Parallax

by Jon F. Merz

  He gave it and she entered his mouth. Their juices ran together, mixing in the quiet early evening dusk of his hotel room.

  She kept saying his name. Over and over again.

  It had never sounded so good before.

  Her shirt came off. Stahl glance down and saw the white lace bra. She smiled at him. "I remember you like white the best."

  Some kind of twisted irony, Stahl suspected. His heart had been so totally black, bent and destroyed by the havoc and death he brought with him wherever he went. And yet, he loved the pure and innocent look of white underwear on his women.

  Maybe he just enjoyed thinking how they were unspoiled before he got his hands on them.

  Maybe it was something more.

  Her pants disappeared next. She'd chosen matching white panties. Thin bikini straps rested high on her hips, ending with a small triangular patch of white fabric at her crotch.

  Stahl's mouth watered and his pants suddenly felt incredibly restrictive.

  "Take them off."

  Her voice seemed even quieter now. Stahl almost wondered if she'd formed some sort of mental link with him as well because she seemed to be inside his head.

  He shrugged his pants off. Karen's hands went to his growing bulge immediately. Squeezing him though the fabric of his shorts. She moaned in his ear and then licked beneath his earlobe. Stahl tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

  She'd always known exactly what to do to drive him insane.

  The rest of their clothes came off quickly and Stahl cradled her as he laid her down on the bed. Heat enveloped them as they moved in time to one another, bodies locked together so tightly there was no more space between them.

  As they ground against each other, seeking the friction they'd both craved for so long, Stahl wondered if she'd planned this from the start.

  Worse, he wondered if he had. He almost smiled but the growing sensations down south kept him firmly in the moment.

  How long, he wondered? How long had it been since he'd been with a woman like Karen? With someone who knew him so utterly and completely as she did?

  It seems like forever.

  Karen's voice in his ear again. She moaned louder.

  Louder.

  Stahl could feel her moistness creeping toward him. He could feel the tiny contractions starting in her thighs, rippling through her entire body. They built in intensity.

  She moaned his name again and then her legs locked tight around his hips.

  And a giant swell swept over them both -

  Cresting.

  Falling.

  Right into oblivion.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The smart thing would have been to leave town like Bukowski said. Take his money and run. Get a new face.

  Give up the killing.

  Drizzle splattered the windshield of his Explorer as Frank drove back toward the waterfront. The sky overhead looked bloated and sullen. Almost like how Frank felt.

  I wish Moe was here, he thought. He'd know what to do. He grinned. Moe would have bitched him out for failing to simply kill Gia and be done with the whole damned thing.

  That would have been the easy thing to do. But Frank knew he couldn't just kill the woman he used to love. The woman he used to love with every ounce of his soul. He shook his head. See what kind of trouble his heart had gotten him into? He sighed and steered onto Northern Avenue.

  Instinctively, he checked his rearview mirror. He'd been clean for the forty minutes he'd driven aimlessly around town. The only way anyone would know about his hide on Sleeper Street was if Gia had left the warehouse and gotten herself picked up by someone who recognized her.

  In which case, Frank was walking into an ambush.

  He supposed he could leave town. He had more than enough money squirreled away in offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. He'd gone down there once or twice and found the Caribbean a pretty nice place to vacation.

  But live there? Forever? Frank didn't know about that.

  Maybe Europe. The Swiss Alps. He could get himself a nice chalet close to the Italian border and jump across for some good old home style cooking every once in a while.

  And a new face wasn't tough to come by. He could get the surgery done fairly inexpensively if he went to the right place. Panama maybe. He'd be vulnerable while he convalesced, however. And afterward, he'd have to make sure there were no records of his ever having been there.

  That would probably entail more killing. He couldn't risk the doctors remaining alive. Everyone had a breaking point, after all. And if the Family came looking for him and put the screws to the doctors, they'd eventually give him up.

  Problematical to say the least.

  No wonder Bukowski looked so damned cynical.

  In Bukowski's mind, Frank's odds were probably about as good as a horse with two broken legs winning the Triple Crown.

  The other question percolating in his mind was did he even want to leave town at all? It wasn't as though the problem with the Family was the only thing on his plate right now. Frank had other concerns.

  There was Gia for one thing. What would he do with her? Take her with him? Buy her a new face? Force her to live out the rest of her life as some kind of love hostage? Yeah, that was a great way to win her back.

  Frank gripped the steering wheel tighter. He didn't want her back.

  Did he?

  He sighed again.

  Besides, Gia wasn't the end of the thing either. The German was up to something. Frank was sure of it. No matter how he'd happened to come by the information - be it the psychic stuff Gia had tried to push on him or just some weird dream. What counted was that they'd actually made contact.

  And what counted even more was that they'd left things unresolved. Frank had to at least see their meeting tomorrow through.

  And then what?

  Was he going to stop the German from carrying out his plan? Why bother? Gia might have had a point about that. It didn't affect Frank directly. What did he owe his country anyway? He'd been living on the wrong side of the law for so many years, he wasn't even sure he counted as a citizen any more.

  He sighed again. That wasn't true.

  If there was one thing Moe had helped instill in him, it was a sense of duty about his country. Moe had patriotism running thick in his veins. It didn't matter whether he liked the current president or what. What mattered was what he'd told Frank one day during a break in the training.

  "Listen kid, we're killers, yeah. We might break the law every time we go out on assignment, but that don't mean you don't treat the flag with a lot of respect. See, it's the fact that we got this great country here that allows us to be what we are. It don't matter that we kill regularly. This country gives us the chance to be what we are. And to enjoy the fruits of our labors. Criminals and ordinary folks still rally around the same flag. Don't ever forget that."

  Frank had thought the entire speech the weirdest mix of logic and philosophy he'd ever heard. But he still followed Moe's lead and respected the country he lived in. Hell, he loved it.

  Maybe that's why I'm willing to risk my ass staying here, he thought.

  So he'd meet the German tomorrow and see what was what. Maybe he could talk him out of it. No, he shook his head. That wouldn't work. He already knew the German was as set in his ways as Frank was. They were both professionals and that was why he knew there'd be trouble somewhere down the road.

  Well, there were no guarantees about that, either.

  Stranger things had happened after all.

  He wheeled the Explorer into the small elevator lift and heard the steel shutter doors crank down behind him. He sat there enveloped in darkness. He activated the remote control resting under the visor over his seat and instantly felt the lift descend to the underground garage.

  Safety had been of paramount concern when Moe had taken this warehouse over. He'd had it built to withstand a small assault force. Armored doors and windows. The underground garage hadn't been standard in thi
s part of town, especially since it was so close to the harbor. But Moe had had it built anyway. It must have cost him a small fortune in those days. Now, it'd be worth even more.

  Frank couldn't see himself selling it, though. Not after everything he'd learned here. Sometimes he even thought he could feel old Moe still lingering around, checking the scene, smoking those cigars of his.

  Frank sighed. He'd probably be disgusted with me right now, he thought.

  What he really wanted to do was go upstairs, plop down on the couch and read some Sam Spade mysteries. That'd be real nice.

  The lift stopped and Frank got out of the Explorer. He took another elevator upstairs to the living area. The doors slid back with a vague hiss and rumble.

  Frank stepped out.

  The loft was quiet.

  Almost too quiet.

  He drew his pistol and hugged the wall closest to the main hallway.

  Where was Gia?

  He frowned. There were no lights on. And the windows didn't provide much light with the coming darkness bleeding across the city. Frank crouched low, knowing he'd have to use whatever ambient light he could to his advantage. That meant trying to keep his targets - if there were any - silhouetted against the vague light. The lower he got, the better.

  He cleared the kitchen first. He could see remnants of a snack Gia must have made for herself in the sink. There must have been thirty dishes in there. He grinned. Gia'd never been much of a cook.

  He closed on the living room next. Again he found nothing. And where the hell was his cat? He almost groaned. He'd left Gumshoe at the apartment. Shit.

  He'd have to do something about that.

  The large couch felt cold to the touch. If she'd been there recently, it didn't show.

  Had she left?

  If she had, Frank gave her under four hours to stay alive. And that would mean he'd have to abandon this place as well. Once Gia got picked up, they'd make her talk and she'd spill the beans about the warehouse. Put someone's head or fingers or toes in a vise and start cranking it and they'd break.

  Frank felt anger well up inside him. Why had she done something so stupid? Why had she left? It was her arrogance of course. She'd always been incredibly stubborn. It was one of the things that drove him nuts. One of many.

  He moved toward the bedroom, keeping the barrel of his pistol held up in front of him. Moe had taught him an improvised style of holding the pistol so he could rapidly engage any targets that presented themselves.

  But none did.

  Frank frowned and moved closer to the bedroom. What the hell was going on here?

  A sound reached his ears and instantly his heart rate increased.

  The sound had come from the bedroom.

  He thumbed back the safety catch and steeled himself for the imminent contact. He slowed his breathing as much as he could and took another step toward the room.

  It was louder now.

  Gia?

  He couldn't be sure.

  He couldn't risk it.

  Part of him wanted to call out. But that would simply alert any enemies to his presence. That was, if they didn't know he was there already.

  He'd have to simply move in and clear the room.

  He took a deep breath and crouched lower on his already aching quadriceps. The muscles burned from being stooped for so long but Frank managed to ignore most of the discomfort. Moe had instilled in him an ability to withstand extreme pain a long time ago.

  Physical pain, that is, thought Frank. The agony of unrequited love was something else entirely.

  He made the doorway to the bedroom and paused.

  He sighed and let the pent-up tension seep out of his body.

  Gia lay on the bed.

  Snoring lightly.

  Frank looked at her. She seemed so peaceful.

  So beautiful.

  His heart ached.

  He tucked the gun into his holster and walked toward the bed. He sat slowly on the edge and leaned in toward Gia's body. He sniffed and smelled her light perfume. She'd taken a bath by the look of her hair.

  Despite it all, despite all the hell she'd put him through -

  "Frank?"

  He looked down. "Yeah?"

  "You okay?"

  He looked away. "Fine."

  "Is everything all right now?"

  He looked back at her with a thousand realizations thundering into his mind at the same time. "No. Things are pretty damned messed up."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Stahl's stomach woke him up a few hours later. He hadn't eaten much all day and the growing gnaw in his belly moved him long before the orgasm-induced sleep wanted to relinquish its hold on him.

  He could feel Karen's body heat still coming off her in waves. The close proximity of her skin felt good, which surprised Stahl. He hadn't slept with a woman - actually slept - in so many years, the experience almost felt new.

  Her delicate scent tickled his nose. She wasn't wearing any perfume, but the leftover scent of whatever soap she used combined with the intimacy of her sex created a smell that Stahl found a little heady.

  He sighed and shifted slightly. She moved in relation to him, but her eyes remained closed, her breathing deep. The interior of his room lay shrouded in darkness now, but Stahl could make out details from the little bit of city light filtering in through the cracks in the blinds.

  Sleeping with Karen had been a mistake.

  Or had it?

  He frowned. In the old days, he would have been able to resist her charms easily. He almost chuckled. That was a lie. She'd done almost the exact same thing the first time they'd made love. And Stahl had been unable or at least unwilling to resist her then as well.

  He'd blamed the pressures of the operation back then as the reason he'd succumbed. Even after all these years, he wasn't sure if that was entirely honest.

  And now here she was again. In her own words, she was happy to be back with him. She wanted the thrill that she'd forsaken so many years ago.

  He couldn't blame her. For as much as this mission was about getting enough money to save his son's life, Stahl had to admit there was some part of him that craved the adrenaline rush that being out in the cold offered him once again.

  But what now?

  Karen shifted. A lock of her hair fell against the bare skin of Stahl's chest. She nestled into him. He almost stroked her tresses but decided against it.

  His stomach grumbled.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out the luminescent hands on his watch. Almost midnight. Was room service even an option still? He doubted it.

  His bladder chimed in next.

  Stahl would have to move sooner than later. He made the decision and eased himself out from underneath Karen's arm and body. He tucked the covers up under her chin and stole into the bathroom.

  At the toilet, he opted to sit down instead of stand to urinate, so the noise of his piss hitting the water wouldn't wake Karen. He didn't want to jar her out of her sleep.

  Not just yet.

  He let the lid come down on the toilet when he was finished and turned the faucet on only slightly. Just enough to wash his hands. He toweled off and stepped into his pants. Over that he drew on a turtleneck and his winter jacket.

  He looked at Karen one last time and then slid out of his room.

  Downstairs in the lobby, he considered his options.

  Chinatown was really the only place in town he could find food this time of night. Unless he wanted to dine on the potato chips and soda that convenience stores sold.

  He didn't.

  Stahl wandered past the hotel staffer working the check-in counter. The young woman looked like she was losing a battle with sleep. Stahl smiled slightly and pushed through the front door.

  The night had blossomed cold. Stahl sucked in the air, relishing the brisk bite. Overhead, he could see only the brightest stars and planets that hadn't been blinded by the glow of the city.

  He headed down Stuart Stree
t. His thoughts went back to the hotel room.

  Karen.

  What kind of a mother could she be for Alois? He smirked. Planning on marrying her are you? Sure, that'd work well. They'd settle down and get the white picket fence as well.

  Idiot.

  He passed through the theater district, its neon signs still flashing and welcoming visitors. Ahead, he turned down Kneeland Street. Even at this late hour, parking on the streets of Chinatown was a rarity.

  At a restaurant called Grand Chau Chau, he ducked inside. He held up a single finger and the Maitre'd seated him with his back to the wall. Nearby, a fish tank holding several flounder and sea bass occupied his vision. But Stahl kept one eye on the door as well. Old habits and all.

  He ordered hot and sour soup and beef chow foon with a soda. He scanned the restaurant and saw there were a lot of other Caucasian faces in here along with some scattered Asian faces. He marked off Cambodian, Vietnamese and Hong Kong Chinese. The whites he could care less about.

  What a day.

  He sighed. First the contact with the American Frank, a shootout, and then a bout of sex. He smiled. Almost like old times.

  And tomorrow would bring another meeting with the American.

  Stahl wondered what he was doing right now. Should he try to look? He wasn't so much sure he could even control this strange new window into the other man's world. But he let his eyes droop just the same and tried to relax his breathing.

  The restaurant blurred in his vision and he could see the shift occur. It happened easier than he thought it would have.

  Darkness surrounded him. But he could make out graying shapes. Light was coming from somewhere. But not a lamp. Different. He let his eyes rove around and he could see the huge windows. He could see the skyline of Boston. It twinkled in the late night air.

  Was this Frank's home?

  He frowned. But where was it? This kind of information could come in useful if Stahl needed to know how to get to him.

  In truth, he wasn't sure yet what he intended to do about the Mafia man. Protocol dictated he remove him if he presented the slightest indication that he would be a threat to the mission. And Frank had already suggested he was going to try and intervene in Stahl's assignment.