The Lion's Mouth

by Brian Christopher Shea

  Cain took out his phone and confirmed the location. He reclined in the comfortable leather of the seats and then sent a text. I should be done cleaning up in a little bit. Would you like to meet for a drink?

  The Pastor did not respond, but he knew the messages were received, and its context would be understood. It was like talking to God. Like prayers whispered and with blind faith, believing that they were heard. He would wait. It was only a matter of time now.

  “Why here?” Izzy asked.

  The two friends gave a brief embrace and sat themselves in the black metal chairs of the pizza shop’s street-side patio.

  “Two reasons. One, I love it, and two, I can walk here,” Declan said.

  “Fair enough,” Izzy said.

  “Plus, Val and the girls are down the street at the creamery. They wanted to see you. I figured we could walk down and meet up with them after we had a chance to talk,” Declan said.

  “Sounds good. It’s been too long. I’ll bet the girls are growing fast.”

  She thought back to the first time she met his youngest, Laney. Not the kind of encounter that most people had. Trapped in a mini-van fully engulfed in flames.

  The waiter quickly appeared and warmly greeted them. He smiled at Declan, probably recognizing him as a regular.

  “We’ll do a pitcher of Coors Light and a medium OMG,” Declan said, without looking at the menu.

  “OMG?” Izzy asked.

  “It’s not on the menu. A pizza covered in veggies and drizzled with a balsamic glaze. The call it the Oh My God pizza and only us regulars know about it,” Declan said, winking.

  The waiter nodded and took the menus, retreating into the restaurant.

  “Sounds amazing,” Izzy said.

  “Trust me, it is,” Declan said. His smile faded as he continued, “Now back to the business at hand. Let’s get this Nick thing sorted out.”

  “Well, as I said on the phone, something is seriously wrong with him. Something’s eating at him,” Izzy said.

  She cast her eyes downward and opened the napkin. She busied herself with the task of arranging the silverware.

  “Agreed. My question is, how do we help him?”

  “Not sure. I could call some friends in the bureau that I know out that way. Maybe they could lend a hand and check in on him,” Izzy proposed.

  “This is Nick we’re talking about. He barely opened up to us. You can’t ask a stranger to do it. He’d never bite,” Declan said.

  “Then what are you suggesting?” Izzy cocked an eyebrow in suspicion of the former Frogman’s thought process.

  “Road trip,” Declan said.

  “Road trip?” Izzy asked.

  A cocky smile formed on his face, softening his rigid jawline.

  Chapter 29

  Nick and Anaya stood in the small kitchen leaning against the beige speckled counter. The two poured their second glass of wine while Nick cleaned up. Mouse finished her bath and was back in her clothes from earlier. She sat on the couch. Her wet hair flopped onto her shoulders. The dampness would be a welcome change. Even as darkness set, the heat of the day remained. Like a friend who refused to leave a party after its end.

  “She seems to be doing well under the circumstances,” Anaya whispered.

  She moved close to Nick to relay the message so as not to disturb the girl’s television-induced trance. Nick liked the way Anaya smelled. Her skin carried a hint of cherry or maybe plum. Whatever the fruit, it was sweet. Up close, he noticed that Anaya’s eyes had flecks of amber and were dazzling. He looked away, immediately uncomfortable with his feelings.

  Anaya remained close to him, standing still. She drew her lips into the slightest of smiles. So slight in fact, that Nick wasn’t sure whether his mind was playing tricks on him. As if taunting him further, she ran her finger slowly across the rim of the glass.

  “She’s as tough as they come,” Nick said, breaking the tension.

  “We need to get more out of her. Find out where she’s from. If she’s got family in the States,” Anaya said, still whispering.

  “We’ve also got to figure out who the assholes are that want this girl,” Nick said, pausing only a moment before continuing. “Let’s get her to bed. Maybe after a good night’s sleep she’ll be more apt to talk.”

  Nick watched as Anaya moved into the living room and leaned over the couch. Mouse was entranced by the television. She nodded absently at whatever the social worker had said, standing with a yawn. The two moved in tandem to the guest bedroom.

  Nick showed them to the spare bedroom. It wasn’t much more than four walls and a bed. He looked on as Anaya tucked in the small girl and returned to him as he stood in the threshold of the door. As she clicked the light switch, Mouse mumbled a barely audible, “Thank you.”

  Anaya looked back. Closing the door, she said, “Get some rest, my brave little girl. You’re safe now.”

  Nick had shut the TV off and the apartment took on a stillness. He met Anaya in the hallway as she exited the guest room.

  “Sorry. Not much to the apartment. I haven’t really done anything in the way of decorating since I moved in.”

  “Like I said before, no need to apologize. We’re not so different.” Anaya stretched, her mind and body giving way to the stress of the day.

  “You look beat. Take my bed. I’ve got the couch,” Nick said.

  “Don’t be silly. This is your house. Sleep in your bed. Trust me, I’m no snob when it comes to comfort and your couch looks better than the cot in my office.”

  “I insist. I won’t be able to fall asleep so quickly. If at all,” Nick said.

  He gave a slight bow and wave of his hand. His best attempt at a fairytale prince’s curtsey. Anaya conceded to the agent’s request and returned the bow, retreating to the back bedroom without further protest.

  Nick grabbed a spare sheet from the hallway closet and tossed it on the end of the couch. It was warm now, but Texas temps in the Spring had a way of dipping low just before the dawn. In the quiet, he realized he was exhausted, too. He shut the living room light off. The moon gave the room a warm glow.

  Nick sat on the couch. The soft, faux-leather exterior beckoned him to lay down. As his eyes fought the sleep that was fast approaching, his mind recalled the image of the dead girl and then of Mouse. I’m not going to let that happen to you. It was his last thought before he drifted off.

  The lights in the apartment had gone off nearly an hour ago. Cain looked at his watch. It was only eleven, but it was Sunday. People did not typically stay up late with Monday’s impending return to work. Yet he waited. He couldn’t fail again. The Pastor would not be as forgiving a second time.

  He listened. Over the last two hours, he’d acquainted himself with the complex. The couple in the hot tub left for their apartment, most likely to finish off the foreplay started beneath the bubbling water.

  A security guard in an SUV, adorned with a yellow light on top, cruised through the lot twice. Each time it had been at the top of the hour. Routine lent itself to opportunity for men like Cain. The rent-a-cop had passed by a few minutes ago, meaning he would not return for another hour. It didn’t seem like he’d notice much anyway. On the two passes, the guard’s head was looking down and the glow of his screen cast a white light on his face. Most likely consumed in the disconnected world of text messaging or social media.

  He opened the door and stepped from the Range Rover. Cain’s large frame expanded as he stretched. His size made the SUV look small in comparison. A yellow hue cast down from the light pole several feet away. The sweat on his bald head reflected a muted shine. He surveyed the lot one last time.

  Satisfied that nobody was watching, he stepped off in the direction of the apartment building. Each step forward brought him closer to retrieving the Heathen. Service is its own reward.

  Chapter 30

  The click startled her awake. It sounded louder in the silence of the night. Mouse never felt safe. No matter who was protecting her on the ot
her side of that door. She remembered her dad’s saying, Sleep with one eye open. She also remembered that she spent several days trying to accomplish that task. Mouse’s father had laughed hard at his daughter’s literal interpretation. She missed him. And she missed his lessons. But his skills were her skills now.

  The backpack rested against the side of the bed and her left hand rummaged to the bottom, finding the butt of the gun. The metal felt cold and was an awkward fit for her small hands. It was a compact semi-automatic, which made it slightly easier to grip than a full-sized model, but the weapon’s smaller frame wouldn’t lessen the deadliness of it.

  Big things come in small packages. Just like her.

  For a large man, Cain moved with the soft steps of a cat. He allowed for his weight to transfer before taking each step, shifting heel to toe. After picking the apartment door’s lock, he entered, moving slowly across the tiled floor entranceway. Once he reached the living room area, he was able to step a little more quickly because of the carpet.

  He didn’t see him initially. This angered Cain. His sloppiness could have cost him the mission. He knew he would need to press the blade in his pocket into his flesh to remove the sin. That would be later. He had work to do.

  The man on the couch was sleeping. His feet hung over the far-side armrest. The heavy breathing indicated he was not alerted to the man standing nearby. It would be quick, and then he’d move on to the Heathen.

  Cain slowly unsheathed a knife from the Kydex holster located in the small of his back and lowered himself, approaching the sleeping man’s head on all fours. He displaced his body’s girth among his four appendages, moving like a panther on the prowl.

  Once in striking distance, Cain stopped. He listened. The man on the couch did not change the pattern of his rhythmic breathing.

  He adjusted the tang of the double-sided blade in his right hand. The hilt of the black handle covered by his meaty thumb would be a counterbalance to the force as he drove the knife downward. Pull the jaw toward him and drive deep. Cain knew that to kill a man like this was not done with the gentle swipe of a blade. To kill a man by cutting his throat took strength. And it also took skill. It was important to execute the action without a sound to avoid alerting the others.

  A friend of my enemy is my enemy! I am the Hand that delivers the truth!

  Cain’s left hand found its hold on the sleeping man’s chin and he pulled back hard. The motion caused the man’s neck to arch, exposing his throat. The knife came up high and the blade flashed in the moonlight. He drove down as a scream erupted in the hallway ahead of him, drawing his attention as his right arm continued to descend.

  It wasn’t a girly high-pitched scream. Mouse didn’t make those. This was a warrior’s release, like the men she’d read about in Colonel Chamberlain’s ranks as they fixed bayonets and charged down Little Round Top in what became a turning point in the Battle of Gettysburg. She gave a battle cry! And it had the desired effect.

  The large bald man looked at her for a split second. He was momentarily caught off guard, but the knife was still moving. She pulled the trigger. The loud bang was deafening in the silence of the small apartment.

  Shooting had always been an area of difficulty during her father’s training. The adrenaline dump had made her hands moist with sweat. The recoil knocked the gun out of her two-handed grip. She didn’t know if she’d hit the target. The muzzle flash in the darkness temporarily blinded her, causing her to lose sight of the dropped gun on the floor.

  Cain struck down hard with the knife, but the scream and gunshot had redirected its aim. The sleeping man, who was no longer sleeping, grunted and spun away. The movement jerked the knife out of Cain’s hand. His focus lost as a searing pain radiated from the left side of his neck. Involuntarily, he grabbed at it with his right hand. Like a reaction to a bee sting. His hand came away wet. He found the hole in his trapezius muscle near his neckline. Mentally, he triaged his wound. He’d live. His mind cleared, and he quickly turned his attention to the man on the ground.

  The blade was still inside him. It was bad. Who fired a shot? Where was his gun? Nick’s mind raced to comprehend the whirlwind of chaos that had just befallen him. It felt like a dream until the knife.

  He saw the large man’s bald head shimmer in the muted light of the moon. He looked deranged. The left side of the man’s off-white button-down shirt was covered in blood. The large bald man moved quickly. Faster than Nick.

  The bald man’s big fist struck hard into Nick’s nose, just as he got himself to his knees. The blow landed with a dizzying effect. Nick was on all fours now, flickering in and out of consciousness. He shook his head, trying to clear his head and get himself into the fight. A hard impact across the back of Nick’s neck sent him face-down into the carpet, burying the knife deeper into his side. The pain kept him from blacking out, but only barely.

  A blur of movement shot by the couch, nearly eclipsed by the bald man’s frame. The large man straddled him, and his impressive weight forced the air out of Nick’s lungs. The pressure of the man’s grip was unbearable. Nick clawed at the fingers that were coiled around his throat, squeezing relentlessly. His energy to fight left him as the blood poured from his wound, made worse from the lack of oxygen created by his neck’s constriction. Several loud bangs rang out as Nick’s vision failed and he slipped into darkness.

  Chapter 31

  “When you make a decision to do something, there is no hesitation, huh?” Izzy said, rhetorically.

  “Kind of my thing. My wife has a love-hate relationship with it. Saves the hemming and hawing, but sometimes the quick decision leaves us spinning,” Declan said, accelerating the rental car, a white Camry, around the commuters in the middle lane.

  Declan thought back about his decision with the bank. In hindsight, he wished he’d come up with a better alternative. It was hard to put himself back into that desperate state of mind now that he’d come out of their financial slump. At the time, it seemed hopeless. He had long since surrendered to the guilt of his conscience. And he hoped that he came up with an acceptable way of atoning.

  “If you keep driving like this, we’ll make great time,” Izzy said, peering at the speedometer.

  They’d been driving for a few hours and had already crossed over the border of Connecticut.

  “We’re going to drive straight through, so you might want to get some rest now. I’m going to be tapping you in before you know it,” Declan said, smiling.

  “I know he sounded like he needed us, but what’s the urgency?” Izzy asked.

  “That gut feeling. I can’t quite place it, but whatever he’s dealing with, I figure the sooner we get there. the better off he’ll be,” Declan said.

  “I learned to trust your gut instinct.” Izzy said, chuckling.

  She thought back to Declan’s uncanny ability to get a handle on the terrorist attacks last Fall. Then she added, “It feels strange to be making a trip like this again.”

  “I’m glad you said that. The hairs on the back of my neck have been standing on end since we left,” Declan said.

  Expelling the words caused his shoulders to slump. A burden lifted.

  Izzy pulled the lever on the side of her seat and reclined. She stretched and turned to her side, exposing a tribal tattoo on her lower back. Declan caught a glimpse of the artwork and smiled. He knew Izzy well enough to know that she had a wild side, but seeing the ink removed any trace of doubt.

  Lane markers zipped by as he refocused his eyes to the road ahead and settled into the drive. For some reason, he felt that the clock was ticking, but to what end he had no idea.

  Chapter 32

  The air had cooled. No humidity lingered. Even with those two factors, Mouse was drenched in sweat. She’d been alternating between running and walking for the last hour or so. She saw a lighted display under a bank sign. 1:07 am and 62 degrees.

  Mouse stopped, figuring that she’d created enough distance from the apartment where the bald man had come f
or her. She reached into her backpack, now slightly lighter without the gun, and pulled out a plastic water bottle. She sipped, controlling her desire to guzzle the tepid water. She needed to conserve it until she got to her destination. The problem was she didn’t have a clue as to where she was.

  She saw a sign for the interstate and moved in that direction. She skirted along side streets to avoid the bald man or anyone else who may be looking for her. A girl walking alone at night might draw attention. But the streets were deserted for the most part.

  The bright yellow from the Shell Gas Station’s illuminated seashell caught her attention, and she crossed West University Avenue, heading for the store. There were a few cars parked in front and one at the pumps. Mouse passed by and entered into the air-conditioning of the store. It was funny to see the woman behind the register wearing a sweater, but it was definitely cold inside. The little girl’s arms prickled with goosebumps as she navigated the aisles. She took the opportunity to stock up for the next leg of her journey, grabbing Gatorade and beef jerky.

  She walked to the counter and sized up the large Hispanic woman at the register. Mouse debated on speaking in Spanish but didn’t. She thought English would make her seem American and draw less suspicion.

  “Well hello, little one,” the clerk said.

  She had no hint of an accent, confirming that English would be the best choice for this conversation.

  “Hi there,” Mouse replied, in a diminutive manner.

  “You’re out late tonight,” the large woman said.

  “I know. I messed up. I got in a fight with my mom,” Mouse said, looking down and away. She wanted to give the impression of a troubled teenager.