(2013) Shooter

by Jack Parker

  So here we were, sneaking up on my new squealer. And I wasn't going to take 'I don't know' as an answer.

  "Lucky!" I strolled up behind him, addressing him as though it were ever such a pleasant surprise that I'd found my 'old friend Lucky' here. "How's it going, bud?"

  He leaped up and nearly fell of his stool. An insane giggle bubbled up in me, was mercilessly strangled, and then died away without a struggle.

  The next movement of his was full of dread, drawn out for longer than it should have been. Lucky turned around slowly, oh, so slowly, and let out a sordid curse when he saw my grinning face. "Aw, shit, Pryor. What the hell do you want?"

  "Why don't we talk about this in a booth back there?" I jabbed a thumb toward the dark corners in he back. The bartender was glaring at us suspiciously, and I didn't want to give her a reason to toss us out or call the cops. That would be unfortunate.

  A muscle flicked in Lucky's jaw; he was not happy at all. However, he decided to be gracious and slipped off of his stool to follow me to a back booth. I wasn't comfortable not having him in my line of sight, but he wouldn't try anything in such a public place, and definitely not now with Daisuke's stare boring a hole in the back of his head.

  When we reached the farthest, darkest corner, I stepped aside to allow Lucky into the booth before me. He slid in on one side, so Dai and I scooted in on the other.

  I rested my elbows on the slightly dirty, rather worn and pitted wooden surface of the booth table and smiled pleasantly at the man in front of me. He simply glared. "So, I believe that you know why I'm here."

  "No clue, Pryor. Care to enlighten me?" Now, I'd been planning to be pleasant, but not when he would be playing dumb. I don't allow that. My nice expression disappeared and was replaced with a scowl.

  "Don't you play with me, Lucky. Who took out the contract?" I used my lowest, deadliest tone.

  "What contract?" He sneered, trying to stay cool.

  "The one you handled for a client who wants me taken care of."

  Had to hand it to him, Lucky didn't sweat. "Like I know who wants you iced, Pryor? Get off my ass, huh?"

  "And what if I don't believe you?" I leaned back in my seat.

  "Then you're a dumb broad." He fired at me.

  I had to kick Daisuke's foot when he went tense beside me. Not the time for beating down our informant. Yet.

  I reined in the frustration that welled up at that comment. "There's no need to insult me. I know that you were the one who handled the contract, and maybe you'll walk away with everything attached if you just tell me who paid?"

  Lucky sighed. "I can't do that."

  My jaw clenched painfully. My teeth still hadn't recovered. "Why not?"

  "You know why, Pryor. You're not a total idiot. Think for a minute." Lucky was nervous and exasperated, and it showed. He was fidgeting, and couldn't seem to look me in the eye.

  "You're worried about your own ass." I shrugged, and then stared him down. "But quite frankly, you're in more danger from me than you are from them. Catch my meaning?"

  "Don't threaten me."

  I chuckled unpleasantly. "That was just a suggestion." I clicked the slide of the pistol I'd silently pulled out underneath the table. "This is a threat."

  The gun was aimed at a certain part that males don't like getting blown off. Well, not in that sense, anyway. I continued in a lightly amused tone. "If you ever want to please a woman again, you will tell me who wants me dead. Plain and simple."

  I watched Lucky's gaze flick downward and back up. Likely, he was deciding whether he thought I actually would or not.

  I would, just for reference.

  "You just wanna know who put out the hit on you, right?" Lucky swallowed hard.

  I nodded. Now we were getting somewhere. "That's all I need. Give me a name, and you can keep your… stuff."

  Lucky took a deep breath and looked me in the eye for once. "Fine… fine. So, this guy comes up through Holland's lot, right? He wants a job done, and price isn't an object. Which means that this was a motherfuckin' jackpot for me, especially since that idiot Rod turned it down."

  I nodded again. Someone with a lot of disposable income, or one who was desperate enough to mortgage their house.

  He continued: "So I give the guy a meeting place. He shows up, all dressed in this freaking Armani suit and gives me a business card. Get that."

  "Give me a name." I snapped, not in the mood for a story. I was getting impatient.

  "Connor Allan." Lucky blurted. "Happy?"

  My eyes narrowed. Allan? Did I even know that name?

  "Yeah, whatever. Get out of here." I dismissed him with a wave of a hand, now lost in thought. Lucky got up and skittered away gratefully, probably glad to be in one piece, so to speak. He glanced back over his shoulder several times, though, before leaving the establishment.

  "Does that name sound familiar?" Daisuke asked, speaking for the first time.

  "Not at all." I muttered.

  "Will that be a problem?"

  "No. I don't need to know a guy to figure out where he lives and kill him." I shrugged. "Let's get out of here and get to work."

  Daisuke helped me out of the booth (my arm was becoming a burden), and we proceeded on our way. The bartender glared at us as we passed, and I briefly wondered what her deal was.

  Cold, wintry air slapped me in the face when I stepped outside, moving automatically toward the car we'd come in. The gray BMW sat parked in front; mercifully untouched. We weren't in the most desirable part of town.

  Connor Allan? Who is that?

  My thoughts raced after each other in circles, getting me nowhere.

  He can't be a hit that I missed, looking for revenge, because I've never missed a single one.

  He can't be another hitman, because if he were, I'd know him. On the off chance that I actually didn't know him, then what grudge would he have with me anyway? So he wasn't a hitman.

  A rival contract boss? Not likely, even if there were any trying to make their way into the business…

  Then I hit on one that seemed like it could be my answer.

  A family member of someone I've killed? How oddly poetic would that be?

  Vengeance for the murder of a loved one.

  Unfortunately, that seemed like the most likely possibility.

  Vengeful family members weren't likely to be fun.

  I thought back… which job had been the Allan job? They would have been fairly wealthy, judging by the mention of the Armani suit… but then, maybe not. There was always that black sheep of the family. Ugh. This isn't helping me any.

  "Do you recall an Allan job, Dai?" I asked conversationally as we got in the car. "At all?"

  "Vaguely. But I wasn't on that job… it was just you. I remember now." Daisuke shrugged. "Upper North End house, you said. The guy had money."

  I almost jumped from the sudden recollection: Scott Allan. That's who the target had been.

  The details of that job came back in a flash, now that I remembered that there had only been two assignments in that area in the past five years. It had been a quick, clean kill, one .45 ACP round in the back of the skull. Mob execution style.

  I remembered that Scott Allan had been one of they key cocaine and methamphetamine traffickers in the city, and a competitor had wanted him gone. I'd been only too eager to oblige. There had been quite a bit of cash involved, and this was a time when I'd been short.

  I'd purchased my bike with that payoff. Hm.

  I also remembered that Scott had a brother. Connor.

  Well damn. That job's come back to bite me in the ass pretty hard, huh?

  "Now I know exactly who we're looking for."

  "Do you?" Daisuke asked, mildly surprised.

  "Yep." I pulled my Blackberry out of my pocket and fired a quick email to Kendall. Hopefully, he wouldn't fall off his seat at the surprise of actually receiving something from me. That had never happened before.

  Daisuke gunned up the engine and pulled off from th
e curb before I received an email back, telling me the address of Connor Allan.

  That was fast… I thought. Does he keep that sort of thing on file?

  That was an odd thought.

  "Now I even know where we're going." I read the email off of the screen before handing the phone over to Daisuke. He looked it over for a minute.

  "That's not much of a drive…"

  "Good thing we've still got the guns in the car. That way we don't have to go back home." I grinned. Soon, maybe, this would all be over. Then I could go back to my old, but still fucked up, life.

  We soon found ourselves in the middle of downtown, surrounded by expensive high-rises, office buildings and the like. Perfect manicured landscaping and obnoxiously extravagant architecture.

  I think I'm going to be ill.

  This place was too… shiny. After the dirty grit of the area around my place, this was just… strange. Ugh...

  "Let's just get this over with." I mumbled. "I'm tired of it."

  Daisuke glanced over and smiled, a look of empathy, but there was pain in his eyes. A pain that I couldn't name, one that seemed out of place. "So am I."

  Something's wrong. I knew it in my gut, but I couldn't muster the courage to question him now when he'd done so much for me. Just like I wouldn't openly accuse him of keeping secrets before. Just the thought of it made me feel like a complete jerk. Something's bothering him, and I don't like it.

  I smiled back.

  Nothing would be wrong anymore, after we were finished here. Nobody would be trying to kill me, and everything could go back to it's normal level of fucked-uppedness. I just had to take down Connor Allan.

  I always made these things sound so simple in my head.

  CHAPTER 10

  The 'Connor House', or the title I'd assigned the target's residence in my head, was a swanky townhouse address in the upper North End of the city. It was dark out, but it looked like the lawns were manicured, the shrubbery was nice; not too expensive, but set at an angle that created a nice little path down the middle…

  Not really, I'm just a fan of Monty Python. Heh.

  I noticed that one entire wall of the second level was glass… through it, I could see what looked like a bedroom. What's the likelihood that's bulletproof? So was it either vanity or the love of the view. Either way, it might be what kills Mr. Allan.

  So calmly, I could contemplate the death of another person…

  Did that make me a monster?

  My focus switched to the ground floor; locating all of the entries and exits, all the ways I might get in without raising a ruckus. There would likely be a sophisticated alarm system in place, to prevent the entrance of burglars… stalkers… assassins… other undesirables. The list tends to be extensive.

  There were three different doors, one of the glass sliding variety that led out onto a patio. I wouldn't take that one if I could help it.

  The windows were much more numerous, ranging from large bay ones to smaller foot-by-foot ones.

  So many entrances… it was almost as though he'd laid out a huge welcome mat emblazoned with the words; Please come murder me in my sleep!

  Don't worry, Mr. Allan. I plan to.

  Well… maybe not in his sleep.

  "This almost seems too easy, Dai." I muttered, shattering the tangible silence that permeated the cab of the BMW. It wouldn't have surprised me if he'd fallen asleep. We'd been here for three hours already. "I'd really hate to walk into a trap or something."

  I'd meant that last afterthought as a joke, but apparently sarcasm didn't register with Daisuke today. He went all tense, like a coiled spring, and answered tersely. "I doubt that there's a trap waiting, Grace."

  My eyes narrowed in the darkness. "What's wrong, Daisuke?"

  He shrugged, answered perhaps a little too quickly. "Nothing."

  "What is it?"

  His dark eyes met mine for a moment before dancing off again to rest on something else. "I'm just anxious. Don't mind me."

  Well, I was anxious as well, so it seemed like a decent enough explanation… whatever. I had more important things eating at my brain at the moment.

  Plus, it wasn't like Daisuke had ever let me down before. I wouldn't insult him by not trusting him now. Besides, my list of allies was too thin for me to go about alienating anyone.

  Especially when he said he loved me… did he really mean it?

  I mentally slapped myself. Stop it. Just do this one last thing, and then you can go back to wallowing in self-doubt.

  "So… let's get moving, then?" I tossed a crooked grin at my potential boyfriend, who grimaced and went to help me out of the car.

  Three or four minutes later saw us creeping along a hedge like shadows, moving as silently as death in the night (ha-ha). My good hand was wrapped around the grip of my pistol, and the other was held close to my body, for fear of catching the bulky sling on anything pointy. Making noise was not on the agenda tonight.

  Only then did it even occur to me that he might not even be home. Oh well.

  With any luck, we'd be in and out like a whisper, our task accomplished.

  My shoes crunched on a dry fallen leaf, and I flinched at the unexpected noise. Making a note to avoid those, I then continued after Dai, who was roughly five feet in front of me, creeping along toward the side entrance.

  That one was the most practical.

  The nighttime colors blended together into one solid, oppressive, smothering dark. I'd always hated the night. It reminded me harshly that there were people just like me out there, using the darkness to further their intents.

  Daisuke came even with the bleached white side door, stepping off to one side and gesturing for me to take the other side. I did, contemplating how we'd open it. Preferably the quiet way, but that's just me…

  "Can you pick the lock, Grace?" Daisuke whispered. I smiled in the blackness.

  Thought you'd never ask.

  I scooted over and knelt before the chic doorknob (even the hardware was designer), producing a penknife from my coat pocket. I slid the blade into the keyhole and set to work, jimmying the pins in the tumbler, trying to get them into the correct alignment. Daisuke moved around behind me, to look out or to give me some extra space. I didn't really know which, nor was I concerned at the moment. I was concentrated solely on that lock—

  --So it shocked me immensely when a cloth was shoved over my mouth and nose, pressed down, and held there. I dropped the knife, and a surprised intake of breath brought the sickly-sweet odor of chloroform to my attention before my vision went hazy, my senses dulled by the chemical soaked into the rag.

  What in the bloody blue fuck? Was the only thought that managed its way through my mind.

  Another breath, taken before I could think better, and I was thrown into unconscious black oblivion.

  CHAPTER 11

  My mind was fuzzy, much like a badly tuned set of rabbit ears. The reception was terrible, and nothing much got through at all. I was mired in an anesthetic fog, sleepy but halfway aware at the same time.

  I could hear what seemed like a dull roar of sounds, all melting together into a single, discordant note. It was making my head hurt. Slowly, these noises distinguished themselves from one another, disconnecting and now reaching me as separate entities.

  Speech.

  Laughter.

  And… a Haydn concerto?

  I'd never had much of an ear for classical, so I could have been wrong. But that's what it sounded like.

  So who was laughing like a drunken idiot?

  Whomever it was doing all of that guffawing, they sounded far-off from me. Everything sounded misty and surreal.

  I figured out that I was lying face-down on a soft surface, hard and flat but plushy at the same time. Was it… carpet? A rug?

  Where the fuck am I?

  It seemed a very pressing question, now that I was fighting my way toward full consciousness. I knew that something was very deeply wrong, but couldn't remember what.

  A
groan escaped my lips as I opened my eyes and was assaulted by bright lights.

  The place went silent and still, except for that classical music, and I froze, only my eyeballs moving, trying to discern my position.

  Several faces swam in my vision, only one of them immediately familiar. I blinked and wrenched my eyes all the way open, not liking what I found.

  I was lying on an area rug, the fabric a very tasteful cream color. All of the colors in the room were neutral, excepting the few nice paintings and the hardwood flooring outside of the reach of the rug, which was a beautiful mahogany.

  I knew I'd never been here before. Shit.

  A calm, drawling tone made me jump.

  "Ah, you're finally awake. Just in time, too… I would have hated for you to have to skip the party, Miss Pryor."

  I tried to reach for my pistol, but it seemed that my hands were, quite literally, tied. All I earned from the voice was a laugh and a disapproving tsk-tsk.

  "Must it always come to violence first? I quite prefer to sit and talk, myself… but maybe I'm just a hopeless pacifist."

  I knew who that was. Some instinct told me so.

  My tongue was thick as I tried to form words. "What do you want, Allan?"

  "Ah… it speaks." Connor Allan laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound, loaded as it was with ironic spite. "I believe it's obvious what I want, Pryor, though you may not like it very much."

  Fucking hell. How did I manage to get into this mess?

  I thought back… the rag, as I was picking the lock.

  But who… No!

  Daisuke had been the only person around at the time. But why would he knock me out and bring me here?

  Well, isn't it obvious, Grace? He's double-crossed you. He played you, like a perfectly tuned violin… The nasty, sarcastic voice of my conscience taunted me. I knew it was true, just as I knew the sky was blue and just as I knew how to snap a human neck in thirty-three ways. But I still couldn't admit it to myself… I couldn't let go of that denial. And the whole 'I love you' ruse was a nice touch, don't you think? Got you all nice and trusting…

  No. He wouldn't have betrayed me like that. There's got to be another explanation.