by Heskett, Jim
“I need someone to keep an eye on him. He works for a big company, and I think they’re watching him, and they tried to have me killed.”
“Sounds like a shitty company.”
“Yeah. I’m fairly certain they’re the ones who sent the big guy to Golden last week to take me out while I was rotting in Veronica’s basement.”
“What do they want with you?”
Ember shook her head. “Not me. I’m just in the way of what they want, so they’re going to remove me from the situation. They want Zach to come work on some project, he doesn’t want to, and it’s apparently quite high stakes. I think he’s in more danger than he knows. He’s young, so I don’t know if he understands how important it is for him to be careful. He has a habit of wandering and putting himself in danger.”
“Understood,” Fagan said. “Send me his details. I’ll put someone from the Branch on it.”
“Much appreciated, boss lady.”
“It’s always better for assassins to stay uninvolved. You fall in love, you put that person in danger."
“I know, I know. Like I said, it didn’t happen on purpose or according to any plan. The smart thing for me to do would be to lose his phone number and stay out of it completely.” Ember felt herself blushing. “But you know, I kinda like this guy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I have to be honest… I haven’t felt like this in a while. His face is there when I close my eyes, and he’s the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning. Not that you would know anything about those human things like emotions.”
Fagan raised an eyebrow, and Ember had the briefest flash of insight — perhaps this woman was also hiding some key elements of her past from Ember. Perhaps there was a lot more to the dark, damaged woman named Fagan than she was letting on.
If that were true, Fagan didn’t offer up anything to support it. “There’s no excuse for being careless now,” Fagan said. “These are dark times. Did you hear about VP Dunard?”
“No, what happened?”
“Someone tried to have her killed yesterday. A couple of hitters showed up at her house and blanketed her with bullets. She had a bodyguard who saved her life, but it’s all a big mess. Early signs point to Parker Branch.”
“Parker? Really?”
Fagan nodded. “Whoever it was used an outside contractor that had done work for Parker before. There was some chatter back at the Post Office that Parker is unhappy with their current reimbursement stipend for managing the Club archives. Several members have quit recently.”
Ember shuddered as she stood and zipped her jacket all the way up to her chin. “Dark times, for sure.”
“Stay safe.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible, but I can at least stay careful.”
Chapter Twenty
BAM
Bam and Payton watched from their spot, prone on top of the convenience store in Centennial. Technically, they were outside of Centennial proper, close to the Aurora Reservoir. A few spots of construction, wide open expanses, and billboards trying to sell houses that hadn’t been built yet. In this area, there was a gas station—not yet open for business—across from a giant metal frame of a future building. Only the stairwells had been completed inside of it. Bam had learned from Niles they did those parts first, to make them up to fire code, or something like that.
Bam didn’t know how the Mexicans and the Westminster guys knew this construction site wouldn’t be occupied today, but they had, somehow. With the location and the nice weather paired with it, Bam couldn’t have dreamed up a better day for a heist.
“You nervous?” Payton asked in a low voice.
“No, I don’t think so. Maybe a little excited. But I’m cool.”
Payton eyed him. “You’re not nervous? I sure as hell am. Are you high?”
“No, not high. I have too much to do today. Later on, though? Most definitely, I will be. The Call of Duty expansion came out early this morning, so I am going to get deep into that this evening. I might even sleep in tomorrow.”
“Here they come,” Payton said as a truck slowed and parked at the construction site. The Mexicans were already here and had arrived minutes after Bam and Payton. Bam watched this new vehicle idle only a few feet away from the other one.
The truck doors opened and out stepped two Westminster Branch members. Bam recognized one of them, but he couldn’t remember the guy’s name. Definitely Westminster, though. With the two Mexicans, that made four packed into the shadow of the future building’s frame. They nodded and said hellos, then shook hands.
Taking on all four of them should have made Bam nervous, but he felt an eerie sense of calm. Even the fact that they intended to pull off this robbery in broad daylight didn’t faze him. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling this was all going to work out exactly how he wanted it to.
“What makes you so sure the Mexicans will leave first?” Bam asked.
Payton pointed down at the two dark-skinned men, where they were standing at the back end of a sedan, with a wooden crate on the ground. “Because they unloaded the shit as soon as they got here, minutes ago. They already know these Westy guys, so they don’t have to size them up. They want to take their money and get the hell out of here. I’ll bet you this meeting takes thirty seconds, tops.”
“Makes sense,” Bam said. “It looks safe, but it’s exposed from a lot of angles. But even if the Westy two leave first, we know where they’re going.”
“Exactly. We can be on them in minutes. This is how the revolution starts.”
Bam turned to his friend. “You’re still on that, huh?”
“Of course. Westminster has been gunning for our Branch for months. It’s about time they got what was coming to them.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you saying you’re not into it?”
“No,” Bam said. “I don’t know. Niles was the one always talking about a coup. I’m just…” He let the sentence hang there because he didn’t know how to finish it. Bam could certainly see the advantage to Five Points taking over the DAC and remaking it in their image. No more of these little power squabbles. No more of these pointless and inconsistent Review Board decisions, back and forth, all the politics at the top. It would be easier with one Branch in power.
But he wasn’t convinced. Things weren’t that terrible. Not perfect, but did the status quo need to be obliterated for things to get better?
“Here we go,” Payton said as the Westy guys looked over the crate to inspect it. “We should get into position."
Bam scooted back until the roof of the gas station obscured their view of the meeting, then they descended the ladder at the other end. From here, they would move around the north end of the building, using a construction trailer to block them from detection as they approached. As soon as the Mexicans left, then they would rob and assassinate the two Westminster members. No sense in taking on four when they could whittle the battle to an even match.
Bam drew his dual Kimber Micro .380 pistols and disengaged the safeties on each. Small, but they packed a punch. Of his collection, they were in the top five, for sure. He always laughed inwardly whenever some redneck idiot at the range made a comment about .380s not having “enough stopping power.” Well, he’d love to show them up close and personally how well they’d stop a human.
He kept the guns pointed toward the ground as he followed Payton toward the trailer. With each step, his heart pumped, sending a rush of adrenaline into his brain. Flooding his senses, making him feel warm. The energy coursing through him was palpable. The same sort of high he had experienced yesterday, teaching that bitch Ember a lesson in his living room when she’d had the audacity to come at him head-on.
They paused at the edge of the trailer. The four men at the construction site were talking, but Bam couldn’t make out any words. This went on for thirty seconds, then he heard the trunk of a car close. He met Payton’s eyes, and his friend raised his Desert Eagle, barrel point
ed at the sky.
Payton held a finger to his lips.
Now Bam could hear the men talking. The mood was light, few words exchanged from either side, but it sounded like the meeting was going well.
A moment later, shoes shuffled through gravel, and then the sedan’s engine started up. Bam and Payton both dropped low. The car pulled out of the lot and rounded another half-finished building. A small cloud of gravel dust followed the tires.
The second it disappeared from sight, Bam said, “Now.”
He popped up, pistols raised, and rushed around the trailer. Payton went toward the other side, fifteen feet away.
When Bam reached the end, he saw the Mexicans gone and the two Westminster members bent over the crate, picking through it. They both stood and turned, mouths agape at these two young assassins running at them. Neither of these Westy guys held pistols in their hands.
“Put 'em up!” Payton said.
Bam didn’t wait for his targets to comply. Energy flowed through him. His entire body felt like a throbbing sword, with crimson light beaming out of his eyes and ears and nose, ready to propel him into the air to rain down hell on his enemies. He pulled both triggers at once, dropping the guy on the right. Two bullets straight into his chest and he stumbled back and out of the way.
Payton looked with a horrified glare at Bam, but he didn’t stop. He took shots at the other one and missed. The guy skittered right, behind the truck. He popped up a moment later, leveling a shotgun across the bed of the truck.
A deafening boom accompanied a flash of light from the end of the gun. Payton stumbled and hit the dirt. Bam dodged to his right, putting the cab of the truck between him and the shooter. He couldn’t see Payton from here.
Bam blasted a few more times, knocking out the truck’s windows. The Westy guy ducked down, and Bam sprinted around the truck as fast as he could before the guy could recover.
He skidded to a stop on the bloodstained gravel. The target hunkered down, shotgun pointed up. Panting, eyes wide, trying to gulp air in a cloud of gravel dust.
The guy turned his face up, looking up in horror at Bam as he now stood over him, ready to fire. Extending his arms and locking out his elbows, Bam grinned.
He put four bullets in the last remaining Westminster member. Face, neck, chest. The shotgun fell from the guy’s hands as he dropped onto his butt, then slumped onto his back. His chest wore a curtain of red, his eyes were glassy and still.
The air turned completely quiet. Bam’s head thrummed, his jaw had frozen so tight his head started to ache. But it was also glorious. A rush went through him beyond anything he had ever experienced. Not the first time Bam had ever killed, but the first time he felt a surge of pure perfection, like he was a god among these people and nothing anyone did could steal that feeling from him.
Like paintball. Killing wasn’t exactly the same as that silly sport, but the general principles were the same. And he practiced those general principles multiple times a week.
He pushed air in and out of his nose, feeling lightheaded and giddy and full of boundless rage, all at the same time. His eyes hurt because he hadn’t blinked since the attack had started.
Bam approached the shotgun guy and kicked the weapon away from his hand. It didn’t matter, though. The asshole was clearly dead. After that, Bam walked over to the crate and found a chest full of treasure so rich his aching jaw fell open. Guns, boxes of rounds, bulletproof vests. And in separate boxes, bags filled with ingredients. Bam knew them immediately: cyclotrimethylene-trinitramine, the main ingredient in RDX, as well as polyisobutylene and sebacate, the agents that, mixed with water and RDX, would form a sort of clay-like substance and allow someone to pack together a nice brick of explosive.
“Holy shit,” he said, digging through the boxes. He didn’t see any detonators, though, but that would be an easy thing to remedy. That would have to come later.
A moan cut through the silence, and Bam whipped back toward the construction trailer. Payton was on the ground, writhing. His chest and stomach had been torn apart by the shotgun blast, but he wasn’t dead. His eyes were open and staring straight up. Mouth opening and closing, trying to suck air. His legs and arms shifted around, his hands closing on gravel, clenching some in his fists.
Bam crossed the gravel and stared down at Payton. The adrenaline fueling Bam made his friend seem to have a glow about him, almost like an aura. But Bam didn’t believe in any of that woo-woo mystical shit.
“Help me,” Payton wheezed, now moving his arms and legs in small wiggles. He was slowing, his eyes drooping, the pool of blood thickening around him.
Bam looked at the damage to his chest. Blood everywhere. He had a sudden and powerful desire to point his gun at Payton’s head and pull the trigger. He didn’t know why he felt this way. Payton had been his friend for years and didn’t deserve to die like roadkill out here in the cold gravel ground of the construction site.
But Bam wanted to kill him. He wanted to see the bullet enter Payton’s temple, to see him stop moving and turn silent.
He knelt down next to his friend, watching the life slip out of him. “Sorry, Payton. You’re too far gone, dude. You’re nothing but blood and guts, and I’m surprised you’re still breathing. I really do thank you for setting up this deal. I got exactly what I needed so I don’t have to string Ember along any more.”
“Help,” Payton said, croaking out the word.
“I’m sorry it had to end this way for you, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do for you. Before you go, know that I appreciate you.”
He stood, feeling Payton’s eyes on him, and then walked away as Payton whimpered. Bam would have felt bad about leaving his friend to die on the ground, if he didn’t feel so damn high about everything else at the moment.
Chapter Twenty-One
EMBER
Jack Rothman’s jewelry shop sat in a strip mall in the suburb of Lafayette. An unassuming little store, with a legit business out front. But the back room was where all the magic happened.
Ember had been coming here to see Jack for years to acquire special implements to do her job. Jack was quick, discrete, and affordable. Getting the address of this jewelry store was one of the first pieces of Branch knowledge Ember had received once she’d finished her time as a recruit.
Sitting in the parking lot with one hand on the steering wheel, Ember dialed.
“Hello?” Zach said over the phone.
“Just making sure you weren’t either in jail or locked in someone’s basement right now.”
“Nope. Not as far as I know.”
“Good. You had me worried with your cryptic text messages earlier.”
“Sorry about that. I was freaking out a little when I sent that text this morning. It turned out to be nothing, though, so we can all go back to business as usual.”
There was something in his voice she didn’t recognize. It almost sounded like suspicion, but she couldn’t say that for sure. “What was the stupid thing you did?”
Zach hesitated. “I went back to my apartment to get my laptop.”
“I see.”
“Yeah, I know. I can hear you scowling through the phone. But everything is okay now. I’m back at the motel, staying safe, staying quiet.”
Ember wondered if Fagan had sent someone yet to keep an eye on him. If he continued to embark on dangerous missions like trips to his old apartment, he was definitely going to need protection. “Good. Do you miss me?”
“Yeah,” he said in a heartfelt and sincere tone. “I do.”
“I miss you, too. I’m going to see you soon, and I’m going to make up for all this missed time apart.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it is. Until then, keep your head down. Be smart. And do some lunges while you’re cooped up in that motel. I don’t want your pristine butt to get all flabby.”
“Yes, ma’am. I kinda like it when you order me around.”
Ember grinned, watching the front of the jewe
lry store windows. The big owner’s head appeared, with an eyebrow raised at her through the glass. Ember raised a hand in a wave. “I can think of some other stuff you might also like,” she said to Zach, almost purring. “We’ll talk soon.”
She ended the call and left her car. When Ember opened the front door, Jack spread his meaty arms wide. He was an enormous man, with a beard half again as big as his face, and a bulbous belly that jiggled whenever he laughed. He was all alone in the store this afternoon, which Ember found a little odd.
“Baby girl!” he shouted as Ember let the door shut behind her.
“Afternoon, Jack.”
His face fell. “What’s going on, Ember? You don’t look so hot.”
She glanced past him, toward the curtain separating the back room. “Anyone else here with you today?”
“Not at the moment. I sent Martha home for the day. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I got time. Let me hear it.”
“Let’s see,” Ember said as she sucked in a deep breath. “First, I was on a job. A local one. I took out my target, but there was another member there at the same time. He attacked me, so I defended myself and killed him. But because of my dicey history with the Club’s Review Board, they weren’t willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, so I got sentenced to a trial by combat. A special flavor of it called a black spot where I have to face a different assassin each week for six straight weeks. I’ve survived four of them, and I’m halfway through week five. Also, my boyfriend found out the company he works for won’t take no for an answer, and I think they sent someone to kill me because they consider me a threat to their future plans for him. I killed that one in Golden last week, but there are probably more. And finally, there’s another assassin after me, some woman named Serena, and I’m not totally sure why she’s trying to kill me. I think my old boss may have sent her, but I haven’t even really had time to deal with her. She’s the one I’m the most worried about, because I know so little about her.”