by Luna, David
Seeing there were no bedrooms, he figured they were all on the third level. He heard Lars upstairs before the man’s voice rang out in the silence, “Cujo! Where the fuck are you, you worthless piece of shit?”
Classy guy. And, Cujo? Really? Jesus Christ, what a douche bag. He shook his head, thinking that it took all kinds, as Lars made his way down the stairs. Tucked away as he was, in the little breakfast nook at the back of the kitchen, Lars didn’t see him until he was right there in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and loose boxer shorts, scratching his balls and yawning. His eyes popped wide when he saw Gideon, who was holding a gun in his hand.
Gideon leaned back in his chair. “Lars. Just the man I wanted to see. So nice of you to join me. Cujo, was it? Cujo is taking a little nap in the garage. Why don’t you sit down with me here.” Jerking the gun towards the seat in front of him, he kicked the chair back to make room for the man to sit.
Sitting, but not happy about it, Lars’s voice was calm when he finally asked, “Who are you?”
He watched closely when he finally answered, “Gideon McCade.”
Lars looked at him, confusion clouding his eyes, and when Gideon said nothing more, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to kill you.”
The man tensed then and Gideon could see he was readying himself to move. Jesus, was the man a complete novice? As Lars went to stand, pushing up off the table, Gideon pulled out his tactical knife, stood, and slammed it through the back of the man’s hand and clear into the wooden table.
The high pitch of the scream was a surprise, more than the scream itself, and Gideon’s brows rose as he made himself comfortable again. But when the screaming continued, Gideon picked up the gun and tapped it hard against the side of the knife, repeatedly, until the man shouted for him to stop, face contorted in pain.
“Shhh shhh shhhh.” Gideon smiled and placed his finger over his lips. “We can’t have your neighbors getting too curious, now can we?”
“Get it out of my hand! Please!” The strangled whine escaped as the man tried to reach toward the knife’s hilt to remove it.
Gideon tsked and shook his head. “Nah, can’t have you doing that, Lars.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!”
Gideon laughed, a hollow sound without a hint of amusement. “Come on now. You don’t honestly expect me to believe that, do you? I mean, I’m a trained killer, Lars. Trained killers don’t just show up at your house to drug your dog and knife your hand to your table for no reason, now do they?”
The man was blubbering now. “Please. Please.”
Gideon reached into one of his cargo pockets, making Lars flinch, and pulled out the picture he had of his SEAL team, placing it on the table in front of the man who was fast becoming a whining and sniveling mess.
“These were the best men on my SEAL team. My brothers. You brokered a deal with some Ba’ath loyalists to attack a munitions bunker that was well-hidden and well-fortified, not to mention highly classified.”
At Lars’s hitched breath, he continued, “My team was on a counterinsurgency mission in Baghdad, but that day… That day my men were pulled from that mission to go babysit this bunker out in bumfuck Nasiriyah, three hundred sixty fucking klicks from our base of operations. Alan Lewis, remember him? He was quite forthcoming, when push came to shove. They all are, eventually. But we’ve got time to figure out what you know.”
The stunned look on the man’s face was priceless. He’d probably thought someone was after him for his current illegal dealings. The fact that someone was coming at him for something he’d done more than ten years prior was probably the last thing he expected. He looked from the picture up to Gideon and down to the picture again and promptly lost the color in his face. Again, telegraphing his moves, the man stood and tried to yank the knife out of the table and himself.
Gideon stood, grabbed the butt of the gun, and slammed it into the side of the man’s head, knocking him back into his chair, out cold. He searched the drawers for a kitchen towel and found that along with an extra garage opener, an extra car key and a couple fresh garbage bags.
He pulled duct tape from another cargo pocket, removed the knife from the man’s hand and proceeded to wrap the hand thoroughly in the towel to keep the blood from soaking into the carpet of the car. He taped his ankles together and his wrists behind his back, picked him up, and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He took the stairs to the garage where he put Lars on the floor while he placed the garbage bags down, wanting to make sure no blood was left behind, and tossed Lars none too gently on top. He taped his wrist and ankle ties together behind him and closed the trunk.
Gently picking up the dog, Gideon carried him upstairs, found his bed in the tiny laundry room, tucked away and out of sight. Gideon laid him down on it and saw the dog had timed food and water dishes, because why put yourself out more than you had to. Jesus the guy was a gem. Cleaning up the blood from the table and anything else he might have touched, he left the place as he’d found it, driving Lars’s Mercedes to his home base where he could finish what he started without worrying about being caught.
His shoulders finally sagging with the knowledge that very soon, he’d be able to say a final goodbye to his past and focus only on his future. Not knowing what that would entail, he couldn’t stop his mind wandering to Sebastian. He had to set aside the fact that Sebastian would never approve of what he was about to do.
He knew taking this last step toward laying his past to rest would also probably take the last bit of humanity he had. He wasn’t proud of what he was doing, not by any means, but the weight of the men that died on his watch would always be heavier than the weight of the loss of his own humanity. His men had suffered, it was only fitting that he suffer along with them.
Pulling up to the cabin an hour before sunrise, it was still fairly dark out. He had plenty of time to get the information he wanted from the man, slowly, and with much pain. And after that, hours to get rid of the body under the cover of darkness. He’d already prepared the cabin’s spare room for Lars and the wetwork to come. He’d chosen the pool table in the spare room. It was the perfect height.
He got out of the car, manually opening the garage door and then driving into it. Closing the garage behind him, he turned on the lights and opened the trunk. His prey was awake. Leaning down, hands resting on the lip of the trunk, he forced a grin and asked, “Nice trip?”
“Fuck you!” The words were spat out, angrily.
He chuckled and cut the tape connecting arms and legs together. “Come on. Up you go.” Hefting the man into another fireman’s carry, he walked into the cabin with the screaming, thrashing bundle of half-naked man. The more the man struggled, the more Gideon’s adrenaline made itself known. He knew peace would never be his, but his men would have it, if it was the last thing he did.
As he walked into the spare room and Lars saw the plastic, the thrashing and screaming, which had abated, began anew. When he roughly put the man on the table he nearly rolled off the damned thing trying to get away. Gideon shook his head, wondering at the absurdity of the man’s actions. “Where do you think you’re going, Lars?”
“LET ME GO! I’m sorry. Whatever you think I did, I’m sorry!”
“I know what you did, Lars, and so do you. You’re gonna have to stop fighting me, though. The more you fight, the longer this will take. The longer this takes, the more it will hurt. So really, it’s in your best interest to calm the fuck down.”
The man was quiet, but instead of arguing, which is what Gideon thought he’d do, the man nearly threw himself over the edge of the table again. Exasperated, Gideon shook his head and yanked the man back onto the center of the table before he could toss himself face first onto the floor. “What’s your ultimate goal here? Your legs are duct taped. Your arms are duct taped behind your back. I’ve got you at a remote cabin where no one will hear you, no one will see you, and no one will find you
. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re fucked six ways from Sunday.”
And then the blubbering began, and continued, while Gideon set about tying the man to the table. When he was done, Gideon’s stomach growled. Leaving the man alone in the spare room, he made himself a big breakfast to the sounds of Lars begging and screaming to be let go.
He took his time eating it, telling himself he wasn’t avoiding what was to come, but knowing he was kidding himself. Cleaning everything up in the kitchen, he made himself a second cup of coffee and sat at the table with his iPad, making his flight arrangements for the following day.
Knowing there was no avoiding it, he donned some protective gear. Suited up, he brought his kill kit into the room and put it on the table in the corner, unravelling the rolled-up sleeve of knives and various other tools of the trade. He plugged in his phone and turned on the voice recorder, knowing he was going to need it, and got down to business.
He’d barely been one very deep cut in before the man sang like the proverbial canary. All the information he’d wanted, all the questions he’d had, answered, and more to boot. He got information on the op that killed his men, the op Gideon had discovered two weeks ago, and several others before the job was done.
Knowing the information would be inadmissible in court, Gideon figured it would still be helpful to many people closing open cases in whatever agencies were involved. He’d have to have Zavier’s men splice the recording and remove his voice but the information recorded would provide a lot of details and leads for others to follow.
When Gideon had gotten everything he was going to get out of the man he didn’t have it in him to drag it out. The man had been weak in every way and Gideon had hardly done any damage, by his standards anyway. The killing was enough. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief at that fact.
When all was said and done he was exhausted. He looked down at his protective gear and realized with surprise that he hardly had any blood on him. He cut the ropes that had been rendered useless, and taking off his gear, he tossed it on top of the body and wrapped the first layer of plastic around it. He cleaned his knives and got everything of his out of the room.
He realized it hadn’t been like Alan. With Alan he’d still gotten the kill high as he had when he’d done it for a living. The man had done enough in his lifetime to warrant a painful bloody death ten times over, but he hadn’t felt anything but a sense of finality, an obligation fulfilled.
A couple of hours later, it was finally dark outside, which made things much easier. Wanting to get the body down to the boat before rigor mortis set in, he made quick work of cleaning all traces of the man away.
He carried the body down to the boat, having already prepared what he’d need on board to weigh the body down, he turned on the ignition and headed out to the spot he’d scoped out earlier in the week miles away from shore. Afterwards, he steered the boat back to the cabin and dealt with swapping the cars while it was still dark.
His flight didn’t leave until noon, so he had enough time to get up with the sun, double-check there wasn’t a trace of what had been done in the cabin or the boat, and pack up the rental.
The following morning, he realized he couldn’t leave until he dealt with one final detail. Departing from his usual MO, he sent Zavier an encrypted text from his sat phone, knowing his brother wouldn’t have been able to leave the situation as is either, he felt justified.
Gideon: Your men still here?
Zavier: Yes.
Gideon: Might as well make them earn their pay.
Zavier: Might as well.
Gideon: Think they can handle a dog situation?
Zavier: Dog?
Gideon: Call me.
He explained he didn’t want to leave a dog to die in an empty condo, vicious or not. “I’ll leave the tranq gun with the second dose, along with the garage door opener in a box in the mailbox of the cabin. There’s a no kill shelter on Caldwell Street that has good ratings.”
“It’ll be taken care of.”
“Thanks.”
“You all right?”
Knowing Gideon could feel the tension across the scrambled phone line, he sighed and replied honestly, “I will be.”
“Come home.”
“Will do.”
“Be at dinner tonight.”
After a few moments of silence, Zavier repeated the demand. “Be there, Gideon.”
Gideon sighed, and nodded, even knowing Zavier couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
His brother hung up without another word. He thought he should feel lighter. Freer. His men finally got the vengeance he’d promised them years ago. He knew his obligation had been fulfilled, but he couldn’t shake the sense that while he’d laid his past to rest, his future was completely unclear. He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling. It left him unsettled. And he could think of one thing, and one thing only.
Sebastian.
SEBASTIAN HUNG UP THE PHONE with his bank. The transfer was complete. Half of his surgery was paid for. The other half would come from the proceeds of the sale of his house, which would close in three weeks, after the surgery. The hospital AR department said if half of it was paid for, he could make payment arrangements for the second half. Why they were all right making arrangements for seventy-five thousand dollars, he’d never know, but the issue was dealt with. The house was in escrow and he had a rental lined up already.
Movers were scheduled the following week, the week after that he’d be in surgery, and yet another week after that he’d have the funds from closing on the house. He’d made a tidy sum, it was a sellers’ market, after all. Even with the surgery, he would have enough for a down payment on another house, which is why he was going month to month. He had the option of signing a lease later. He’d just have to see what surgical recovery would be like, realistically.
His boss had been great. The Monday after New Year’s he’d called to give his boss the news that his doctor didn’t want him working any longer, let alone tattooing, or driving. His boss had assured him they’d survive without him. They had a computer software backup that everyone hated to use and never produced the quality sketches that an artist could do, but they’d deal with it, while he was gone. He was on medical leave that same day and had contacted any tattoo clients he’d needed to cancel on so that he could focus on packing up his house and tying up loose ends.
And though his surgeon had argued against it, he had a laser surgery scheduled for the following morning. He didn’t know how long it would be before he felt up to another one so he wanted to get it out of the way so he didn’t get too off schedule. He wasn’t working so there wasn’t really a reason not to do it. He just had to hope he wouldn’t have an episode while he was there, but his laser surgeon was aware of his health issues, so if it happened it happened.
He finished packing up the box he was working on and heard the doorbell as he dragged the packing tape over the top of the box. Not expecting anyone, he made his way downstairs and smiled when he saw Zoe holding up a box from the café and a couple coffee cups. He’d never been more grateful for a friend than he was for her the last couple weeks. She’d hated it, but she’d kept his confidence.
She hugged him gently, treating him with kid gloves. He couldn’t blame her really. Hell, he was about to have surgery on his brain, for fuck’s sake. Not to mention his meds kept him pretty nauseous, so he’d lost another six pounds. He’d noticed he got tired more quickly and didn’t have the energy to keep going throughout the day without taking several short rests. He had no interest in food but found himself forcing a spoonful of peanut butter at least once a day, just to get himself some calories and protein.
They sat on his sofa and she handed him his mocha and grinned when he peeked in the box she’d brought. So many pastries. “You’re taking these with you when you go, right?”
She made some kind of a pfft noise before answering, “No. I work there. These are for you.”
“You know I can
’t eat even a quarter of these.”
She grew serious and patted his knee. “All of them are freezable. Pull them out when you need a treat.”
He set the box aside and nodded, unable to express his thanks just yet. Clearing his throat he managed, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How are you feeling?”
“Meh. More of the same. I have a little bit of torture scheduled tomorrow, but after that it’ll just be packing and waiting for D-Day.”
Her brow furrowed prettily. “What’s going on tomorrow?”
“Laser surgery.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m sure they’ll let you cancel.”
“I just scheduled it. I don’t want to cancel. I want to stay on schedule. I already delayed it around the holidays.”
“Sebastian, it’s too much.”
He shook his head. “It’ll be fine.”
“I’m coming with you. What time is it at?”
“Nine in the morning. No, you’re not.”
“I’ll just call in sick.”
“You’re not calling in sick for me and putting them in a tough spot.”
“Sebastian, why do you insist on being alone for everything? Why won’t you let me talk to Braden about what you’re going through? I’m sure he could ask Zavier not to tell Gideon. You need your people around you.”
Sebastian tilted his head and then shook it slowly. “I don’t have people, Zoe. Not like that.”
She crossed her arms, defensive, and his heart broke a little when a tear slid down her cheek. “What am I, then?”
“Don’t cry! You’re my friend. Of course, you are.” He leaned forward and hugged her and then pulled back. “But we haven’t been close that long. You’re being so good to me and for that I’m so grateful. But, Zoe, I’m used to relying on myself. It’s literally all I’ve ever known. I’m not going to be the friend that was an acquaintance three months ago and as soon as he needs something, he starts abusing that new friendship. I won’t be a burden.”