Patience, My Dear

by Bower Lewis

  The lights went out with a whomp and a shudder that reverberated throughout the house, and Tom Jones died mid-croon. Rockwell shouted a stream of expletives as his guards bolted, crashing into each other in the dark under the threat of the hell-bent army rushing at them from above and without. The men at the doors were quickly disarmed and dragged in to join the others and the study filled to capacity. Ed shouted for everyone to get down on the ground and the guards tripped over each other, falling back from his voice as they stumbled through the ghostly green glow of the goggles. None stopped until they were surrounded by a ring of agents and they fell to their knees at the unseen urging of gun barrels, abandoning Rockwell and his hostage at the back of the room.

  Zane was tied to a chair with his arms bound behind him. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t battered and bloody. His nose was broken and both eyes were swollen and split. Below him was a pool of blood, being fed by a badly bandaged gunshot wound to each of his biceps. He was conscious though, and grinning at the shouting all around him, despite the Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum at his head.

  Ed and John raised their weapons in unison.

  “Drop it now.”

  A humming vibrated through the walls and the lights flickered. They came on again and Tom Jones took it up again from the top as twenty-seven pairs of night-vision goggles hit the floor at their feet. Rockwell smiled at Ed as the agent ran a sleeve over his watering eyes.

  “Generator,” he said. “I fucking hate New England winters.”

  Zane blinked at the light a few times and looked up at Patience. He didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised to see her. He looked at Ed in pretty much the same way, and then he noticed his father by the door, being held back by three of his agents, and his eyes clouded over. Patience just stared down at him for a moment, quieted by her despair, and then she shut off the phone and pulled her Glock from her coat.

  Rockwell stared down at his guards, all lined up on their knees with their hands behind their heads, and pointed to Patience. “What are you waiting for?” he said. “Someone shoot the bitch.”

  A couple of the men glanced back at the agents, but he otherwise received no response.

  “Forget about them, you weaseling pricks. They’re eunuchs. As long as I’ve got the princess, here, none of them will make a move. Pink, on the other hand, is a powder keg. She’s goddamned crazy and she’s going to kill you all. Shoot her, for fuck’s sake, and then shoot the uncle.”

  When there was still no response, Rockwell reached for his shoulder holster and withdrew a Browning HK. John slid his finger over the trigger of his rifle, but Rockwell bypassed Patience and turned to the closest of his own guards. Zane shouted and rocked back hard in his chair and Rockwell cracked him on the head. Patience heard the wind howl in her ears as Rockwell turned to the guard again.

  “I said shoot.”

  The man looked up at the twenty-four agents, plus John and one pissed-off-looking pink fury, and he jumped up and ran for the door. The agents let him pass, but Rockwell followed him with the Browning and pulled the trigger. Patience froze, horror-struck as the guard fell forward at her feet, his face cloaked by the blood streaming from his wound.

  The clamor of the guards’ shouting overpowered the clamor in her head as she lowered to one knee and searched his neck for a pulse. She found one, a fleeting flicker of life beneath her fingertips, and then it was gone. She looked up to Ed for help and he shook his head. She looked to her uncle next and he shook his as well. Mason, the physician-agent trained in emergency medicine, took one look at the guard’s wound and lowered his eyes. Then he also shook his head and Patience knew there was no hope. She looked to Rockwell, and rage and horror collided inside her like a thunderclap. She stalked toward him with her gun raised as John leapt and Rockwell aimed the Browning again.

  Zane grabbed hold of his chair and drove his feet into the floor, pushing up with all the force he had left. The top of the wooden seatback slammed up into the bottom of Rockwell’s jaw and he bit through his tongue and fell back. The agents stampeded in, surrounding the youngest Ellison and smashing through the chair as Patience broke from her uncle and ran to him. Rockwell sat up on the floor with blood pouring from his mouth and murder pouring from his eyes as he searched the melee for his prize.

  She caught the look in his eye in the same time-burst that she saw him pull back on the trigger. She didn’t scream and her life didn’t flash before her. Everything just turned very still as she watched him take his last and angriest act of vengeance on the world. She didn’t feel dread or fear as the gun discharged, only loss. She thought of her mother, and of Frank, and of Uncle John, who was yards away now and bound to take this failure hard. Then she looked apologetically at Zane as she fell.

  The bullet struck her hand as Ed came down hard on top of her. A second shot rang out, followed by an explosion of gunfire so quick and intense it seemed to come from a single weapon of immense size and power. She pushed the agent back, desperate to see who’d been hit, and he stood up without a word. He reached a hand down and helped her to her feet.

  Rockwell lay face up on the floor. There wasn’t a gun in the room but hers and Ed’s that didn’t appear to have put at least one bullet into him. Patience stared down at her bleeding hand, and then up again at the chief of Rutherford Ellison’s private security force, incapable of productive speech or thought.

  The agent just glanced sideways at her and returned his attention to what was left of Alexander Rockwell.

  “Please don’t look so shocked, Miss Kelleher. I’ve told you time and again, it’s my job to protect Zane.”

  Her uncle broke between them, but she hardly noticed his cursing at her wounded hand as she gaped at the agent. She just shook her head, struggling to reorder her expectations for a continued existence for the second time in sixty seconds.

  Ed appeared somewhat self-amused. He reached into his coat for a handkerchief. “You’re dripping.”

  She nodded her thanks and pulled her wrist from her uncle’s clutches, then pressed the handkerchief obediently to her wound and watched it turn from white to crimson. A spot of the same color formed at the corner of the agent’s mouth and she screamed. The handkerchief fell to the floor as she grabbed Ed by the arms. He looked confused for a moment, then blood spilled over the side of his chin and he slumped to the floor. The river dammed by the slug in his back found its way past and seeped onto the rug around him.

  Zane broke from his agents and fell beside her. He rolled Ed toward him, but the agent looked away, searching the faces above for Mason. The second-in-command pushed toward them, shouting for his bag as Ed caught his eye and nodded to Zane.

  “Get him out of here.”

  Mason signaled to Collins and Polaski and they pulled Zane away. Ed looked to him at last and winked as Mason tore his shirt open. Then his eyes rolled back. He closed them, as his final act of courtesy, and the life disappeared from Ed O’Brien’s face.

  Zane fought the agents as they barricaded him from Mason’s struggle to bring his boss back, until Rutherford stepped between them and took his son by the shoulders.

  “Damn it, Zane. Let him work.”

  Zane just shook his head, and Rutherford pulled him into his arms and held him until the police and paramedics arrived.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Patience and John sat on their barstools with their heads low. Frank stood over them, suppressing his anger as best he could and failing in every imaginable way. He lifted Patience’s arm up from the bar and shook it at her uncle.

  “This is not what I call bringing her back unharmed, John Flaherty. You promised me, man. You promised me.”

  “I know, Frank,” he said. “I let you down and I’m sorry.”

  Patience pulled the purple cast back from her godfather’s grip.

  “It doesn’t hurt, Frank. Really, it doesn’t.”

  “It’s three broken bones and a hole through your hand, Patience Abigail. It hurts.”

 
; “Oh no.” She brightened. “They gave me a prescription at the hospital, and it’s very effective. You’re worrying much too much about this. I promise you, I’m fine.”

  He dropped his face into his hand and then he confiscated her margarita. Patience watched in dismay as it disappeared into the sink, but his look vanquished any thought she had of protest. He slid a glass of water into its place and glanced up as the pub’s door opened behind her.

  “Holy Christ!”

  She turned back and jumped down from her stool. She threw her arms around Zane with more exuberance than judgment. He winced and she backed off, searching him for someplace that looked safe enough to kiss until he grew fed up and grabbed her by the belt loops.

  John shook his head at Frank with a sigh. “There now, you see what I’ve been contending with?”

  Frank recovered from his dumbstruck state at the sight of Zane’s condition and cleared his throat. They turned back and Patience helped Zane up onto a barstool.

  “Nice cast.” Zane nodded. “Try to remember that it’s not a weapon, though, okay?”

  She glanced at the larger, black fiberglass number on his left arm and shrugged. “That would depend on the situation, I suppose. I like yours, too.”

  He shook his head and then his expression turned serious as he looked up at her godfather. “I’m sorry, Frank. I heard about what happened here with my father’s men. I really don’t know what to say about that.”

  Frank studied the rows of stitches across Zane’s temple and bruised jaw for a moment and then he turned away. He pulled a bottle of vodka from the top shelf and poured a shot. He slid it in front of Zane and poured himself one as well.

  “Alexander Rockwell did all of this to you?”

  Zane just nodded and drained the glass.

  “The older bruise on my jaw and the abrasion on my forehead are courtesy of my buddy Uncle John, here, but yes, Alexander Rockwell did all of this. It’s just a taste of what was to come if he’d been left to his own devices. He had to be stopped, Frank, and not just to save my sorry ass. I promise you that.”

  Frank just stared down at Zane a moment and then he took John’s empty glass from the bar and tossed it into the dish rack. He drew him a fresh beer. “I’ll be angry until I’m done being angry, John Flaherty. That’s just the way this is going to work.”

  John wrapped his fingers possessively around the beer. “That’s more than fair.”

  Frank turned back to the mess of Zane’s face. “And you’re absolutely certain you killed the son of a bitch completely?”

  The SCUD stretched his hands behind his head as a slow smile spread across his face. “I’m sure,” he said. “It was one thorough killing, Frank. We won’t be troubled by that corpse again. Now, with that in my favor, and the kids, here, on the mend, what would you say to a game of darts before I go?”

  Frank tossed his towel down and reached for his wallet. “I’d say ‘It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your taste for a beating since you’ve been gone, John.’ And then I’d say ‘Let’s play for money.’ ”

  John clapped Patience on the shoulder. “I’m just going to go give your godfather the shellacking he’s had coming for too long, Pax, and then I’ll be back to say goodbye. Please refrain from making out with your boyfriend or speaking to any members of the clergy while we’re out of the room.”

  She waved him off and poured the last of the bottle into Zane’s glass once they were alone. His fingers lingered over hers as she slid the glass back.

  “How was it with your father today?”

  He smiled and tossed the shot back behind the first. “Baby steps. Rutherford is working through alternating waves of anger, fear, guilt, and grief at the moment. Anger is the emotion he’s most familiar with, so that’s still getting center stage. It’s a little different every day. Of course, the press hasn’t been making it easier for him.”

  “No, I don’t imagine it has.”

  “I think once he figures out where to put all the disapproval and disappointment he’s so accustomed to feeling whenever I’m around, it’ll become easier for him to work through. It seems a little better now that I’m out of the hospital, but he’s lost all his comfort zones and he’s lost Ed. It’s going to take him some time.”

  She slid down from her stool and ducked beneath the bar for another bottle, ignoring the afternoon bartender’s shouts for her to get back to the other side. He was in the middle of a complicated to-go order, so she didn’t view him as much of a threat.

  “And how is it with you today?”

  Zane nodded as she turned back to him. “I’m working through alternating waves of anger, fear, guilt, and grief. Guilt is the emotion I’m most familiar with, so…”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

  “The funeral is tomorrow. Can you come?”

  “Can I come?” She paused in her uncapping and looked up at him. “Ed may have been a little stiff for my tastes, Zane, and I’ve never been too crazy about people who break their promises, as a general rule, but the man died saving my life. I sort of feel inclined to let that stuff slide, under the circumstances.”

  He pretended not to notice the tears as she wiped them onto her sleeve. She looked away for a moment, then refilled his glass as Frank returned from the back. He paused in the counting of John’s money just long enough to point a finger across the bar.

  “Patience Abigail Kelleher, get your ass out from behind there or I’ll give you a chewing out that won’t end until a year after I’m dead!”

  She ducked back around with assurances that she’d been nowhere near the tequila. He shot her a final look of warning as he passed and then he returned to his work. John ambled up with a slimmer wallet and a resigned expression on his face.

  “Well, Pax, I guess I’m off.”

  She lowered her eyes. “But you just got here, Uncle John. You didn’t even see Mom.”

  “I know.” He dropped his bag to the floor and slid back onto on the stool next to hers. “I’m sorry, kid, but watching you get shot is about as much familial heartache and guilt as I can manage for one visit. I’ll be back real soon, though, I promise. You and your mother are going to have plenty of time to scold me for my many atrocities, don’t you worry. This is my home base now.”

  Patience stared at him. Zane leaned across the bar to do the same.

  John just grinned and nodded back. “It seems that God’s got a new mission in mind for me now, and it’s based right here in Allston. I’m not everything He needs in a SCUD at the moment, but I’ve got a hell of a lot to offer someone who can be. We’ll get to work as soon as I come back, so stay on your mark. If you want to nurse your wounds and neck with your boyfriend, this is your chance. You probably won’t get too many more in the future.”

  Patience jumped down from her stool and backed away from him. “Have you lost your goddamned mind?”

  He just stood up and dropped a hand on her shoulder. Then he kissed her head and lifted his bag from the floor.

  “I work for you now, Pax. He likes that you’re unwavering and that you think outside the box. You need a hell of a lot more training to become a safer and more time-efficient SCUD, but that’s where I come in. I’m going to make sure you’re watched after, as well. You’re what He sent me here for. You’re my mission now.”

  “My God,” she gasped. “You’ve finally gone around the bend. There is no way anything like that is going to happen. I don’t want it, Uncle John. I won’t do it.”

  He just winked back at her. “I’m sure you two will hash it all out in an explosion of angst and emoticons while I’m gone. I’ll be back again when it’s time.”

  She pulled the phone from her pocket and tossed it onto the bar. “Sorry, Uncle John, but you’ve already lost this one. I haven’t received so much as an LOL since I powered down at Rockwell’s. He knew what my intentions were back there, and that was a whole lot of blood we spilled, in case you missed it. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m telling yo
u what I know. The Biz has buzzed off.”

  John cocked his head at her. “Well, I don’t know that, kid. I don’t know it at all.”

  Zane laid a hand on her arm. “I don’t know that, either.”

  She turned away from them, fighting the collapse she’d been wishing for since the showdown at Rockwell’s, but desperately wanted to avoid in her godfather’s pub. John took her by the shoulders and turned her back to face him.

  “You don’t think God expected you to control every person in that room, do you? Because you can’t, and He doesn’t presume that you can. Maybe we’ll make that lesson number one when I get back—how to avoid developing a God complex when you’re working for the Lord.”

  “You can’t be serious,” she whispered.

  “You’re a good girl, Pax, and I’m serious in every way. He knows what happens to our hearts and minds when we see someone we love in pain. It takes a lot more than that to change what’s in a person’s soul, though. Don’t mistake what you felt back there for what you were capable of, and don’t worry about The Biz. You’ll hear from Him again when you’re ready.”

  “Who said I want to hear from Him? I don’t want to be a SCUD. I just want you to go see my mother.”

  He laughed and turned toward the door. She started after him, but then she gave up arguing with a man so clearly determined not to hear her. She turned back to the bar so he could accomplish the vanishing act he was so fond of performing.

  She sat down beside Zane as the door banged shut behind them and she glanced down at the phone. Its face lit up, as if on cue.

  “I thought he said when I was ready.”

  “Are you?”

  She picked it up and considered it for a moment. It occurred to her that if she wasn’t, she probably owed it to Ed to try to get ready. She owed it to the fallen SolarTech guard as well, and to Joey Forsyth. Even Rockwell’s death had been contrary to what she’d set out to do, and while she wasn’t finding much space in her grieving for him, The Biz might have something He’d like to say about that. For the sake of the dead, perhaps she would try to hear Him.