by Jane Seville
“This is it,” he stammered.
D nodded. “’Fraid so.”
Jack swallowed. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.
D drew Jack’s face close and kissed him hard. “Follow my lead, and don’t try nothin’,” he murmured. “This shit’s for real.” Jack nodded.
D took a deep breath and got to his feet. He faced out into the warehouse through the shattered windows. “Josey,” he said. Jack was getting up to stand at his side.
She walked forward a few paces. She looked just the same. Practical, flint-eyed, and no-nonsense. “Well. Here’s the infamous Dr. Francisco.” Jack squared his shoulders a little, but said nothing. “Why don’t you both come on out here and be sociable?”
Hope was quickly draining from D’s body. No one knew they were here. No one even knew anything was wrong. He was hopelessly outgunned and almost out of ammo. Josey had six men with her. If it was his time to pay the bill come due for his many crimes, he’d pay it gladly. The best he could hope for now was that he could somehow convince her to spare Jack’s life. He took a deep breath, grasped Jack’s hand, and walked out of the office with him to stand before the woman who would be his executioner. They stood there and waited as one of Josey’s men patted them down, relieving them of their weapons.
Josey’s eyes flicked to their clasped hands. “Hmm. I really wouldn’t have guessed that you swung that way, D.” D stayed silent. “You’ve dragged this out quite a bit longer than it was supposed to go.”
“How was it supposed to go?” he asked.
“I’d think that’d be obvious. You kill Francisco, I make an anonymous tip, you’re arrested and executed for the murder of a witness.”
“That’s really it?”
She shrugged. “You’re the one who likes elaborate plans, not me. Yes, that was it. Simple, straightforward, with an element of poetic justice. At first I was angry that you didn’t kill him, but now it’s all worked out so much better than I could have possibly planned.”
“Your father deserved what he got,” D said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
Josey barely reacted. “I’ve no doubt. He was a mean son of a bitch who never gave two shits about me. You think this is about him? Well… it’s partly about him. I was already wondering how to handle the fact that you were ratting out my operatives to the fucking Bureau when I discovered that you’d killed my father. You might say it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
D gritted his teeth. “I know you got some sorta plan, but I won’t kill Jack.”
“That’s what you think.”
“I’m tellin’ you, I won’t fuckin’ do it.”
She took a step closer. “But you’ve already done it. You’re doing it right now.”
D’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck’re you talking ’bout?”
“You killed him when you loved him, D. When you did that, you gave me a way to hurt you.”
Without taking her eyes off D’s face, Josey raised her gun and shot Jack in the stomach.
~~~~~
Megan knew she had to make her move soon, or she’d be too weak. She didn’t know how much blood she’d lost, but there was a not-inconsiderable pool beneath the chair at her feet. Petros had only been playing with her so far, though. Little cuts, not-so-little cuts…. He hadn’t taken anything off yet, and he hadn’t pulled anything out. That’d be the next stop.
There was only one thing she could do to get out of this, and he hadn’t given her the opportunity. All he had to do was lean close…. Fuck, she had to get moving. Somewhere D and Jack were in danger.
As if obeying a subconscious desire to obey her wishes, Petros moved in front of her. “I suppose that’s enough of the preliminaries,” he purred. He leaned in close.
Megan lifted her head, which she’d been allowing to sag down to her chest, and smacked her forehead as hard as she could into Petro’s nose. He recoiled and fell on his back.
She drew a deep breath, rocked back, and threw herself forward, planting her feet hard to flip her entire body, chair and all, the front rung landing across Petros’s neck. He made an amusing gurgling noise. She tilted forward, increasing the pressure across his throat. “Where’d they take Jack and D?”
He just glared at her.
“Where?!”
No response.
“Fine, have it your way.” She slid her bound arms up and over the chair back, grabbed his straight-razor from the table nearby and sliced herself free. “I’ll find them myself.” She’d taken no more than a couple of steps before dizziness overtook her. That burst of energy to free herself had taken just about everything she had left.
She heard Petros throw off the chair and get to his feet behind her. Last chance, Megs. She tightened her grip on the straight razor and whirled around, swinging it in a flat arc across his neck.
He stopped short, his eyes popped wide. Nothing happened for a moment, then a wide mouth opened in his neck and blood poured down his chest. His hands went to his throat but the cut was far too deep for that. Megan watched, gasping, as he slumped to the ground, blood spreading out beneath him.
She went down to her knees, the world graying out around her. She crawled across the floor to her coat and fumbled for her cell phone, forcing her vision to clear enough for her to dial. “Churchill,” said the blessedly unharmed-sounding voice on the other end.
“It’s Megan—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s going down right now. She’s making her move on them right now. Help them.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Shit, yeah. Just killed Petros.”
“Where are you?”
“Dunno….” She slid to the side and lost it for a moment, her last vestiges of consciousness allowing her to bite her tongue hard and bring her brain back.
“Hang up and call nine-one-one. You’ve got GPS locate, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Do it now. I’ll take care of Jack and D.”
Megan thumbed the end button and stared dumbly at the keypad. Who’m I supposed to call? She faded, the glowing numbers lighting her down into unconsciousness.
~~~~~
To D, it all happened in slow motion. Josey’s arm coming up, sure and quick, firing just as he realized what she meant to do. Turning toward Jack, seeing the bullet strike him just above the waist on his left side, Jack’s face going slack, his mouth a wide O of shock, D reaching out toward him in a helpless, involuntary gesture as if he could yank Jack back to wholeness with the pure force of his will.
Shock wiped D’s mind clean of any other consideration as he rejoined the world and everything sped up to normal time again and Jack was on the floor, his hand over his stomach, blood beginning to seep out between his fingers.
He skidded to his knees and hauled Jack into his lap, pressing down on the wound. Jack was making a high-pitched, keening noise, his teeth clamped shut tight while his wide eyes rolled up toward D’s face.
Josey stepped closer. “That wound isn’t fatal. Well, I should say that it is, but it’ll take a few days.”
D’s rage was too large for his body to contain it. “You motherfucking bitch, I am gonna tear yer fuckin’ eyes outta yer skull!” he shouted at her, nearly unintelligible, spittle flying from his lips. Jack choked out an anguished moan of pain and D pulled him closer, one hand on Jack’s head holding it to his own chest. The blood was flowing steadily, but not quickly. It was a precision shot, intentionally placed to cause as much prolonged pain and suffering as possible before causing death from excruciatingly slow exsanguination. Jack’s hand fluttered in the air like a bird with a busted wing before grabbing onto D’s forearm with panicky tightness. “Yer gonna be okay, baby,” he whispered to Jack, pressing his cheek to the top of his head. “You jus’ hang on, try not ta move.” Jack gurgled, his chest heaving…. Jesus, she’d even managed not to hit his lungs, which would have hurried his death along more quickly.
“He isn’t going t
o be okay, D.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Don’t give the man false hope; that’s just mean.”
“I WILL GET UP THERE AND RIP YOU APART WITH MY BARE HANDS!” D screamed. He could feel tears pouring down his face and he hated it that she was seeing him so bare, so raw, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.
“Can you stand to watch him die like this? Long, slow, and painful?”
“Don’t you even fuckin’ think it,” D said, his voice choked, trying to hold Jack steady.
“You can end his pain right now, you know.”
“I won’t do it.”
She sighed, a sad and resigned look-what-you’re-making-me-do sigh. “I didn’t think you’d crack that easily.” She raised the gun again and shot Jack in the lower leg. Jack screamed, writhing in D’s arms as if trying to get out of his own skin.
D clamped his arms tighter around Jack’s torso and gradually became aware that he was screaming “stop it stop it” over and over again without having been aware he’d started. Jack fell into a limp semi-daze, shaking and shuddering, whistling moans leaking nonstop from his throat.
“You’re the only one who can stop this, D.”
He stared up at her, a stranger to the hate he felt for her. He’d never hated so fiercely or so hotly in his life. “I’ll do whatever you fuckin’ want; jus’ stop hurtin’ him. Let him be and I’ll go quietly. You can torture me long as you want, jus’ let Jack go.”
“I think you know that isn’t how this works.”
“Why you hate me this much, huh? Why you gotta put him through this?”
“Rats who run to the Bureau deserve no less, D. Everyone should know it.”
Jack was tugging on his shirt. D looked down at him, his face fish-belly pale and covered in sweat and a few stray blood droplets. “You promised,” he whispered.
“Jack, I—”
“Don’t you do it,” Jack said again, the last words lost in another groan of pain, Jack’s body trying to curl in on itself like a pill bug.
D looked down into those eyes, clouded as they were with pain, and felt Jack’s love for him through his whole being, lighting the long-banked fires inside him and illuminating him from within. Jack who’d risked so much for him, Jack who’d stuck by him, Jack who was now willing to suffer in agony for him, Jack who he did not deserve.
Josey was crouching by their side. She had another gun in her hand. “This gun has one bullet in it. Don’t even think about using it on me or any of my guys, because they can shoot you dead before you get the shot off and he will suffer for your mistake. Take it, and show me what happens to people who love you.”
D stared at the gun. It was calling him, its voice low and seductive. He will never hurt again. He will never be in danger again. He will never live to grow tired of you and realize how unworthy you are. He will be out of pain, beyond her reach. The gun was peace, the gun was normality, the gun was everything he’d been for ten years.
The gun could save them both.
He reached out and took it. Jack’s hand grabbed his shirt. “No,” he cried, weakly.
“It’s okay, Jack.” His voice sounded very far away. The gun felt so familiar in his hand. It felt like home. He looked up at Josey, who was nodding as you might to a child who’d pleased you. He smiled at her.
D lifted the gun and pressed the barrel under his own jaw.
Jack’s tugging on his shirt grew more urgent. “No, no,” he repeated.
“Shh, Jack,” D said. “It’s gonna be okay.”
The smile had fallen off Josey’s face. D guessed that this wasn’t part of her plan. “Don’t be stupid,” she said.
“What’s stupid? I’d rather die than kill Jack.”
“You do yourself in, D, and I swear no one will ever have suffered the way he will.”
“Bullshit. You cain’t risk the time and energy ta torture him when I’m not around ta witness it, not ta mention the risk of you goin’ ta the chair for murderin’ a witness. Witsec knows who you are, ya know. Jack’s found dead and they be comin’ fer you.”
“You’re willing to bet the rest of his short life on that?”
“Yes,” Jack croaked, his hand wrapped around D’s, his watery eyes fixed on Josey. D pulled him closer to his chest.
“You’re bluffing,” Josey said, but she didn’t look too sure of that. “I’ll just take the gun back.”
“Wanna find out how fast I can shoot myself before you can get this gun away from me?”
She stood up and paced off a few quick circles. He’d put her off her game, which was about as much as he could hope for at this point. He could feel the wetness of Jack’s blood on his legs, the constant low groans of pain straightening his spine. It was kill Jack or kill himself, and that wasn’t a choice at all. “D,” Jack whispered. He looked down at him, the face of the only person he’d ever loved, his precious life spilling onto the dirty warehouse floor.
He stroked Jack’s hair with his bloodstained free hand. “What, darlin’?”
Jack was shaking so violently now that his teeth were chattering. “I don’t regret anything,” he said, his lips twisting like he was trying to smile.
D smiled back. “You the only thing I don’t regret,” he said.
Josey sneered at him. “You won’t do it. You don’t have the guts.”
D steeled himself. “Watch me.”
A shot rang out, and for a moment D wondered if he’d shot himself before he meant to, but the shot wasn’t from his gun. He looked and saw one of Josey’s men on the floor. For the briefest second, everything was suspended; even Jack’s tight-lipped groans of pain were silent.
Then all hell broke loose. The door to the warehouse was kicked in and four Kevlar-wearing men with Marshal’s badges around their necks poured in, shouting for everyone to get down, get down, freeze, throw down their weapons, and other mutually exclusive commands. Another marshal came clattering down the stairs. Gunshots were fired. Josey’s men started falling. One of the agents was spun around with what looked like a shot to the arm.
Josey whirled, snarling, her gun raised. D had put his single bullet between her eyes before he even knew he was going to fire. She fell, eyes wide and staring at them, without another word.
D hugged Jack to his chest and felt like sobbing out loud as Churchill strode into the room. He could have sworn a halo of golden light and a flourish of trumpets accompanied him. The other marshals had three of her men on their knees in cuffs; the other ones looked dead or wounded. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” D kept saying, talking both to Jack and himself. He cupped Jack’s face. “Yer gonna be okay now, doc. Cavalry’s here.”
Jack cried out in pain, a little blood coming to his lips. “’Bout fuckin’ time,” he choked out.
D laughed, light-headed with relief. Churchill knelt at their side. “Jesus,” he said.
“He’s shot in the left abdomen,” D said. “He’ll be okay but we gotta get him to a hospital. Got a flesh wound in his calf too.”
“Are you hit?”
“Naw, I’m okay. How’d you fuckin’ find us?”
“Tracker in Jack’s gun. I found it the first day he was at the hotel when I swept for listening devices. I assume you put it there. Made a note of the frequency in case I needed to use it myself. Megan just called me; Petros grabbed her and done a good number on her to keep her out of the way so she knew something was up.” Churchill rattled all this off at lightning-quick speed. D’s brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders and he was still catching up to the fact that he and Jack weren’t both about to die.
“Good timin’ there,” was all he could muster.
Churchill grabbed his arm. “D, they’re calling for backup. You’ve got to get out of here, now.”
Jack, who’d been watching them with half-glazed eyes, came back into himself at this. “What?”
“In about three minutes this place is going to be crawling with police, FBI, paramedics and forensics and you
can’t be here. I can’t protect you with that much law around.” He handed D his car keys. “Take my car. I saw yours had a flat.”
D just stared at the keys. He couldn’t say goodbye to Jack like this, here and now, and leave him bleeding on some godforsaken warehouse floor. “Christ, I cain’t do this. I cain’t jus’ leave Jack like this!”
Jack grabbed his arm. “You have to go,” he said. “D… they can’t find you. You’ve got… all that to do,” Jack said, his halting voice laced with barely suppressed agony. “You gotta stay free, you gotta go.”
“It’s my turn to look out for him now,” Churchill said.
D nodded helplessly. “Okay, okay… just….” He looked at Churchill helplessly.
“I’ll give you a minute,” he said, and backed off.
D looked down at Jack, staring back up at him with his eyes full of tears. “Didn’t think it’d be like this when we said goodbye,” Jack said.
“Fuck, no,” D choked out.
“I’ll be okay,” Jack said, an obvious effort going into making the words clear and distinct.
D pressed his forehead to Jack’s, wishing he could just pass his thoughts and feelings directly into Jack’s brain without having to resort to inadequate words, for which he’d never had a talent anyway. “Jack,” he whispered, drawing back to look in his eyes again. “You been the fullest, luckiest blessin’ a my life,” he said, seeing tears drip onto Jack’s upturned face.
Jack was clutching handfuls of D’s shirt. “I love you,” he croaked.
“I’ll see you again,” D said, trying to sound certain and emphatic but fearing he only sounded pleading.
“I’ll be waiting.” Jack pulled him down again and for a few too-long, too-short moments they said nothing, breathing each other in for the last time. D eased Jack down onto the warehouse floor and knelt at his side, a shaky breath escaping him as he pressed his face to Jack’s chest for a moment, feeling Jack’s hand rest on the back of his head. He met Jack’s eyes one final time and they both nodded, as if something had been resolved, then D hauled himself to his feet and turned away, walking as fast as he could toward the door, hearing Jack call his name just one time before the warehouse door closed behind him.