The underlying reason why something was – or in this case, wasn’t – happening.
The kind of thing Reed would like to think was simply the lawyer in him talking, though he suspected went a little deeper than even that.
“Couple years ago,” Reed began, “I lost someone too. Somebody that I was very close to, who meant the world to me.”
Pausing there, Reed looked to make sure that Harrison was following him, understanding the full underlying implication, even if unstated, before continuing.
“For two years, I lived with that, imagining every possible thing I could think of. Every major drug dealer and escaped prisoner and big bad out there who might have pulled that trigger.”
Lifting his hand again, Reed turned his palm toward the ceiling. A shrug without moving his shoulders. “Turned out, the shooter was just a kid. Someone that was scared and trying to protect his family, got backed into a corner.”
His features neutral to the point of being almost stony, Harrison sat and stared at him. Every word, he absorbed in silence, his gaze locked on Reed.
“Point being,” Reed said, “I have not discounted Alex Aquino. Far from it. I just want to make sure that before we go jumping at the big shiny object, we’ve done every possible thing we can here in town as well. Talked to every person, chased down every lead, so that when we do go that route, we know it is the route.”
The first time he’d fully articulated the various feelings he’d been having the last couple of days, Reed made himself stop there. A calculated break before things started to sound like preaching, already beginning to trend perilously in such a direction.
Allowing silence to again fall, he stared back at Harrison, letting the man process what was just shared.
A pause lasting nearly a full minute before he whispered, “I appreciate that. My wife would appreciate that.”
At mention of his fallen spouse, red tendrils appeared across the sclera of his eyes. Precursors to fresh tears, their presence always resting just beneath the surface.
“If I may,” he ventured, “where does that now stand?”
“Right now,” Reed replied, “my partner and I are going to go grab a few hours sleep. First thing in the morning, we are going to load up and go pay your brother-in-law another visit.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
There were two windows that The Promisor needed to be very cognizant of. One figurative and the other literal, they were the two things that handfuls of early mornings spent atop the ravine on the opposite side of the highway had informed him were key to successfully managing this second part of the mission.
The means for pulling things off and getting away undetected, left free to move on to the next step in order.
The first of those – the figurative one – was the brief window of time that he had to work with. The narrow gap between the target’s wife leaving each morning and the man himself departing forty minutes later.
A staggered work schedule that saw her exit and return before him each day, affording The Promisor a very finite period during which the target would be up and moving about solo.
A narrow opening during which The Promisor just needed to be patient, waiting for his prey to get into the optimal position.
The other window that also needed to be taken into consideration was of the more literal variety. The enormous panes of glass lining the lower level of the home. Pockets allowing unobstructed firing lines into the structure, the combination of the home’s placement and the fence out back providing a false sense of security as the target moved about within.
Glass free of blinds or curtains that rendered the entire first floor a fishbowl, giving The Promisor a clear line of sight for now. A view that would become obscured the instant the sun crested over the horizon, turning them into reflective surfaces.
Seven hours, The Promisor had laid in wait. Time slowly ticking by, its passage monitored by the drop in air temperature and thinning of the traffic on the highway below.
Twin descents that had bottomed out a couple of hours earlier, the world seeming to come to a complete halt. A moment when not a single headlight could be seen passing. Nary a sound found The Promisor’s ears.
A faint chill permeated the air.
A momentary reset, one day coming to a standstill before flipping over to the next. An audible click that could almost be sensed as the gears of the universe began to turn again, forward progression starting anew.
A phenomenon The Promisor had not experienced in decades, in places a lot further from home than this.
After hours spent in the same exact position, any gap between The Promisor’s body and the earth beneath him had ceased to exist. A melding of the two, the only thing keeping him from being absorbed by the dirt being the tarp he rested on.
A flush fitting that put every part of him in direct contact, making him one with his firing platform and the weapon he gripped tight. An extension of his own form made from steel and synthetic composite resting tight to his shoulder.
Tucked into such a position, all else faded. The sounds of traffic picking up anew and leaves rattling in the thin breeze around him faded. The touch of that same breeze on his damp skin ceased to exist.
There was no taste to the sweat that found his lips.
All non-essential senses drifting to the periphery, his entire focus went into staring through the scope mounted to the top of the Mossberg. A view that was nothing more than a couple of inches across, stripping away anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.
Three months now, The Promisor had known that eventually he would end up in this place. The very first name that had come to mind when designing the mission, in a perfect world, this would have been the spot where it all began. A definitive announcement to all involved who they were and why they were being targeted.
A declaration of what The Promisor believed so ardently, that decisions, actions, had consequences, and it was time for certain individuals to be held accountable for theirs.
Justice in the truest form of the word, not to be confused with whatever punishment the legal system or – all too often these days – the court of public opinion might levy.
The scope aimed at the northwest corner of the house, The Promisor saw the first flash of movement. A shadow dancing across the wall, followed by a dark silhouette making itself visible.
Timing that was even more precise than that of Cara Salem, the target and his wife both adhering to a schedule with maniacal dedication. A routine honed free of any wasted time or effort.
Methodologies The Promisor could not help but respect, both as a means of comporting themselves and for the opportunity it now provided him.
His pulse and breathing remaining completely neutral, The Promisor watched as the shadow went through the expected paces. Slow and stilted steps as the man shrugged off the grog of slumber, rising from his bed and exiting out of the room.
A short journey that took him down the corner staircase before depositing him on the first floor. A direct route to the lower-level bathroom that was the counterpart to his wife’s upstairs, the target doing as he did every morning and going straight to the toilet in the back corner.
No effort to close the door in his wake.
No concern for anybody that might be lurking outside or of his wife having made an emergency return home for something forgotten.
A man completely alone in the world, finishing what he needed to before turning and placing himself in front of the double sinks. A post he assumed every morning, examining his reflection before beginning the most basic of grooming rituals.
Feet planted at shoulder width, he stood unmoving, his chin tilted back slightly.
The exact pose The Promisor had seen him make each and every morning going back several months.
The same one he’d been waiting on for hours now, his finger easing inside the trigger guard.
Chapter Forty
The sun was nothing more than a sliver on the eastern horizon as R
eed pushed north out of Gallipolis. Just barely cresting over the foothills of the western Appalachians, already it was strong enough to raise the internal temperature of the vehicle to just past comfortable. The glare of it was bright enough to cause his right eye to squint.
Two things that were only bound to get worse as it continued its climb into the sky. Things Reed could do without today, not wanting to even consider what the promise of warm sunshine would do to the humidity he’d been dealing with the last couple of days.
The only tiny bit of hope he could cling to being that as they pushed further away from the Ohio River, it would recede in kind.
Seeming to have adopted a similar stance in the backseat, Billie was turned to face the opposite of her normal position. Rather than seated right behind Reed, or even in the center to better see out through the front windshield, her backside was planted tight against the passenger door.
A clear nod to keeping the sun out of her eyes as she lay with her body pressed flat across the rear bench seat.
A pose Reed could not fault in the least, the events of the night and the subsequent conversation with Harrison Salem allowing for much less rest than either had anticipated.
Making sure his partner was fed before leaving the hotel, Reed had stopped for his own bit of fuel at the gas station with the cameras that recorded over themselves every twenty-four hours. Resisting the smells of pancakes and bacon that had drifted out from the diner nearby, he’d instead settled for a breakfast sandwich from the hot bar and two large bottles of Mountain Dew, the first of which was already more than halfway gone in the middle console beside him.
Liquid caffeine that he prayed would be sufficient before requiring him to make a rare foray into forcing down some dreaded coffee.
A thought he entertained for barely a moment before it was forced aside by the sound of his phone bursting to life. Still set on vibrate from the night before, it rattled against the plastic of the middle console, the pronounced sound enough to draw Billie’s chin up from the backseat.
A movement Reed matched an instant after, negotiating a bend in the road before flicking his gaze over to see a string of digits splashed across the screen. A number that wasn’t saved but was still recognized, Reed having texted a rundown of the previous night’s events to it less than an hour before.
“Lieutenant Schoen,” Reed answered, putting the call on speakerphone.
“Detective,” Schoen replied, the sound of voices and movement apparent in the background. A home just getting their day started, with people rushing off to school or work.
“Sorry to call so early, but I just saw your messages and wanted to see what the-” pausing there, he waited until the sound of voices faded behind him, before continuing, “-hell happened last night.”
Having been through it all last night and again a couple of times in his head, Reed still wasn’t sure he had all the particulars. A scene that was truly odd, the men that were looking to stir up trouble at Smokey Jo’s decidedly at odds with the ones that had given themselves up to arrest without commotion and shared not a word after being brought in.
People and motivations that Reed was left only to speculate on, the goal being that his impending discussion with Aquino would clear some things up.
Just as he had attempted to via text, Reed launched right back into the story. Operating from the same basic outline he’d already provided, he pushed forward, adding as much extra meat as he could.
A narrative that took the better part of five minutes, Schoen waiting until he was completely finished before letting out a low, shrill whistle.
“You think either one of them was your shooter?” he asked.
“Almost definitely not,” Reed replied. “The hair, the jackets, the clubs. These guys were as much about looking the part as doing the job. No way they laid in the woods and waited hours for Cara Salem to get home.
“Not to mention, the stuff they were yelling at the bar when we got there.”
Grunting softly in agreement, Schoen asked, “Aquino’s? Maybe after you met with him, he sent someone down to start shaking the bushes?”
“That would be my guess,” Reed said. “Billie and I are on our way to Ross County now to ask him, tell him to call off his dogs so we can do our job.”
“Good luck with that,” Schoen muttered.
The same thought having passed through his mind a couple of times already, Reed didn’t bother commenting. Instead, he opted ahead to the other reason he’d reached out to Schoen that morning, asking, “Were you able to get anything to turn up?”
“No,” Schoen answered. “Not really, anyway. There’s always going to be some low-level stuff going on, and of course there are always rumors, but that’s often more somebody wanting to shove potential competitors under the bus than anything legit.”
The explanation sounded similar to things Reed had seen a number of times in the drug game. People that wanted to bypass putting in the work of building their own empire by simply destroying others and collecting their scraps.
A classic business model, applicable even in these very particular niche markets.
“After we meet with Aquino,” Reed said, “plan is to head your direction. Any chance you’ll be around in the vicinity of noon?”
“I’ll be downtown most of the day,” Schoen said. “Why don’t you stop there, save you the drive up to the north end and me the time of sitting through another damn meeting?”
“You got it,” Reed replied. “Any chance I can also have the chief from Gallipolis PD send you the booking shots of the crew from last night? Prints weren’t in the system, but maybe you or one of your guys might recognize them.”
“Absolutely,” Schoen said. “I’ll distribute as soon as they arrive.”
Chapter Forty-One
Unlike the two men currently sitting in the Gallipolis Police Department, there was no attempt by Alex Aquino to mask the hostility roiling through him. Angst that seemed to seep from his pores as he entered the interrogation room, thrust outward in waves.
Less than twenty-four hours since the last time Reed saw the man, any trace of the emotion that was pouring forth from him in their last encounter was gone. His eyes were clear, void of any puffiness. He wasn’t fighting against his restraints. Not a sound escaped him.
His gaze fixed on the one-way glass comprising the rear wall of the room, he stared with an intensity that gave Reed the impression the man was trying to shatter the pane with his mind. Reduce it to a million tiny shards so he could peer directly at whoever was standing on the other side.
As if any one of them had a thing to do with what happened to his sister.
Keeping his gaze fixed on the mirror, he stared directly at it as he was led to his seat and his bandaged wrists were fastened to the bar rising from the center of the table. Fixed in that position, he waited as the guards retreated from the room behind him.
Only then did he turn his gaze toward Reed standing in the corner, Billie by his side.
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” Aquino opened.
“Yeah?” Reed asked. “Where’s that?”
Unlike a day before, Reed had no interest in sitting down across from the man. In their previous encounter, Aquino had been gifted the benefit of the doubt. Considering that Reed had never met him, that he knew the man had just lost his sister, he tried to come straight at him.
Talk to him with reason, getting him to open up before telling him what happened to Cara.
Courtesies that would not be extended a second time, the stunt Aquino pulled the night before robbing him of that.
“If I have to tell you, you’re even worse at your job than I thought.”
Knowing what happened the day before, Reed entered expecting Aquino would be looking to reassert control. The loss of his sister and the inability to do anything about it himself would have him desperate to prove himself.
Posturing Reed was not about to fall for, refusing to take the bait.
“I d
on’t know about that,” Reed said. “Didn’t take us long to sniff out those two goons you sent down and put them in cuffs.”
Using his elbow, Reed leveraged himself away from the wall. Stepping behind Billie, he began to pace the length of the room, passing through the gap between his chair and the one-way glass.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aquino muttered, his glare shifting back to the mirror.
A none-too-subtle gesture that Reed caught without comment.
“No?” Reed asked. “Those two guys with the leather jackets and long hair that didn’t belong within fifty miles of that small town weren’t yours? Just a couple guys out looking to enjoy the nightlife? Scream at the locals about how they’ll find out what happened?”
Reaching the far end of the room, Reed turned back, his gaze resting on Aquino.
“Nope.”
“Still no, huh?” Reed asked. “Because after spending two days digging through the crime scene and everybody in town, it was starting to look like nobody down there had a damn thing to do with it. No reason for my partner and me to stay, meaning we could head back up to Columbus and start digging into the people we really think were involved.”
Keeping his pace even, Reed passed in front of Aquino, the man’s head remaining fixed in position, even as his eyes shifted to follow Reed’s path.
“But I guess now we have to waste more time looking into who these guys are, because they aren’t saying a word, and you don’t seem to know where they came from.”
So much more, Reed could add. Things such as the fact that it couldn’t be a coincidence that on the same day Aquino found out about his sister, the men showed up in Gallipolis. Or the fact that the car they drove was a rental, loaned out to a man that didn’t exist. Or that neither of them showed up with anything other than the clubs they were carrying, burner cellphones without a single saved name or number, and a wad of cash.
The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller Page 18