(2013) Shooter

by Jack Parker

  I know what you're thinking. Not at all. We were just friends, and I'll prove it right now. "What about…?"

  "Julia? I asked her already. She's coming."

  "Sounds fun." I smiled and he smiled back. See? There's nothing there.

  "Alrighty then. By the way, how's your sister doing?" Daisuke asked with mild curiosity.

  "Pretty good, she still thinks I'm a telemarketer, actually. I need a better alibi." I chuckled softly to myself.

  He snorted. "You? A telemarketer?"

  "I know, right? That's why I need a better fake job."

  "Lawyer?" Daisuke suggested unhelpfully.

  "Lawyer? Are you insane?" I sniggered at the thought. "Con'll just stare at me and ask when the hell I went to law school. No, I need something I might actually be able to back up… oh, screw it, I'll think of something else later."

  I stood with a yawn and a very unladylike stretch and grunt. Hey, at least I wasn't scratching my bum. Daisuke watched me and frowned.

  "You really should get some more sleep, Grace. Or try to." He frowned again. "It's not healthy, you know."

  "I do. Doesn't make it any easier." I mumbled, folding my arms across my chest. A hint of a smile quirked the corner of my mouth.

  "No, I don't suppose it would." He nodded and left with one last sad smile at me.

  I traced a finger under one eye, where I knew dark circles showed clearly. Sleep? Me?

  Right.

  I tossed and turned under a sheet, waking once or twice before rolling over and trying again. It didn't happen, and I was almost relieved when my cell rang. I glanced at the alarm clock beside my bed. 5:42 AM.

  "Hello?" I mumbled.

  "I have another assignment for you and Julia."

  I raked a hand through my disheveled hair. "When and where?"

  "Get some rest for now, I'm sending the details later."

  "Who's the monkey?" I sighed.

  "Julia. Come prepared accordingly, Graecia." Click.

  Alright then. I tossed my phone back on the bedside table.

  Confused? What's a monkey, you may ask? Well, typically, when there are two hitmen on one job, it's because there are separate jobs to be done. The monkey is the stealthy one, who breaks and enters, for wont of a better term, and the other, the metal man, is the one who actually does the dirty deed. Unfortunately, unless I'm with Julia, I'm always the monkey. And the monkey tends to be the one who gets munched on by the guard dogs when they pick up her trail. But this time I get to be the one holding the gun. Hooray.

  So I sighed and rolled back over a few more times before giving up and hobbling off to my closet.

  Flipping on the light switch, I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes, trying to decide what to wear.

  In the end, I selected some torn jeans, a black t-shirt, worn black Chucks, and a canvas coat, the military style that was halfway fashionable and functional at the same time. Under my coat, I wore a nylon and leather gun holster that allowed for two standard .45 ACP handguns and a couple of knives. The guns went under my shoulders, and four four-inch knives rested on my hips. My standard getup. Dressed, I stuffed a duffel bag with various paraphernalia that I would need later.

  Shutting my closet door behind me, I took the bag out into the main room and dropped it on one scarlet couch. My stomach growled, time for breakfast.

  Attempting to keep my clanking to a minimum, I crept into the kitchen and opened the fridge, selecting a pan or three from the rack over the stove.

  I selected eggs and bacon and several types of seasonings from the cabinet overhead, and a couple types of cheese and kicked the door closed.

  I felt the need to cook up something special this morning. Chances were, this might be my last halfway decent meal for a few days.

  Laying out all the ingredients on the countertop, I set to work.

  A half hour later, Julia and Daisuke woke and wandered in.

  "Holy crap, Gracie, how long have you been up? I was going to go and wake you, but I heard the sizzling and smelled the delicious food." Julia stretched and looked around at the amazing spread I'd laid out.

  "Just about an hour or so." I poked a stuffed pepper and cheese omelet to see how done it was. "That's for you guys. Dig in." I waved at the table.

  They both grinned like children presented with cake, parked it at the table and seized a plate of breakfast each.

  Daisuke smiled as he ate, and Julia wore a dreamy expression.

  "My god, you are my fucking hero, Gracie. This is great."

  I waved a spatula at her in-between flipping another omelet. "Flattery gets you nowhere."

  She chuckled darkly. "Right."

  I just smiled and grabbed my plate. It was nice for people to actually appreciate my work once in a while. Hey, I was a pretty good cook, too.

  "Alright, it might get me to cook more often. That's all you get."

  "Hell, I'll take that."

  "So, I hear you and Julia have a job. That means I get the house to myself for a bit." Daisuke chimed in.

  "Oh, shit, we do? Why does nobody tell me these things?" Julia dropped her fork and it clattered to the plate.

  "I dunno any of the details, yet, but yeah. So with me gone, who's going to cook for you, Dai?"

  He blinked. "You're right."

  "Who's the monkey?" Julia asked, slightly irritable.

  "You are."

  "Damn."

  "Sorry babe."

  She laughed. "Screw you, Ghost."

  "No thanks. I don't roll that way."

  Julia rolled her eyes and stomped off to go get dressed.

  "You two better be nice to each other or this job's never getting done." Daisuke sniggered to himself.

  "What are you talking about? We are being nice. You should really see us when we're pissed at each other… which thankfully doesn't happen often."

  "No thanks, I'd really rather avoid that fallout."

  "Very wise, my friend." I nodded and smiled.

  "I thought so. Hey, isn't that your phone?" He pointed a thumb behind him into the center room. I could hear a faint buzzing.

  "Oh, it is. Thanks." I set down my plate and bustled toward my bag. I pulled out a Blackberry and opened up the lone new message. An email. It contained the information on the job and the photo of our intended victim.

  Caleb Holtz. A 52-year-old husband and father who had apparently pissed off his partners in the law firm. They were willing to pay a pretty penny for this job to be done. I sort of wondered what he did that was so terrible, but not for very long; you know, none of my business.

  I now knew what he looked like, where he lived, and what my likely choice of method would be. I flipped off the Blackberry and went to Julia's door and rapped on it twice.

  "Hey, we've got a long drive ahead of us. Gotta get moving." I heard a shuffle and a bump, and Julia appeared in the doorway.

  "Let's go, slowpoke." She hitched a backpack onto her shoulder and strode past me, toward the exit. "Bye, Daisuke."

  A grabbed my duffel bag and followed, giving Daisuke a cheery wave and a grin.

  This time, we drove the nice car. A steel gray BMW with heated seats and a nice system. I loved that car.

  "I'll drive." I deftly snatched the keys from a scowling Julia and stepped in.

  "Fine…" she sighed. "But I get to drive back."

  We found ourselves parked a ways away from Mr. Holtz's rural estate. The dirt road we were parked on stretched on and on ahead of us, and we could see more houses down the road. Fortunately, the Beemer wasn't out of place among the Mercedes and Bentleys and Aston Martins that belonged to the other wealthy residents.

  "Not enough windows in the house for a long-ranger." I growled, disappointed. That meant I'd have to get up close and personal with it, which was dangerous in a residence with more than one inhabitant. Better chance of being spotted.

  "Want me to handle it?"

  "Nah, I got it."

  "Alright." She backed off gracefully. "I just have to g
et you in and out, then."

  "No better person for the job."

  We watched the house for about ten more minutes before she spoke again. "You know, I've always wondered something."

  "What's that?"

  "Has there ever been a job you wouldn't do? One you just turned down on principle?"

  I glanced over at her, mildly confused, before answering. Julia didn't generally come up with questions out of left field like that.

  "There was one, a couple of years back when we were still freelance."

  "What happened?"

  "I got hired for a job, right? Some guy wanted me to take out his wife. Make way for the mistress, or for the life insurance policy money, I didn't really know, and didn't ask any questions. Not my job, you know?" I trailed off, a bad taste on my tongue. Just the memory made me curl up one lip in disgust.

  "That offended you? We've done a bunch of those."

  "No, there was much more to it. So halfway into the job, I'm staking out his house and I get a call. Says he wants me to torch the house, make it look like an accident. I so happened to glance in the window and see his bedridden five-year-old daughter playing with a little dollhouse, her mother sitting with her, playing dolls. They looked happy. And I couldn't do it."

  "He wanted you to kill his little girl?" Julia slumped in her seat. "Why would any father possibly want to kill his child?"

  I tried to rid myself of the look of utter disgust on my face. "I did a little digging. The daughter, Alice, had congenital leukemia. Wouldn't live past ten. And the father wanted to be free of his obligations. Nice little insurance policy on the both of them."

  "So you told him no?"

  "What else could I do?" I shrugged. "Couldn't have lived with myself if I'd taken it."

  "We were freelance, though. You needed the money."

  "Not that badly."

  Julia looked at me now, and wore a mildly amused grin. "A conscience and a sense of honor are generally not good job qualities for us, Grace."

  That forced a harsh laugh from me. "I've seen some pretty crazy shit, Julia. If I could just drop my damned conscience, I might be able to rest. But that won't happen."

  "Grace…" She started.

  My right hand balled up into a fist on my knee. "I'm so goddamn good at my job, and I hate myself for it. If I could just stop feeling."

  "Don't ever say that." Julia snapped, her expression going hard, her voice cold.

  "Why not?"

  "Because the day you become as cold as I am, I will lose all respect for you." Her tone was soft now, "You're still human, and that's all that matters."

  Julia's brown eyes bored into mine. "Is that really how you think of yourself?" I asked quietly. "Some kind of monster?"

  She sighed. "Something like that. Killing people went from something I had to do, to just my job, unimportant, like filing a tax report, even, to…" Julia trailed off and looked away. "I'm starting to like it. And that scares the shit out of me."

  "Julia…" I knew exactly how that felt.

  "Just don't be like me, pain is better than nothing."

  I just nodded once, as her tone told me that was the end of the conversation. I rubbed a slight bump on the bridge of my nose where it had been broken when a hit had fought back. It was a nervous habit of mine. "You're not a monster, Julie. Trust me."

  She didn't react, just sat perfectly still for a minute, breathing deep.

  "Let's get you in, shall we?"

  I just nodded and watched her pull out a set of binoculars and watch through them for a while.

  "As far as I can tell from here, there's no way in without being seen by at least one camera."

  "How many does the guy have?" I snorted.

  "Ten that I can see right now. Apparently Mr. Holtz thinks someone's after him."

  "And he would be correct, wouldn't he?"

  "Good point. Or maybe he's got all those to protect some item. The reason his law partners want him dead."

  "And that's none of our business at all, Julie."

  She shrugged. "No, it's not, but I like to wonder at what motivates people sometimes."

  "That's a subject I don't like to touch." I grimaced and shrugged my weapons into a more comfortable position.

  "Don't I know it." She trailed off rather cryptically, and then declared, "I'm going to sneak around back and holler at you when I've found a way in."

  She fished something out of her pocket and stepped out of the car, leaving me to my thoughts while I jammed a little headphone into one ear, and waited.

  I watched Julia take the way-long route around the property line, deftly hopping a waist high fence and loping off along the treeline. Even in broad daylight, I had trouble spotting her.

  "A couple of these are wide angle lenses, harder to get around. Hm." It was only a whisper, but the mic's nearly sensitive enough to pick up a dime dropping.

  "Can you see a way in yet?" I asked quietly.

  "Actually, I can. There's a nice little gap leading right to the back door. Extremely convenient… probably so he can get the girlfriend in and out without the wifey seeing."

  "None of our business, Julie…" I warned.

  "I know. Come up here. Stick to the trees, and bear north at about four hundred yards."

  "Got it."

  I quickly checked my gear, grabbed a swat-style facemask out of my bag, stuffed it in my back pocket, and got out of the car, following Julia's exact route. It took me a bit to find her crouched in the undergrowth, eyes scanning the premises carefully.

  I settled myself rather less gracefully in-between several fern fronds and what I strongly suspected to be poison oak.

  "Right there, along the stepping stone path. That's where the hole is." She pointed through the center of a very well tended garden. "Just follow the stones."

  I frowned. "That's awfully convenient. Next, there's going to be an unlocked door and only the one guy home. That would be nice."

  "Take it where you can get it." Julia shrugged. "I'm pretty sure you can handle most anything you run across."

  "Let's just get this over with." I tipped a sarcastic little salute and crawled off, pulling the mask over my face.

  I jogged lightly through the hydrangeas, keeping a low profile, and to both my surprise and Julia's, the back door actually was open. I slid back the glass cautiously, and slipped inside, finding myself in a pristine kitchen. It didn't look like it saw much use. Doesn't anyone cook anymore?

  I listened hard for the subtle sounds of human habitation, unsheathing a wicked curved knife and a damp cloth from my belt. It was doused with chloroform, in case I needed to… subdue someone. And extra, someone other than the target. The daughter or the wife, perhaps, and a couple of sniffs and they'd be out cold. The knife was for Mr. Holtz.

  I couldn't hear anyone. Maybe nobody was home? But that made no sense, because there were only two cars registered in the Holtz name, and both cars were in the drive. Someone should be here.

  I left the kitchen and entered a scantily decorated foyer, free of people or really even a human touch. The walls were stark white, and the furniture was devoid of any sort of personality at all. Even the flowers in the utterly nondescript terra cotta vase were bland.

  God, this place is depressing.

  Hearing no one, I tiptoed to the first side room, which happened to be a large sitting room, and matched the foyer. Ugh…

  I didn't see any people, but there was a rather suspicious stain in the corner, on the carpet. Three dark dots against the pristine neutral color. Is that blood? Nobody should be bleeding; I haven't done my job yet.

  I attempted the garage. Perhaps Mr. Holtz has a manly hobby. Restoring an old car, maybe?

  Again, I found nothing. Are they upstairs?

  I didn't like going upstairs under any circumstances. That's where people are likely to be in wait with a baseball bat or a gun, if they know you're coming. It also crippled the majority of my escape options.

  But what other choice did I
have? Feeling defeated, I tiptoed up the non-creaky stairs and looked down a long hallway. Four doors branched off, three bedrooms and a bath. I'd gone over the house schematics on the way here. Don't ask how I got a hold of those.

  I nudged the first door open with the toe of one black Chuck Taylor and cleared the bathroom. Nobody there. This was getting really annoying. I pulled a pistol out and replaced the knife. Keeping the gun at my hip, I pushed the second door open with the fingers of my free hand. It swung open silently on oiled hinges.

  A generally loud cry of 'PINK!!' assaulted my senses for a second as I took in the daughter's room. Princesses, princes, fairy tale magic. But no child here to enjoy it.

  I politely closed the door the little girl's room and proceeded down the hallway. I didn't want to intrude on her space; that felt somehow wrong to me.

  Two doors left; they have to be in one of them. Next, the guest bedroom. I entered quietly; same décor as the rest of the house. Cold, utilitarian. I hate this house, I thought sourly to myself.

  Odd thing to be thinking when you're out to kill someone.

  Last room. They're either here or not at all. I tensed myself for quick action. Might have to just shoot him and run for it; use the element of surprise to my advantage.

  I crept to the door, and caught a whiff of a strong and very familiar smell reached my nose; the coppery tang of blood.

  Something's wrong here.

  I lifted my Colt .45 to shoulder height in front of me, took a deep, calming breath, stepped back, lifted a foot, and kicked the door open with an almighty yell. More than likely, Julia would be slightly deaf in one ear for a while.

  What I found almost made me scream and throw up, all at the same time. Almost.

  I'd seen some pretty grisly crime scenes in my time, most perpetrated by myself or some of my colleagues, but this one easily topped all those.

  Julia barked something in my ear; a short, sharp question. I didn't hear it. Time kinda seemed to have stopped.

  The master bedroom was an absolute wreck, and I'd found everyone.

  Trouble was, they were already dead.

  Blood pooled under Caleb Holtz's ruined corpse. Knife wounds riddled his body and I could just make out the yawning hole in his throat from his face down position. He must have bled out in seconds, unless some of those wounds were inflicted postmortem. I saw ragged defensive wounds on his arms and face, and he'd fought his attacker until he'd collapsed into his crumpled up position. Maybe he'd tried to fight away the assailants and keep them away from his wife and child, who lay on the opposite side of the bed.