had been rolled across the walkway. I rushed up the steps. The locks were engaged. 

“Alex?”

Nothing. What was going on here? If the station had been closed due to the storm the train wouldn’t have stopped. There’d be some kind of warning, or alert...

I looked around. At the other end of the platform was a blue door marked Maintenance. It was ajar. Maybe there was a janitorial crew on duty here and they would let me out. I jogged over, rubbing my icy hands together for warmth.

“Hey, anyone home? I got locked in down here and...”

A trail of rust lead to the door. The smell hit me like a gun shot. I pushed the door open with my foot and followed the blood with my eyes. A uniformed man lay in a deeper pool of the red stuff, face down. His uniform read Transit Police.

I pushed into the maintenance closet, letting the door close behind me. The smell was stronger now. Death was in the air at Roscoe Street. 

I knelt by the transit cop, feeling for a pulse, knowing I would come up empty. Stone cold. He was a big man, but I managed to lift his body to reveal three neat bullet holes in his chest. Professional. I would have to find Alex and fast.