by Jason Kasper
I blinked distractedly, my vision once again filled with the redwood trees rising beyond the windshield. “That was it, Ian. He may as well have told me nothing at all. But as long as I get the call to join the organization, he’s done his part .”
I looked over to see Ian’s face visibly reddening .
“Hey, fucker,” he shot back, “you have less than a ten percent chance of success. That means a ninety percent chance that you rat on me and my source, and then we’ll be hunted down and killed. The only reason the Handler’s organization doesn’t know about me already is that Boss’s team handled all the direct communication, and look how that turned out. I wouldn’t expect you to understand if you hadn’t seen it happen. But you watched Boss and Ophie and Matz laugh in my face when I tried to warn them about the Handler — ”
“You think that hasn’t occurred to me a hundred times a day ?”
“—and now you’re doing the same thing. So don’t underestimate the gravity of what we’re trying to do here. Because my worst fear is that you’re going to share the same fate despite my best attempts to protect you .”
I shook my head slightly. “You think this is harder than it is because normal people like you have your attachments, your egos, and your concerns about family or home or a warm bed. Stop caring whether you live or die, and when, and everything else becomes simple. So is this .”
In truth, my thoughts were becoming clouded, murky with an infinite number of possibilities of betrayal, of double- or triple-crossing by any one of the people I had met since my attempted suicide less than four months ago. They were dizzying in their number, impossible to contemplate individually before a competing thought invaded. Then, as soon as I had considered that new idea, it would be ousted by a successor eager for my attention .
Ian looked sullen, withdrawn, his hands now tucked into his jacket .
I regretted having to keep information from him. He had supported the team at every step along the way and was now putting his life on the line for revenge when he could have simply abandoned me instead. In a way, his act of reaching out to me in the Dominican Republic had saved my life as surely as being part of the team had .
And for those reasons alone, Ian had been a member of the team all along .
I slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Ian, I’m starving. Let’s go get tacos .”
3
October 23, 2008
Newark, New Jersey
I watched my breath slip away in long white clouds as I strode down the sidewalk toward the neon sign spelling KONTIO’S TAVERN .
My coat felt insufficient against the still night air, its temperature quickly sinking toward the freezing point. I glanced about the empty street, looking for my contact person but seeing no one. Distant traffic noise from the interstate was soon buried beneath the thumping bass notes as I approached the bar and a single car passed me without slowing. Slightly less discomforting than the extreme cold, I thought, was the smell. The mingled scents of chemical plants, car and plane traffic, and landfills clotted into a single pervasive odor that hovered somewhere between burning rubber and rotten eggs .
I reached the recessed door of the bar, stopping outside it as instructed .
As soon as I did so, the lone figure of a man appeared from an alley down the street. He walked toward me with a casual gait, his heels clicking on the sidewalk at a methodical tempo. As I saw his tall, lean form move closer, I felt a pang of fear .
Both the gait and body type belonged to Ophie .
I stood in disbelief, first and foremost that I would encounter the survivor on my very first meeting with the Handler’s organization, and, more critically, that the betrayer was Ophie rather than Matz .
I pulled my bare hands from my pockets and kept them visible in the frigid night as I faced him with a neutral stance .
He must have wanted to talk. My identity was no secret. I had received the recruitment call on my personal cell phone after reinstating the number upon my return from sabbatical in the Dominican. The caller had addressed me by name before providing rendezvous instructions to this tavern in Newark. If Ophie had wanted me dead, there was ample opportunity to make it happen without confronting me face-to-face .
But as the man drew closer, his countenance materialized under the streetlamps and I saw that he wasn’t Ophie after all. Neatly combed hair and a goatee framed handsome Hispanic features, and as he stopped next to me I estimated he was in his mid-forties .
He said, “How you doing ?”
“Never better. You ?”
“You here because you got the call?” His voice was gravelly, with the slightest trace of Latino intonation .
“Yes. I’m David Rivers .”
“Sergio.”
We briefly shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you, Sergio .”
“So, why did you agree to this ?”
I shrugged, stuffing my numb hands back into my coat pockets. “I cut my teeth in the Rangers and then got a medical discharge. And I can’t handle a desk job after going to war .”
“What are you looking for ?”
“Combat. However I can get it .”
“Is that what you think we do ?”
“If it’s not, then we’re wasting each other’s time .”
“Fair enough, David. I’m going to lay out some ground rules right now, out here. Then we can go in and warm up, have a beer, and get to know each other. Okay ?”
I nodded. “Sure .”
“We’re not interested in training you. We want to see your existing capabilities. If you mention my name or speak of me in any way, you’re out. If you get arrested or detained in any way, you’re out. If you do well, you’ll receive another phone call at some point in the future. Until then, your task is to do one thing and one thing only: whatever you’re asked. Let’s get inside .”
We passed through the heavy door into a dim, narrow room with warm air that was a welcome change from the bitter cold. The smell was likewise a reprieve as I inhaled equal parts stale beer, burned ribs, and fried seafood. A long bar divided the display of beer taps and liquor bottles from the patrons filling the room to half-capacity, their murmured conversation drowned amid ’80s rock. A few people looked up briefly as Sergio stopped me just inside the door with his hand on my arm .
I looked at him, seeing in the murky light that his black hair and goatee were speckled with gray. “See that man in the black coat?” he said .
I followed his gaze to a table in front of the bar, where a massive bald man wearing a black leather jacket over a hoodie sat facing our direction. His ears had the warped appearance that came from years of being mashed into a wrestling mat, and the flat bridge of his nose indicated at least a few past breaks. His mouth spread into a wide smile, baring long teeth, as he broke into laughter at the words of an average-sized black man seated across from him whose dreadlocks were pulled into a dense ponytail .
I said, “Who is he ?”
“He’s the biggest guy in the room, and right now that’s good enough. Your first test is to knock him unconscious and escape .”
With these words, I felt a surge of unexpected relief. The looming dread of uncertainty had evaporated with the simple task at hand, and, far more significantly, I was not facing the showdown with Ophie I had been certain of a minute ago. Instead, I would channel the turbulent rage and sheer force of will motivating my search for the traitor, much less the Handler, into a simple bar fight .
I stifled a grin. “No problem. This will be fun .”
Sergio gave a curt nod. “You have three minutes to make contact. Time starts now .”
He started his watch and looked at me expectantly .
Turning, I calmly negotiated the narrow space between the bar and the tables while casting a sidelong glance at my target and his friend. Finding the single open stool beside the bald man’s table, I hurriedly took a seat .
“’Scuse me,” an older brunette in a denim jacket said from the neighboring barstool, �
�I’m saving that seat for my girlfriend .”
I plucked a twenty from my wallet and set my elbow on the bar, holding the folded bill between two fingers as I suavely glanced at her. “Sweetheart, I’ll show you two magic tricks and be gone before your friend even gets here. And if I’m wrong about that, drinks for you and her are on me for the rest of the night .”
She hesitated. I could see her mind churning as she tentatively spun a finger around the lip of her glass .
I leaned in. “Skeptical? Sure you are. What I am going to perform for you tonight is an illusion called the Open Bottle. And for my second trick, I’m going to disappear .”
By then, the bartender had made his way over and snatched the twenty from my hand. He leaned over the bar and called, “What can I get you?” over a wailing guitar solo screeching from the house speakers .
“What’s your name, sir ?”
“I’m Terry .”
“Terry, have we met before ?”
“No.”
“I would like you to select a bottle of beer from the bar. Any bottle of beer, at random, and leave the cap on it .”
He procured a bottle from the fridge behind him, then set it on the bar and slid it toward me .
“Terry has selected a Harpoon IPA. Ma’am, would you agree that this is a standard bottle, normal in every way ?”
The brunette nodded, slowly blinking mascara-coated eyelashes. “Sure .”
I picked up a thin bar napkin, then unfolded it and delicately draped it over the bottle. “When I remove the napkin, the bottle will magically be open .”
Taking a deep breath, I placed both elbows on the bar and held trembling fingertips a few inches from the beer with an expression of intense concentration. Then I relaxed, gave a sigh of relief, and smiled. Grasping a corner of the napkin between two fingers, I announced, “I give you…the Open Bottle !”
I whipped off the bar napkin with a flourish, letting it flutter to the ground behind me .
Unimpressed, the woman glanced from me to the beer and back again .
“The bottle cap’s still on, dumbass .”
I looked at the cap as if it had appeared out of nowhere. “You’re absolutely right. Well, maybe this will work .”
Grabbing the neck of the bottle, I rotated it upside down and stood from my stool. Without warning, I whirled around and smashed it into the bald man’s head as hard as I possibly could .
The bottle didn’t break .
From across the table, his friend looked at me with an unmistakable expression of pity as all conversation in the bar ceased in one climactic moment. I swung the bottle into my target’s head once more with the same effect—the sparkplug of a shaved skull reverberated with the strike, but the bottle remained intact in my stinging hand .
The bald man set both palms flat on the table, pushed back his chair, and stood as I cocked back the bottle a third time. He turn to look at me—he was only about a head taller than I was but outweighed me by close to one hundred pounds—just as I swung the bottle above his ear .
He caught my forearm in the viselike grip of his left hand, his cold gray eyes locked on mine. I threw an offhanded jab into his throat and then swung my knee toward his groin. Before it connected, he launched a lightning-fast right hook into my cheekbone .
My vision melted into ringing blotches of color .
The blow should have sent me flying across the room but failed to do so because—and only because—he still held my right wrist in his hand. I spun downward in a wide arc, dangling from his outstretched arm. The next few moments were a blur, but I was vaguely aware of his hands on my coat followed by the peculiar sensation of flying as my view canted sideways and he receded into the distance .
I hit the bar, bounced once, and crashed into the far wall .
A few liquor bottles rained down from above, slamming into me as I shielded my head. I scrambled to grab a fifth of Wild Turkey from the floor, then leapt to my feet and whipped it toward my adversary’s head in a sharp overhand throw .
He leaned sideways and easily dodged the bottle, though it struck the chest of an onlooker, who went tumbling to the ground .
I ducked to grab another bottle and had just risen again when I was tackled from the side first by one large man and then another .
They pinned me to the ground, and I heard one of them shout over the bar, “Viggs, you want to press charges ?”
With my face smashed into the filthy tile below me, I heard my target’s voice for the first time .
“On that kid? He didn’t even hurt my feelings. Take him out the back door, let him sleep it off in the alley. And I’ll need a new round at my table .”
With that, I was hoisted up and dragged into a dingy kitchen, past the smell of smoking ribs and frying seafood. I fought wildly to escape the bouncers’ clutches, Sergio’s words hanging heavy over my world in the frenzied moments of desperation that followed .
If you get arrested or detained in any way, you’re out .
* * *
I was dragged kicking and flailing down a back hall toward a gunmetal-gray door that swung open to reveal a narrow staircase leading down .
“Watch your step, asshole,” one of the bouncers said, throwing me down the stairs face first .
I barely had time to tuck my head into my elbows. My body rolled in a tumbling fall, brutally impacting against the hard corners of the steps with increasing tempo until I crashed into a concrete floor .
I curled into a half-fetal position as the bouncers descended the stairs, their footsteps barely audible over the sound of a strained groaning noise that I gradually realized was coming from me. Strong hands on my shoulders, my feet dragging against the concrete, I strained to take in my surroundings through a cloud of pain. Lights overhead sent spikes to the back of my ringing skull as my jacket was stripped off and my pockets were emptied. Then I felt the cold clasp of a handcuff tighten around my left wrist .
They hoisted me up and pushed both arms over my head before closing the other handcuff tightly on my opposite wrist, suspending me upright. The boundaries of my vision were blurred as I shifted my narrow focus upward and saw that the chain of the handcuffs was wrapped over a ceiling pipe. One of the men bound my ankles together with duct tape, and I squinted through the darkness to see cases of beer stacked along the far wall. Then a knife appeared before my eyes, the blade turning downward as my shirt was cut from my torso .
A voice in a thick Jersey accent called, “Whoda fuck is this ?”
The speaker entered from a doorway to my right, pausing for a moment before he cautiously approached me. He was deeply tanned and easily in his forties, with creases around his eyes and close-cropped silver hair. He examined me with a look of mild interest .
One of the bouncers said, “He jumped Viggs upstairs .”
“Jumped Viggs?” He released a chuckle of disbelief, then snatched my wallet from the bouncer and pulled out the driver’s license. “David Rivahs, Virginia. Jesus. Run the address and find out ‘bout his family. Call the other joints, see if they’ve had any action. If this is the start of something, I wanna respond fast .”
“You got it .”
“And you know the other thing ?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” The bouncer took my license and then vanished through the doorway with his partner .
I gazed weakly behind me, half-expecting to see Sergio in the corner, watching. But the room was empty. I had to be within the realm of the test, right? An evolving scenario with a wide cast of players evaluating my performance, perhaps .
If it wasn’t, I thought, then I had just failed in spectacular fashion .
I looked back at the man, who reached into his slacks to withdraw a lighter and a pack of Marlboros. Plucking a single cigarette, he lit it and inhaled deeply before blowing the smoke toward the ceiling .
“You know,” he said lazily, “couple years back they banned smoking in bars. By April you couldn’t even smoke in a casino, but that got repeale
d last month. Which is great for Atlantic City, but here in Newark? I gotta come down here. All the way down to the cellar to burn one without freezing to death this time of year. You believe that ?”
“You seem pretty confident I won’t report you .”
He took another drag and blew the smoke sideways. “After the ban, I ended up doing a lot of work down here instead of in the back room upstairs. At first I hated it—it’s dark, dusty, no ventilation. But I came to love it here. You can probably guess why .”
“Why don’t you explain it to me, Cancer ?”
“Well I’ll be down here balancing my books, okay? You know, running the numbers, whudevah. And just when I think my night couldn’t get more boring, you know what I hear ?”
“A body falling down the fucking stairs .”
Cancer whipped the cigarette out of his mouth, his expression lighting up as he regarded me. “Exactly. A body falling down the fucking stairs. Just the thump-thump-thump , getting louder all the time, and then that final crash. Then you guys always groan at the bottom. Can’t help it, I suppose. Now I ain’t gonna lie to you. All that sudden banging around scared the shit outta me the first few times, okay? But it means my night just got a whole lot more interesting .”
“I’m glad one of us benefits from this arrangement .”
“And there’s one more sound I love. Know what that is ?”
I hawked a wad of blood-stained spittle onto the floor. “A child’s laughter ?”
He paused, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Better than that, buddy. Listen for it with me now. Hear that?” He grandiosely waved his Marlboro toward the ceiling .
I only caught rock music drifting down from the bar, now muted to the same bass notes I’d heard before entering .
Then, the volume of the bass notes increased substantially .
Cancer gasped. “There it is. The house music getting turned up. You know what that means ?”
“They’re about to start karaoke ?”