Indelible Ink

by Matt Betts

  “I knew he had issues with women, but wow,” Nadine said.

  Mother just shook her head.

  Morgan never understood the added weight everyone put on killing a woman. Why were they more important than men? Was it the idea that they were less likely to be bad people than men? Maybe everyone assumed that the men must have done something to deserve it, where ladies must be completely innocent. Morgan didn’t care one way or another; a job was a job. Marsh gave him the information on a target and that was it. Morgan didn’t ask questions and he didn’t want to know more than he had to. The woman he was waiting for now could be a former business partner, an employee who stole from him, a pro who cheated at one of his casinos or a witness going to court in the morning, it didn’t change what he did or how he did it.

  “Whooo!” Mr. Hector said. He trundled to the edge of the table and looked over. “That water is getting pretty high.”

  “Hope you’ve learned to swim since that time you almost drowned.” The monkey laughed his shrill cackle. “The lifeguard ain’t here to pull you out this time.”

  “Sure I am,” Mother said.

  The monkey’s mouth opened wide and its eyes bulged. “Mommy saved you? Your mommy pulled you out of the pool?” He laughed again.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan could see a thin layer of water forming on the floor. He heard splashing footsteps approach him from behind.

  “You can shoot all the people you want, but it won’t make a difference. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be good enough for me,” Nadine said. “You’ll never be good enough for any of us.”

  He turned then, wanting to see her and say none of it had anything to do with her, that she was less than a footnote. There was a splash as he turned. The room behind him was empty; just the dining room chairs that he’d moved aside to get on the table, the plates in the hutch, the artwork on the walls. The water on the floor was new though, it was getting higher, ankle deep from the looks of it.

  Morgan turned back to the window. The monkey was leaning against the barrel on one side of the rifle, Mr. Hector was doing the same on the other side, and Mother was standing at the end of the table, between the business end of the gun and the window. Morgan looked at each of them suspiciously and got back into his prone firing stance, eye to the scope. He had to concentrate for a moment, had to try to imagine what the space in front of him was like without his mother standing there.

  “Let’s just go home, Morgie,” Mother said.

  Morgan wavered and might have pulled back if he hadn’t seen a light start glowing within her stomach. It was a soft yellow light that made him feel at ease for a moment until he remembered why he was really there. He squinted then blinked a bit to clear his vision. When he refocused he found the glow was a light that had come on in the apartment he was watching.

  The target was home.

  He moved the rifle minutely, searching the windows for movement, any sign of where the target might be. His mother’s image faded until he saw a silhouette in the curtains of the bedroom for a second, not long enough to get a bead on the woman.

  He moved the crosshairs to the balcony, looking into the living room beyond the sliding glass door. In a moment, the form appeared there and moved around. Morgan made sure to keep his eyes trained on the torso and the heart, afraid that if he looked at the head he might see his mother’s or Nadine’s face and falter in his task.

  “Don’t do this, Morgan.” The voice was indistinguishable; it could have been any one of them - Mom, teddy bear, monkey or ex-lover.”

  The woman stopped at the table that held her answering machine and he could see her press the button to retrieve her messages, just as he’d planned. She was standing still to listen to them.

  Mr. Hector stepped toward him. “Look, let’s just forget…” His words were cut off by a sharp report from the gun. Even with a top-of-the-line silencer like the one Morgan used, a gun still made a wicked noise. It bounced a little on the table as the recoil kicked the gun back. Though it startled everyone, the shock was gone in a couple of seconds. The monkey and Mr. Hector ran to the end of the table and looked out. Both leaned as close to the window as they could and narrowed their eyes.

  Morgan sat up and started taking his gun apart. As he did, he watched the water on the floor below him start to recede. By the time he was ready to get down off the table and put his gun in the briefcase, the water was gone completely.

  From the table, the monkey screeched, “Hey. Hey! You shot the wrong woman!” He danced in a circle.

  Clang! Clang!

  “You shot the wrong woman!” Mr. Hector joined in.

  Morgan carefully put the pieces of the gun into place in the case and closed it. He looked over at Mother and watched her face. She wasn’t joining in with the others in doubting what Morgan had done. Even though he hadn’t looked at the target’s face, he knew he got who he came for. “No I didn’t.” He walked to the foyer as the clanging stopped.

  “She’s getting up!” Mr. Hector said.

  The monkey just shook his head. “It’s over.”

  Morgan opened the door slowly and peered out, looking cautiously from side to side. Seeing nothing, he closed it again, leaned down to the bone-dry carpet and picked up the emerald case with his rifle in it. Across the room his mother, the monkey and Mr. Hector stood staring at him.

  The monkey’s lip curled at one side. “See you next time?”

  Morgan smiled then, knowing himself the way he did. “I suppose you will.” He opened the door again and this time, even though the hallway was windowless, sunshine streamed in like a hot summer’s day. Two small cartoon bluebirds fluttered in and he watched them circle his head twice before they flew back into the hall. One of them tweeted something in his ear. He nodded and followed them toward the stairs.

  3

  The activity in the airport died down a little the later it got. Fewer people came through the restroom and it got quiet. Deena hovered somewhere between asleep and awake, in a fog. At some point, she’d made her way into the ladies room, sat down, locked a stall door and gotten comfortable. She was sure she’d managed to get some rest, but she truly felt like she’d been awake the entire time. When she finally got the inclination to move, her muscles ached, every one of them. Her face was especially sore as it contracted and expanded. In the last couple of hours, her body had shrunk to the size of a fourteen-year-old and then started snapping back to her twenty-seven-year-old self. She felt like Silly Putty.

  Her stomach ached for similar reasons, coupled with the fact that she’d eaten poorly. She struggled to remember whether she had actually spent close to ten dollars in change on chocolates, garlic bread and sour candies. The rumble in her stomach suggested she had.

  The battered and threadbare backpack sat on her lap—she’d been using it as a pillow—and she decided it might hold an idea of what she should do next. Manipulating the zipper caused a spasm in her shoulder that sent pain throughout her system. Inside, she quickly located an envelope with cash in an inner pocket that was zipped shut. She’d dug out all the change for snacks earlier, and hadn’t thought to look for cash. It would get her just about anywhere she wanted to go in the immediate future.

  She pulled out a cell phone from another zipped pocket. She remembered enough to know it had three numbers programmed into it: The first belonged to her handler, the second to her sister. The third was a text-only number where she could leave messages in an emergency. She turned it on and texted “call me” to the man on the other end.

  There were still magazines inside the bag and she took them out and set them on top of the toilet paper dispenser. She placed the tickets and various papers with flight information there as well. There were tissues and scraps of airport bar napkins and a broken pencil. Beyond those scant few items, the bag was empty and fa
lling to tatters. She took the money out and started to shove it in her waistband when she realized she still had just the t-shirt on and not much else. She’d need to keep the backpack and maybe buy some shorts or pants in one of the airport shops, if she could find one that sold more than just Seattle Mariners shirts.

  And shoes. She felt gross putting her bare feet down on the nasty bathroom floor.

  She gathered up the junk and threw it in the trash after she left the stall, leaving only the money, phone and the snapped pencil to put back in the bag. As she did, she noticed the faded words written in marker on the inside of the old backpack.

  If found return to 4486 Southmoore Ln. Talmadge, Calif.

  Deena thought about the address. It was where she and Harper had grown up. She wondered if her dad still lived there, if the old fort was still hanging in the tree. She wondered if everyone still remembered what happened, what she did there.

  She stared at herself in the bathroom mirrors and tried to figure out a way to make it look like the “nude except for a t-shirt” look was what she was going for, but it wasn’t working. She stretched the shirt as far down as she could and managed to get it to cover up the important parts. She wished she had a fanny pack instead of a backpack. There was no way to strategically tie a backpack around her waist without looking completely crazy; as opposed to an exhibitionist teen.

  She took one last look in the mirror as she prepared to walk out. God, I hope teenage girls are still dressing slutty this year.

  Deena’s phone rang. She pressed the button to answer, put it to her ear and said “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m out.” She said it on impulse, though the idea had come to her earlier. She was a kid again. She could pick an entirely new path for herself. Even if her second childhood might only last a day or so, at least it would be different. “Goodbye.”

  4

  Morgan watched Mr. Marsh hang up the phone. They’d talked about the call Marsh had received from Deena and this next conversation only seemed to confirm she’d gone off her nut. He was slightly uneasy when the older man turned his attention to him. “That was Deena’s handler, Avi. He says he never saw her get off the plane and she hasn’t contacted him yet. He’s looking for her, but no success yet.”

  “So, you think she’s serious about leaving?” Morgan asked.

  “Hard to say. We knew it would happen sooner or later,” Marsh said. “I was beginning to hope for later.”

  Morgan tilted his head slightly and furrowed his brow. “She’s done this before. It’s no big deal. She’ll be back.”

  “She’s gone off on her own, but she’s never actually told anyone she quit before.”

  It was true. In the many years Morgan had worked with Deena and her sister, Harper, he could remember Deena vanishing for days at a time, resurfacing as if nothing had happened. “First time for everything.”

  “You know the sisters, yes? You’re aware of the younger one?”

  Morgan almost laughed. “You know I know them. I was there when you brought them on. I remember that witch, Deena, or whatever she is. Everyone that works for you knows about her.”

  Marsh smiled. “We get things done here. When someone hires us for a job, they know it’s going to get done in a manner that bespeaks professionalism and, when necessary, haste. That girl is a big part of that reputation, though she seems to be slipping in the former.”

  Morgan was pretty sure Deena hadn’t cost them any work yet, and her slips involved getting a bit more creative than her orders allowed for, but Marsh generally spoke well of her and seemed pleased with Deena’s work. Still, a girl like that could be a handful if she decided to stop listening to reason. Morgan knew that the older sister, Harper, was also a rapidly growing liability. She didn’t have the power Deena did, and was a fuck-up of the highest magnitude. She didn’t take to the training, didn’t learn, didn’t adapt as phenomenally as her sibling. And she certainly didn’t have any unique abilities. But the witch defended her. And no one wanted to be on that girl’s bad side.

  “This could just be one of her episodes, a lapse in judgment or a similar problem and it will pass, you’re right. But I want you to find Deena and bring her back. If it looks like that won’t happen, if she seems to be trying to leave our organization, or if her behavior is too far out of sorts, you’re to terminate her. No nonsense, no bargaining, no bullshit.”

  Morgan took a breath and waited for a moment. He’d seen up close what Deena could do. She was unpredictable on a good day, but she could be crazy and vicious when backed into a corner. “I’m not a big talker. I doubt I’ll be able to convince her to come back if she doesn’t want to. I certainly won’t do a better job of it than her handler or her sister.”

  Morgan could see the wheels spinning in his boss’s head.

  “If Deena isn’t coming back, I have no use for her sister either. In fact, after Harper’s latest catastrophe, I believe we are done with her,” Marsh said. “She’s been nothing more than a carrot to keep Deena focused, but it isn’t worth it anymore.”

  “Maybe killing Harper isn’t the best way to go about it; could she be leveraged some way?” Morgan was wondering if his guns would be a match for the young woman’s magic. Deena was a growing legend in the local world of professional killers, though very few of them knew the limits of her power.

  Marsh shook his head. “Not worth the trouble.”

  “If I kill her sister, I don’t see Deena coming back here. But if you utilized Harper, if you used her to get Deena to come back, it would make more sense. Bring her back to help her sister and we can take care of them both here.”

  Marsh grabbed a tennis ball and rolled it around on the table. “If she were confused enough, there’s no telling what she would do. It seems the more she uses her powers, the more off kilter she becomes. Strange. Erratic.”

  “We knew that the first time we met her. She was always going to be a wild card.”

  Marsh nodded and his face went sour. “We knew that much, but it seemed like a winning proposition. Someone with her abilities, in our organization? It’s too bad we couldn’t keep her on task.”

  There was a chance for gain here. There was the real possibility for Morgan to come out ahead in the situation. He paused as he approached the door. “I’ll go after her, if that’s what you want, but what would be my compensation for this? Hunting down, how did you put it - erratic? Hunting down an erratic witch is more than a little dangerous.”

  “It always comes back to money in this world.” Marsh sighed. “The monetary benefit would be great. But, in the long run if they don’t come back, I’ll need someone to do their jobs. That makes the future a bit brighter for you, doesn’t it?”

  Morgan nodded. “It does.” He was already getting a good share of work just on his reputation, but Marsh had increasingly been handing Deena more of the prime jobs. And what was worse, Marsh was paying her much less than he should for such jobs and pocketing the additional money for the organization. The little witch didn’t know any better. Or she didn’t care. The joy of the hunt seemed to be payment enough sometimes for her.

  “Pack a bag and head for the airport. The company jet will be waiting to take you to Seattle. You can be there in a matter of hours. Maybe her trail hasn’t gone completely cold.”

  After Marsh dismissed him, Morgan made his way to his car and pulled out onto the street, making his way to the freeway and out of town. No matter how concerned Morgan was about magic spells and witches, money would make it all better. As he drove down the winding canyon road out of the city, Morgan added up the possibilities of taking over the business the girls would leave in their wake. It was tantalizing to say the least. Still, the witch scared him. She’d pulled off some amazing jobs using those weird powers of hers and no one really knew what she was truly capable of.

  “You know you can come out of this
ahead, or you can come out of this way ahead?” Morgan could hear the voice near his ear. “Get your head out of your ass.”

  “Shut up.” Morgan stared at the road.

  “Please. You know I’m right.”

  Morgan looked into rearview mirror and saw his old mentor, Brandt Stewart, sitting in the back seat. “You want me to cross Marsh? That’s crazy. He finds out, he’ll send someone to gut me.”

  “Who’s he going to send? All his best people are busy. You kill the girl and who’s left? Besides, you could go work for Marsh’s rivals at the drop of a hat. Savannah Thorpe has been trying to bring you over to her gang for years. That lady is no small player herself.”

  “But I don’t have the power that Riordan girl has.”

  “Not many do.”

  Morgan watched the trees as they appeared to zip by his window. He pushed the button and his window went slowly down. He pressed the accelerator a bit more and leaned his head into the breeze, cool air rushing into his face.

  “We’re not just talking about money here. This is a step up. Hell, if you kill these girls, you’ll be the number one problem-solver on this coast.” Brandt paused for a reaction but Morgan refused to give him one. “Maybe you can get paid twice before Marsh figures it out. Get a competitor to pay you for killing the witch and get Marsh’s money in the process.”

  “I’m not switching teams.” Morgan leaned further into the wind; let it blow his hair around, fill his ears.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Brandt asked as he leaned forward.

  Morgan thought he smelled the stench of a cheap brand of cigars that he hadn’t smelled in years. After a moment, the only aroma was the salt of the sea air as he guided the car toward the airport.