by Tom Wood
‘Got it all?’ Castel asked.
‘Everything worth taking,’ one answered.
Castel rubbed his palms together while Abe scratched at his stubble. He didn’t see a gesture Castel made but he did notice three of the Nameless nearing. One had his hands behind his back. The other carried a jerrycan. The third sucked on a cigarette.
‘Lab’s gotta go,’ Castel said. ‘Doesn’t matter if the stranger is a cop, a rival or just a neighbour who is sick of the stink. Can’t risk it.’
He clicked his fingers and pointed at the trailer. The Nameless with the jerrycan stepped inside and began sloshing gasoline around.
‘Shit,’ Abe said. ‘I’m sorry … I couldn’t—’
‘No need to apologise,’ Castel said. ‘Bad things happen to good people all the time. That’s no one’s fault. Least of all yours.’ He narrowed his eyes to look Abe up and down. ‘Unless you’re a secret master of the universe and you forgot to mention it?’
‘No, I’m not.’ Abe managed a half-smile. ‘And thank you.’
‘Oh, don’t thank me,’ Castel said.
The biker with the jerrycan stepped outside and threw more of the gasoline over the exterior walls.
‘You’re good people, Abe,’ Castel said, and his arctic blue eyes had never looked so cold.
The two Nameless nearby were on Abe then. He struggled and pleaded as one hit him and wrestled him as the second – the one who had had his hands behind his back – set about binding him with duct tape.
It was over in seconds. Abe was face down on the ground with his wrists bound behind his back and his ankles taped together. He could just about turn his head enough to look at Castel, who said, ‘Piece of advice, Abe: never threaten to shoot someone.’ He put his sunglasses back on, hiding the arctic blue eyes. ‘Just shoot ’em.’
‘Listen to me,’ Abe said, words fast and desperate. ‘I was making it up. The guy wasn’t interested in the lab. He didn’t care about the meth.’
‘Sure he didn’t. Why would he?’
‘I swear,’ Abe said. ‘He was looking for my ex, Michelle, and her kid. That’s it. He was only a stalker.’
‘A stalker?’
‘He hurt me,’ Abe continued. ‘I wanted you to mess him up for me to even the score. Please, I wouldn’t lie to you.’
Castel said, ‘But you just told me you lied. You wouldn’t lie about lying to me, would you? Or are you lying about lying about lying?’
Abe couldn’t answer because Castel used the heel of his snakeskin boot to roll him on to his back and the Nameless with the duct tape laid a strip over Abe’s mouth.
He yelled and screamed, though only a muffled growl escaped the duct tape.
‘Say again?’ Castel said.
The two Nameless hoisted Abe up and carried him towards the trailer.
Castel clicked his fingers at the Nameless smoking a cigarette. ‘Once we’re done, go to the motel. Get eyes on the fisherman. I want you to know him like you know your own pee-pee.’
The Smoker said, ‘Yes, chief.’
Castel clicked his fingers and danced on the spot.
Abe bucked and struggled as much as he could, which had no effect on the two bikers carrying him. They were too big. Too strong.
They dropped him inside his trailer, and he wriggled and thrashed on the floor. The stench of gasoline filled his nose and the fumes made his eyes stream tears. He saw the two Nameless walk away and the Smoker stepped forward to strike a shiny lighter and toss it through the doorway without ceremony.
It landed out of Abe’s sight but he heard the whoosh of nearby gasoline igniting.
All around Abe the interior set ablaze. Fierce red flames licked the walls and rose up to surround the doorway. It was the only means of escape but, unable to move, Abe could do nothing except watch Castel, framed by fire, dancing on the spot to a song only he could hear.
TWENTY-SIX
As Victor approached the motel he slowed to a crawl. He pulled into the lot with his foot off the accelerator, engine off before the truck had finished reversing into a spot facing the exit.
There was a car in the spot next to him.
That car was the only other vehicle in the lot reverse-parked.
It had Illinois plates.
Victor entered the motel office, surprising the manager who had been playing on his phone. His eyes widened when he saw Victor and he swallowed and took an involuntary step back.
‘Michelle’s not showed,’ the manager was quick to say. ‘Hasn’t called neither.’
Victor approached the desk.
‘I … I’m sorry about this morning,’ the manager said. ‘I really am.’
‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ Victor replied. ‘Everyone deserves forgiveness.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I have something else to ask you, if you don’t mind.’
The manager felt secure enough to step back closer to the desk between them. ‘Sure thing.’
‘I’ve been expecting some friends and I can’t get hold of them,’ Victor said. ‘I don’t suppose they’ve stopped by here looking for me?’
The manager squashed his lips together and shook his head. ‘No … no friends. No one’s asked about you as far as I’m aware. I mean, someone could have come by when I was in the back, I guess. But I wouldn’t have noticed if they had.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Victor said. ‘They’re pretty keen to catch up with me.’
‘Yeah, that’s a real shame,’ the manager said, feeling the need to look anywhere except at Victor. ‘And talking of which, there’s a problem.’
‘A problem?’
Victor waited for elaboration because the manager took his time to find his words. He took a step back from the counter, recreating the initial distance. Nervous again.
He swallowed, then said, ‘Motel’s fully booked from tomorrow.’
Victor raised an eyebrow.
‘Since you’re paying day-to-day,’ the manager continued, gaining courage the more he spoke, ‘I had to give out your room. I’m sorry but you’ll have to be gone in the morning.’
‘What’s the occasion?’
‘Excuse me?’
Victor said, ‘The motel has thirty-six rooms, of which only seventeen are currently occupied because it’s the off-season.’ He paused. ‘One is being fumigated, so including my room you’ve just taken nineteen bookings. So, what’s the occasion? A last-minute no-frills wedding nearby? Or are you telling me you’ve suddenly had nineteen individual bookings for tomorrow since this morning?’
The manager was silent.
‘McAllan called, didn’t he? He told you to get rid of me.’
The manager cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Victor said, ‘You understand that I can make this easy or difficult, don’t you?’
The manager stepped even further back from the counter.
Victor shook his head to ease the man’s fear. ‘You’re just doing your job, I get that. But I want you to pass on a message to McAllan for me. Can you do that?’
The manager waited. He didn’t nod but he didn’t shake his head either.
‘He knows why I’m still in town,’ Victor began. ‘Tell him I’m not going anywhere. Tell him I’m not leaving until I’m done; he needs to understand that it’s in his best interests to help me get answers. Are you paying attention?’
The manager nodded.
‘It’s in his best interests,’ Victor continued, ‘because I’m going to get those answers whatever it takes. If McAllan tries to hinder that, I’m going to wonder why. I’ll wonder what he’s hiding and then I’m going to have no choice but to tear apart his entire operation to find out.’
The manager didn’t know what to say.
‘Will you pass that on to McAllan for me? Every word.’
The manager nodded. ‘Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll tell him. He won’t like it.’
Victor didn’t comment because he didn’t care. Instead,
he asked, ‘Do they have kids?’
The manager frowned. ‘Sorry, what? Kids? You mean McAllan?’
‘There’s a light on in the room next to mine,’ Victor explained. ‘I’m just wondering if the new guests have children. You know, because of the noise. I want to get a good night’s sleep.’
‘Ah,’ the manager said. ‘No. No kids. You don’t have anything to worry about like that. They’re only staying one night anyway.’
‘Have they already paid?’
‘Yeah … ’ the manager said. ‘How come?’
‘No reason,’ Victor said as he backed away to the door.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Welch waited because there was nothing else they could do until the man calling himself Wilson Murdoch returned to the motel. Her three associates waited too. One sat on an armchair by the door. The second sat on the bed. The third sat on the second armchair that had been positioned next to the internal wall. The wall that separated their room from Murdoch’s.
That third man’s role was to listen. He sat and waited and listened for the sound of a door unlocking and opening. No technology was required to assist this process, only silence. No one else spoke. When Welch needed to make calls, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her and then she whispered.
They were all bored. They were all impatient.
No one liked waiting. No one was good at it.
For this reason, the man sat listening was rotated on a regular basis because it was inevitable that amid such boredom attention would wane. Then, the quiet sound of a door unlocking might be missed. Then, they might miss their opportunity.
Welch didn’t listen. She delegated.
She wouldn’t do any of the work that came next, either.
It was hard to predict how it might go down, but Welch liked simplicity. She liked doing what she was paid to do, and no more. Why overcomplicate things?
Once Murdoch was in his room they would enter and shoot. Two guys and Welch at the door and one round the back in case Murdoch had a sixth sense and tried to climb out of the bathroom window.
If they could catch him asleep, so much the better. Couldn’t count on that, however, and Welch wasn’t going to waste this perfect opportunity. Once Murdoch returned to his room, they would enter it soon afterwards. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t leave it again and it was nothing short of miraculous they had caught up with him already.
She had expected him to be long gone. Welch had anticipated a lengthy hunt lasting days or even weeks. It almost troubled her that Murdoch was not long gone by now.
Once Welch had completed a job she was in the wind. Once Murdoch was dead Welch and her crew would be in the car minutes later, out of the country within the hour. The motel manager was going to have to go too, but one witness as collateral was no big deal.
That Murdoch was still here, still at the same motel he had stayed in while preparing for the job in Chicago, troubled her. It seemed so dangerous, so unprofessional.
Why had he not left?
She never expected that she would get a chance to ask him that very question.
She never expected that he would knock on their motel room door and when one of her guys answered it expecting a maid or the manager, their target would say:
‘May I come in?’
TWENTY-EIGHT
They didn’t try and hide their surprise. The guy who answered the door looked back at Victor as if he had spoken in a foreign language, so pinched and confused was his expression.
The door was only opened a quarter of the way, as was sensible when discretion or security was a concern to those inside. Just enough to look out at the person who knocked yet not so little as to seem suspicious and guarded.
There was constrained commotion in the room behind the guy at the door. Victor glimpsed another man rising from a chair near the opposite wall. Another was out of sight, but Victor saw that man’s shadow on the carpet. Then, a woman appeared.
Jennifer Welch.
Younger than Victor had anticipated and not smiling as Big Pete had described her. Like the men, she was dressed in smart business attire. The kind of clothes Victor opted for himself most of the time, that he felt most comfortable in because he wore them the most. Reassurance through repetition.
Welch had her right hand behind her back. A redundant action because Victor knew they were armed, but it was a reflex, habitual.
She didn’t know what to say.
She didn’t know how to act.
So Victor said, ‘No reason we can’t be civilised about this.’
He had said the same once before, in Minsk.
She hesitated, then said, ‘About what?’
‘I think we’re past the point of being coy.’
The guy at the door was looking at her for guidance, orders. Victor couldn’t see the guy’s expression with his head turned to look at Welch, but he didn’t need to. There was only one question the man would be asking.
Should I shoot him?
Welch took a moment to decide. Victor waited with his heart beating at its resting rate because they had been sitting in the room next to his for a reason – so they were aware when he returned to his room, so they could kill him there without witnesses, without leaving evidence behind.
Welch shook her head.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘I’ve already said,’ Victor answered. ‘I want to come inside.’
Welch said, ‘Why?’
‘So we can talk this through.’
‘What’s to talk about?’
‘Let me inside and find out.’
Her first instinct was that this had to be some kind of trap because she frowned and said nothing. She couldn’t know if he was armed, yet they outnumbered him four-to-one and they had guns. He could see none, but no one hunted a professional assassin without them.
She exhaled. Nodded. ‘Okay. Let him in.’
The guy at the door didn’t move at first. He stayed where he was, blocking the doorway. Only for a second, however, because Welch gave him an intense look of admonishment and the speed at which he took a step back and held open the door told Victor that she was more than simply in charge, more than just intolerant of disobedience.
She was feared.
Victor stepped over the threshold.
The room was the same as his. The only differences were the positioning of the two chairs and the number of occupants. The three men were tense, out of their comfort zone, but controlled. They weren’t going to act without Welch’s explicit orders. None of the three had guns in hand, but those hands were restless, ready to draw from belt holsters the instant Welch gave the word.
They seemed competent. Neither big nor small. They kept their distance from him as much as the room let them. They knew not to stay close enough for him to attack before they could react.
He stood where he could watch them in his peripheral vision while he looked at Welch.
She was still unsure, still not comfortable, but she was beginning to understand that this was no trick, no trap.
‘So,’ she said.
‘Thank you for making this easy.’
‘Don’t thank me just yet.’
Victor nodded to say he understood the subtext. ‘I know why you’re here.’
‘That’s not hard to work out. But that puts me at a disadvantage because I have absolutely no idea why you’re here.’
‘When I said I know why you’re here I wasn’t referring to your objective. That goes without saying. I meant I know who sent you. I know why you were sent.’
Welch said, ‘I’m listening.’
‘I killed your boss,’ Victor said. ‘Well, the boss of your … conglomerate. Now, the newly promoted godfather needs to pretend he didn’t order the assassination in the first place. He needs to be seen to get revenge. Hence, you.’
‘I’m not sure why you’re telling me what I already know.’
‘Because you need to remember why you’re here
.’
Welch said, ‘I’m not likely to forget.’
‘I hope you understand I’m talking purely in facts when I say that your only possible chance was to take me by surprise.’
Welch was silent.
Victor said, ‘Obviously, the element of surprise is no longer possible.’
Welch listened. The three guys watched her listen. ‘But you’re here for revenge,’ Victor said. ‘Once I’ve gone, no one but us need know you haven’t collected it.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that the only factor that matters in this is what you say to your boss when you return.’ He paused. ‘I’m not staying here much longer. Another day, maybe. But when I’m gone, I’ll never be back. No one knows who I really am or why I was really here. I’ll never return to Chicago either. You could call your boss right now and tell him that I’m dead and there won’t ever be a reason for him to think otherwise.’
Welch said, ‘Why would I do that?’
‘It’s easier,’ Victor said. ‘And safer. You can’t take me by surprise any longer.’
‘Who says we need to?’
Victor’s gaze passed over Welch, over her three men. All standing looking at him, doing nothing while outnumbering him four-to-one.
‘You’re saying it right now.’
Welch said, ‘You go, we go?’
‘That’s how simple it can be,’ Victor said. ‘And none of you need die chasing a lost cause.’
‘You’re here just one more day?’
There was a lot of weight to her question. Victor hesitated because he couldn’t be certain, but nodded. ‘One more day.’
Welch said nothing. All three of her guys were looking at her. She was considering.
Victor said, ‘I appreciate this is a lot to think about so I’m going to leave you now so you can do just that. There’s no rush. Take your time.’ He paused. ‘And if you decide that you can’t accept my proposal, I’ll be waiting for you next door.’
TWENTY-NINE
The chair in Victor’s motel room was one of the best he had ever sat upon. As close to perfect as any he had experienced. As he spent most of a typical night in a chair, he had become something of an expert. Not on chairs in general, but those best suited for him. A connoisseur, maybe. They possessed a rare combination of diametrically opposed features because a chair had to provide an equal degree of comfort and discomfort. If there was the former without the latter, it was too easy to relax and for the alertness needed to keep him alive to lessen. The perfect chair had to keep him upright and support his lower back over long hours of immobility; it had to be so that the soles of his feet rested flat on the floor with his knees above his ankles so he could propel out of it as fast as possible; it had to let his elbows rest on the armrests while his back remained neutral, without elevating his humerus and putting tension in his shoulders; the padding had to be soft enough to cushion his weight without him sinking into it.