Mark for Blood (Mason Dixon Thrillers Book 1)

by Nick Thacker

  I wasn’t some idiot kid anymore. I wasn’t the same little dweeb he loved to hang out to dry when I messed up. I was a guy who’d been through a hell of a lot more than he’d ever hoped to live through, and for some damn reason, he didn’t seem to get that.

  I waited, knowing he’d play along. He wanted to play, otherwise he wouldn’t have come down here. Thought he might be able to stare me down like he used to, look me in the eye and wait until I came crashing apart around him, letting him stew and wait and stew and burn until he decided enough was enough and he’d help pick up the pieces.

  Bullshit. I wasn’t going to play that game. I’d invented a new game, and I was calling it ‘I’m out.’

  “How’s Joey?” he asked. His lip was still out, his head still cocked, and he was still playing the old game. Trying to rile me up. Didn’t matter. I didn’t need to play the same game.

  “How’s Mom?”

  His tongue went back into his tiny mouth, and his head righted itself. Quickly, but then shook just a bit as if he had been trying to hide it. His nostrils opened and shut once, again quickly. I saw his finger come out, start to bend into his characteristic gnarly point, and I almost smiled.

  “Listen here, you little piece of —“

  “Language, Pop,” I said. “My place, my rules.”

  “You little prick.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  We waited. Sat there for a minute, the tension building. This was a guy who had given me everything — a purpose in life, the funds to afford it, and a living that I tended to like. At the same time, he’d taken absolutely everything from me. Stripped away whatever semblance of a decent citizen his ugly genes had been able to pass on.

  He’d made me, and he knew it. Trouble was he thought he owned me because of that.

  “You called yesterday. I was out. Sorry I missed it.”

  I stared at him.

  “What was it you needed?” he asked, innocently.

  I rolled a nonexistent ball around in my mouth. “Wanted you to pay more for the water, I guess.”

  “Well I pay what it’s worth. This water tastes like shit.”

  I nodded. “Fine. Pay what you think it’s worth. Your mark’s been taken out.”

  He glared at me. “You really think that?”

  “That kid you sent in? The frat boy, with the hair? Took him out last night.”

  My father gave me that look that told me he knew I was playing him, trying to feel him out. He gave me the look until it changed into one almost resembling respect, gratitude. He wanted me to know, to feel that I’d screwed up — I still believe that’s the biggest high he can ever get — and he wanted to watch me screw up all over again and admit it.

  This was the second-best thing. At the end of the day, I was still his son. He had trained me as much as the Army had, but his training was in far more practical arenas. We were waging a war right now, and I was winning. He was proud of that.

  “Sounds like the kid had it coming,” he said.

  I nodded. “Two other assholes as well. Came at me on the road, like they knew me or something. You know anything about that?”

  I wasn’t accusing my own father of trying to get me hit, but I also wanted to bring him in. At arm’s length, but in nonetheless.

  His gaze shifted. Stared off a bit, looking at the mirror on the wall that was surrounded by the liquors I stocked. Most expensive closest to the mirror, cheapest and most-often used on the outer perimeter and on the bottom. “Who were they?” he asked.

  “No idea. Tried to run me down.”

  “You take them out?”

  I shook my head and poured another bourbon. “No, I was hoping they’d get the point and head out. Didn’t know the two events were related at the time.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Makes sense. I guess. Seems like you should’ve taken the shot when you could.”

  “Seems like it.”

  I didn’t feel the need to tell him about the rest of it — Hannah, her brother, the other men involved with her abduction. He probably already knew, just from looking at my face. If I was intuitive about people, able to tell what their motives were, he was an absolute prodigy. He could probably read on my face every detail of the night, including where it had happened and who was in my trunk at the moment.

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  “We? We don’t do anything, son. This isn’t a problem I’m involved with anymore. I gave you a mark, and you screwed it up. It happens, no hard feelings.”

  “It happens? What are you talking about? It never happens. The mark always brings me a token, and I verify one way or another that they’re the one you meant to send. That’s always been the case.”

  “Like I said, no hard feelings.”

  “What do we do? The mark you sent is with another party. I don’t know who they are, but —“

  “Doesn’t seem like that’s our problem anymore, does it?” he fired back. “I gave you a mark, a job. You failed, someone else got to her first. Fine. Takes it off our hands.”

  “But they’re —“

  “But nothing. You know the protocol. The drill. The rules are —“

  “You made up the rules, Dad. You invented all of this. It’s an arbitrary system, one that you put in place just so you could swing your dick around and feel like your world is bigger than your head.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. Poured another drink. I wasn’t sorry, never have been. Not with him.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “Lean in, and listen the hell up. ‘Cause I’m only going to say this once.”

  I leaned in. Couldn’t help it.

  “You are going to forget this ever happened,” he said, speaking through the top of his glass. I could see the fog dancing around the lip of the glass as the words tumbled out. “You’re going to forget it, I’m going to forget it, and for God’s sake, you’re not going to tell that shitty cook about it.”

  That was the moment. I had been waiting for it, poised even, leaning in intently just so I could revel in the moment as soon as it transpired. It happened, and I’d caught it. Part of me wished I didn’t have a dinosaur flip phone in my pocket, so I could have recorded it too.

  He’d screwed up too. He knew it, now I knew it.

  He had messed something up, something major.

  I had a feeling I knew what it was.

  “Who was it, Pop?” I asked, trying to feign nonchalance.

  “Who was what?”

  “Who’d you hire to do it?”

  He shot me a glance that almost worked. I almost backed off, for a moment feeling like a little kid again. But nope. Not this time.

  “Who did you hire? Who killed him?” I asked again.

  I knew I had a few minutes, possibly more. He would sit there, stunned all over again as he realized how big of a mistake it had been, sipping and thinking and stewing and thinking all around in circles until there was nothing left to stew about and he’d just be pissed he was still stewing.

  I had minutes to spare, so I got up and poured yet another drink. I wasn’t satisfied with the remnant fire of the bourbon he’d chosen. It wasn’t quite top shelf, at least not to me, but it certainly wasn’t the worst I’d had. Had a bit of a kick to it that I didn’t like — a great bourbon should slide down like a spoonful of cough syrup but have the aftertaste of licking a caramel-coated oak barrel. His choice wasn’t it. It made a fantastic old fashioned, whiskey smash, and a passable julep, but I was in the mood for something a bit more sophisticated.

  A spirit that would match my own lifted spirits.

  The thing about our company — his company, technically — was that it only worked because there was very little overhead. No office space, no secretaries, no admin assistants, no employees. Besides me.

  And that was his mistake. He’d brought someone else in. Someone else on the payroll, and even the little my old man would have told him, it would be too much. Too much information was a mistake, as it led to too many questions,
too many unknowns, and too many new variables.

  He’d made a mistake bringing in an outsider, but I wasn’t going to rush in and save him the embarrassment. He knew, and I meant to string it out of him like a long, slow drag on a cigarette. Let it burn, nice and slow, and only take in enough to keep that cake alive.

  He stared me down. Glared. Begging me to jump in and speak.

  “Who was it?”

  He sneered. “That’s what matters to you, isn’t it?” he barked, whispering at me from over the top of his glass. “That’s all that matters to you. Making me look like dog shit.”

  I glared back. “Had a great teacher.”

  His head fell back a ways and his chin lifted. “Well, whatever award you think you’re winning for being bigger than me, it’s going to look pretty miserable next to the one you’re getting for the shitstorm you caused.”

  “It was the wrong mark,” I admitted. “But he was far from an innocent. Why didn’t you pay me?”

  “You get paid when you take out the mark,” he replied quickly, anticipating the question. “You haven’t taken out the mark yet.”

  “The girl?”

  He gave me a look. He didn’t need to confirm anything.

  I sighed. “Fine. We both messed up. I missed the mark, but at least I didn’t bring in a third party to —“

  “You think that’s what happened? You really think I would be stupid enough to bring in someone from the outside?”

  I could tell he noticed the confusion on my face.

  “This is why I run the show, son,” he said. “This is why it’s my company, and not yours. You want to make something of yourself, start thinking. No, of course I didn’t hire someone to take out the old guy.”

  “Then —“

  “I did it. I did it myself, son. Not someone else, not worth the liability. I did it.”

  25

  I SAT BACK, NOT CARING any more that my face was broadcasting how I felt. I was stunned. Completely blown away.

  “But… why?” I asked. I pushed the glass around in front of me on the bar top, suddenly not feeling very thirsty. “Why would you do it?”

  “He needed to go,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “Fine,” I responded. “But why you?”

  “It was a business decision, son. You can understand that. There are three people with ownership interests in the company. The old man, his two kids. That’s it. Take them out and you take down the company. That’s what we’re doing here, right?”

  I nodded. “Sure, yeah, but that’s what you pay me for. You… you made a mess of it.”

  “It was going to be a mess either way. Once we hit the big one, the two little ones would get suspicious. The brother and sister would start asking questions. So I gave you the sister, and I was going to focus on the brother.”

  “I just don’t see how it would have —“

  “This is my area of expertise, remember? You’re the grunt who does the dirty work. Nothing more, nothing less. I’ve operated this business for thirty years, and you’ve been there for half of that. But don’t you ever forget how I started.”

  “You’re too old to be going out on hits, Dad.”

  “I’m as old as I say I am.”

  “No, you’re really not. You’re as old as you are, and you’re clearly too old to be —“

  “To what?” he yelled. “To not screw it up? I hit the mark, son, remember? You were the one who let her slip out of your hands. Now what? Now that my guy’s dead, you’ve gotten your guy all tangled up in something else. You lost her, and that’s on you. Not me.”

  I was furious, but I took a card out of his deck and played it cool. I rotated the rocks glass around in my palm, enjoying the cool dampness on my hand. He had wanted back in, and he’d done it without letting me know. It had created a few hiccups, but nothing we couldn’t overcome. Nothing I couldn’t overcome.

  “You need to get back to the office,” I said. “Head home, get some sleep, forget this ever happened.”

  “But there’s still —“

  “There’s still work for me to do,” I shot back. “Me. As in, ‘not you.’ You’ve done enough. Get back, get down, and stay out of it. I’ll clean up my mess and yours, and you know that’s the truth. So stop arguing with me about it and let me work.”

  His nostrils flared, but he didn’t speak. He knew it was the right call, and I knew there was a small part of him that was still trying to cover his own ass, making sure I’d be the one to take the fall for anything that came out of this. It pissed me off, but it seemed better than letting him screw with the rest of the operation. As I said, he’d already done enough.

  “Fine,” he said finally, “do it. Finish this, and make it right.”

  “I will. You know I will. But I’m going to have expenses. I need a car, as my last one was destroyed on the job. You’d have just told me you weren’t going to be paying me, I could have skipped that trip altogether, but as it is, you owe me a vehicle.”

  He clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, considering and trying to come up with a pseudo-valid excuse. I could see the slight dimples in his cheeks every time he sneered, just small blips on a scarred face, nearly invisible against the years of wear.

  “Fine,” he said again.

  “Enough to get me there and back again, wherever that is.”

  He nodded once and stood up to leave. He didn’t reach in his pockets for a wallet or any cash.

  I waited until he’d turned around and started toward the door. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning. Usual spot.”

  26

  I CHECKED ON JOEY IN the back after I’d rinsed out and stashed the rocks glasses we’d used. He was seated on the steps descending to the street behind my place, whistling low and slow, an old folk song he’d remembered from childhood or something. The air was cool, and it floated around me but left its sticky humidity behind. I stood there, the door swung open, until Joey turned around.

  “How long you think he’ll be okay in there?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Long enough. Can’t suffocate in there, if that’s what you mean. There’s airflow from the cracks around the back seat. Worst case he’ll starve or go thirsty, but that’ll take a few days.”

  “So what do we do with him?”

  “Not sure yet, besides trying to squeeze him for information.” I wasn’t really into torture, as it nearly always took on a sadistic excitement. I didn’t need any more hobbies, and sure as hell didn’t want to start enjoying the line of work I was in. So I really didn’t have a plan, other than to tie the guy to a chair and rough him up a bit, mostly because I was still pissed he’d taken Hannah. If he decided to talk about his employer, great.

  “Let’s leave him in the trunk a bit longer,” Joey said. “He’s going to make a lot of noise out here, unless we can get him tired out. Or maybe we can just get him out now and make him shut up.”

  I nodded, liking that last idea, and walked over to the trunk. I wasn’t armed, so I waited for Joey to join me in case the guy had some crazy scheme he’d cooked up.

  He didn’t. The trunk flew open and he was just laying there, staring up at us, surprised.

  “Who are you working for?” I asked, calmly. I figured I’d give him three chances, then we’d fishbait him. I didn’t want to clean blood off the floor of my kitchen, and there was still the feeling that my anger and frustration would get out of hand and we’d end up getting ourselves all sticky with an interrogation style I wasn’t comfortable with.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m going to ask you two more times,” I said, explaining it simultaneously for Joey. “Then we’re going to kill you. Nothing fancy, nothing unnecessary. Just plain and simple, you die. Got it?”

  “I’m dead anyway,” he growled.

  I thought for a moment. “True,” I said, shrugging. “Fine. Joey, go grab my —“

  “I’ll tell you where they took her, but it should be obvious already.”

>   I held up my end of the ruse. “I already know where they took her. I asked you a different question. Joey. Go grab my 9mm. Doesn’t matter which one. Doesn’t need a suppressor.”

  The guy glared at me, but didn’t speak until Joey had left. “You’re in over your head, pal.”

  “You know, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that today. Thing is, when you’re in something, you gotta get out of it, you know?”

  “Then walk away. Leave the trunk open, and walk away.”

  “I suppose you’ll tell your people to leave me alone, never come back this away again, that sort of thing.”

  “Yeah, exactly. That sort of thing.”

  I could almost taste the lie falling off his sneering lips. I didn’t even need to say the word ‘bullshit’ out loud. I just smiled.

  Then I punched him in the nose.

  “You took the girl, asshole. Hannah Rayburn. Why?”

  There was blood falling out of his crushed nose, but he didn’t even try to wipe it off. “Why do you think?” I lifted my fist again, threatening. He flinched, but then recovered. “You haven’t figured it out yet, you’re not going to.”

  “Okay, fair enough. I’ve figured it out. What’s the end game? She die, too?”

  “If she doesn’t give him what he wants, yeah. Sure. And it won’t be pretty.”

  “She doesn’t give who what he wants?”

  He ignored me. “He’s got a whole string of guys that’d love to take her out, if you know what I mean. They ain’t gonna make it pretty at all. Told me all about it. Girl like that, you don’t waste it.”

  I saw him lick his lips in the dim light. There was blood on his tongue, but I couldn’t tell if he liked it or not.

  Joey returned, checking that the pistol was loaded and ready to go. He handed it to me.

  “One more time, like I promised. Then you’re fishbait. Who are you working for?”

  “You know, cute little thing like that, I doubt they’ll even wait to get started, and who knows if he’ll be able to keep his goons off her. Probably all sick about it already, wanting to jump in. One of them’s a legs guy, I think, from what I can remember. Probably start at the bottom and work his way up. Other guy… well, I’m not sure exactly what to call it, but…” The guy shook his head, then laughed. “I’m into some pretty kinky shit myself, but he — man, he’s gonna really give her a ride.”