A Necessary Kill

by James P. Sumner

  I sit up in bed and lean against the headboard, resting my gun on my lap, allowing him to get a good look at me as well.

  “Are you Jonas Briggs?” I ask.

  He says nothing and doesn’t move, neither confirming nor denying the fact.

  “Okay, I can understand your hesitation. Usually, I’d be just as skeptical, but in the interest of time, or lack thereof, I’ll go first. My name is Adrian Hell, and I’m here to ask for your help.”

  His eyes betray his surprise when he hears my name. He rests on the edge of the desk and places the needle carefully down next to him.

  “Adrian Hell?” he says, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Jesus… how did you find me?”

  “I got your name, along with a few others, from Ashton Case.”

  “You know Ash, huh?”

  I shrug. “I wouldn’t say we’re best friends or anything, but he’s an acquaintance I’ve come to respect over the years.”

  Briggs nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m Jonas. What do you want?”

  I smile. “In my experience, the answer to that question usually requires a couple of beers… ”

  Briggs checks his watch. “Fine… get dressed. I know a place.”

  “At this time?”

  He stands and makes for the door. “Yup… open all night.”

  02:51 EDT

  It turns out the place he knows is a strip club. Should have guessed, really. What else would be open at this time?

  We’re sitting on either side of a small, round table just in front of a low stage with a pole connected to the ceiling in the middle. We’re both sipping a whiskey, straight up on the rocks. The chairs are a cream-colored leather and deceptively comfortable.

  The girl strutting around on the stage is naked apart from a barely there thong and a pair of heels. The place is pretty busy, despite the hour, and the men sitting nearby waving their dollar bills around are transfixed by the dancer, looking like a pack of hungry wolves circling their prey.

  The place isn’t far from my motel, and we’ve been here about fifteen minutes. I’m getting pretty good at condensing the shit I’m caught up in, so I had given Briggs the lowdown as we drank.

  “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he says, his voice rough. “I’ve never liked the CIA. And Cunningham? Well… credit where it’s due—it’s one helluva stunt he’s pulled.”

  I flick my eyebrows up in silent acknowledgement. “Yeah, that’s one way of looking at it… But I’m not letting it stand. He needs taking down, and I’m hoping you’ll agree to help me do it.”

  He stares at the dancer momentarily, but I don’t think he’s paying attention to her. His eyes are too glazed over. “That’s a big ask… What’s in it for me?”

  “What? Besides literally saving the world?”

  He shrugs. “I ain’t here for the glory, unlike some people.”

  I frown. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well… look at you. You’ve carved yourself out a nice little corner of this game, haven’t you? Adrian Hell, living legend, et cetera. You’re practically a household name. You trying to tell me you’re not doing this, on some level, to further your image?”

  I finish my drink and put the glass down a little harder than was necessary. I’m starting to dislike Mr. Briggs…

  I fight to keep my voice calm and courteous. “I didn’t create this image for my own benefit, alright? Other people created it for me, simply because I’m so fucking good at what I do. My reputation is justified, unlike most in our line of work. But I don’t do this for the thrill or to satisfy some sick perversion—I do it because I’m good at it, and it pays well. And on this occasion because it’s the right fucking thing to do.”

  Briggs is silent for a moment. “Whatever. Like I said… what’s in it for me?”

  I sigh. “Twenty million dollars.”

  He chokes on the mouthful of whiskey he’s just taken, dribbling some down his chin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and puts his glass down, his eyes wide.

  “Are you shitting me? Twenty million?”

  I nod.

  “Who’s funding your little war on the White House, exactly?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Hey, if I do this, I want to know everything.”

  That’s a fair enough request…

  “Okay. I am.”

  “You?”

  “Yup.”

  “How the hell can you afford that?”

  “Because I’m a very wealthy man. And because I’m not doing this to make money. Like I said, I’m doing this mostly because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Mostly?”

  “There’s a small part of me looking for revenge, I’ll admit. I had to watch someone I knew and respected die as the president executed his grand plan to reset the world. And the sonofabitch he hired to be the front man for it all killed my dog.”

  “The bastard…”

  The sarcasm wasn’t hard to miss—a result of years of training by Josh.

  “Hey, I loved that dog, Jonas. You have no idea.”

  He sighs, looking at the dancer again as she hangs upside down on the pole, gyrating. He turns back to me, holding my gaze. “So, for twenty million dollars you want my help killing the president?”

  I nod. “That pretty much sums it up, yeah.”

  “Have you given any thought as to how exactly you want to go after the impossible shot?”

  “Honestly? Not really. I had one idea, but I don’t think it’ll work. I want to get the team together first and then look at how we’re going to pull this off.”

  “Team? So, wait… I’ve gotta share my payout?”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s twenty million each. Don’t worry.”

  “Fuck me… how rich are you, man?”

  I smile. “I get by. So, are you in?”

  He sighs and, after a moment, shrugs. “Why not… I’d be crazy to turn down that kinda money, whatever the job. But if you try to screw me on this, I’ll put you to sleep, we clear?”

  I nod. Usually, I wouldn’t respond well to threats like that, but these are desperate times, and I can understand where he’s coming from.

  “This is on the level, Jonas. No strings. We pull it off, you get your money. If anyone needs to take the fall for it, I’ll make sure it’s me.”

  “Huh… that’s mighty noble of you.”

  “Well, I’ve got a lot I need to answer for, I guess. As long as Cunningham is stopped, and the people I care about stay safe, I’m not that bothered what happens to me.”

  “Fair enough. So what now?”

  “Now? Make your peace with whoever you’ve got to make your peace with. It’s gonna be a long road, and it’s a journey we might not come back from. Understand the moment you’re seen with me, the CIA will target you with everything they have.”

  Briggs smiles. “Sounds kinda fun!”

  “And that’s why I came to you. We’ll meet in the bar at Caesar’s in Atlantic City three days from now. You don’t show, you’re out. You breathe a word of this to anyone, you’re dead. Clear?”

  I see him trying to suppress a smile. “Clear.”

  “You got a smartphone and an e-mail address?”

  He frowns. “Yeah, why?”

  “Calls and texts can be traced, but if we both log into the same e-mail account, we can save messages as drafts so we both see them without transmitting the data.”

  I know, I know—that’s very technical for me, right? Well, I can’t take all the credit—it’s something Josh told me about once. Despite what he thinks, I’m not a complete caveman when it comes to all things high-tech, and I always listened when he started telling me things that sounded smart.

  Briggs raises an eyebrow. “Very covert. Okay.” He grabs a napkin and borrows a pen from a passing waitress, writes down his log-in details and passes it to me.

  I fold it up and tuck it into my jacket pocket. “Check it regularly. I’ll keep in touch.”r />
  I stand, throwing a twenty on the table to pay for the drinks, and nod a silent goodbye to my new colleague. I walk out of the club without looking back.

  That’s one name off my list. Now for the other three.

  6

  11:17 EDT

  I managed another couple hours of rest after leaving the strip club before hitting the road shortly after five. I made the six-hour drive to Baltimore without incident. I drove sensibly, taking side roads where possible, just to be safe, and kept to the speed limits at all times.

  I say that, but in this piece-of-shit truck it’s not as if I could go any faster even if I wanted to…

  The weather has slowly deteriorated. I hit the city limits about ten minutes ago, and this rain looks like it’s settling in for the long haul. It started out as one of those persistent light showers that looks worse than it is, but it’s been getting heavier with each minute that passes, and right now it’s a full-blown downpour.

  The next name on my list is the one Case said to use as plan B. The crazy-sounding one. Only reason I’m here is because it’s the closest one to me, so I figure I might as well stop by as I’m passing.

  I came in on I-95 and took the bridge over the Patapsco River. I followed the road east, navigating the busy, wet streets until I reached Druid Lake, and my destination. It’s a large, gothic-looking building, almost like a castle, situated alone, surrounded by forest on the banks of the lake.

  The Stonebanks Institute for the Criminally Insane. Named for some guy who apparently revolutionized electroshock therapy treatment in the 1920s. Well, that’s what the plaque on the wall out front says, anyway.

  I’m sitting in the car outside the tall, locked, cast-iron gates, staring out the window. The building is made from old brick and covered in moss. It looks like something from an Anne Rice novel. This storm isn’t exactly helping, either. The clouds are thick and gray, making it look like evening time outside. Plus, in addition to the rain I can hear the rumbling of distant thunder overhead. Christ, all we need now is some random lightning and we’ve got ourselves our very own House on Haunted Hill.

  The sky lights up with a flash of lightning, accompanied a few moments later by loud blast of thunder.

  I sigh.

  Wonderful.

  I turn my jacket collar up and get out of the car, hunching against the weather as I walk at a brisk pace through the entrance archway to the right of the gates. The driveway is long and forms a circle at the end in front of the main doors. In the center is a large water feature. It’s a circular stone basin, large and low, with a fountain built into a marble plinth in the middle. The streams of water shoot up and arc down into the basin, which, at the moment, is close to overflowing thanks to the rapid assault of raindrops.

  I walk past, stopping at the foot of the steps. I look skyward, watching the rain fall against the backdrop of the building. High above, stone gargoyles, probably carved hundreds of years ago into the corners of the building, stare across the grounds, no doubt relishing the storm.

  Yeah… this places gives me the creeps.

  I climb the steps and walk through the first set of doors, wiping my feet on the rough flooring in the vestibule. I run my hands quickly over my hair, brushing it away from my face and preventing any rain from dripping into my eyes.

  I never used to have this problem… I really need a haircut!

  I push open the inner doors and walk through, feeling a blast of warm air from the heater above. I’m standing in a holding area of sorts. To my left, behind thick glass, is the front desk. A nurse is behind it, sitting upright and stiff, professional to a fault. Ahead of me is a line of four men wearing navy blue uniforms and armed with nightsticks and mace canisters. They were idly chatting among themselves, but that’s stopped now I’ve appeared.

  “Name?” asks the nurse, unceremoniously.

  I’m distracted by the level of security and have to shake my head to refocus. I move over to the glass. “Hi, ah… I was hoping to visit with Ruby DeSouza.”

  An almost imperceptible twitch of her eyebrow tells me she’s more than familiar with the name. She flashes a quick glance over to the line of guards. “And you are?”

  “I’m a member of the family.”

  I’m not. That’s a lie.

  Her lips form a thin line, and she glares at me the way a teacher would glare at a pupil when they tell her for the hundredth time their dog ate their homework. “Miss DeSouza has no family,” she replies, challengingly.

  I frown but don’t hesitate. “I’m her cousin… on her mother’s side. I know she has no immediate family, and that’s why I feel so bad for not visiting her sooner. I’m really all she has, and I just want to see how she’s doing. Please… I’ve traveled a long way.”

  She sighs heavily and opens a compartment on her side of the counter. She slides a clipboard through it, which I take, briefly skimming over the attached paperwork.

  “Fill that out, and we’ll escort you through the facility to her cell.”

  I shrug and nod. “Yeah, no problem.”

  I lean on the part of the desk not covered by the glass and quickly fill the forms out, using as much fake, yet believable, information as I can come up with on the spot. They might check it in detail later, but that’ll take a while, and I intend being long gone by the time they realize it’s all bullshit.

  I pass the clipboard back through to her a few moments later, and she quickly checks over the details before nodding at the guards.

  I turn, and one of them steps to meet me. “Hold your arms out to the sides for me.”

  I do, and smile. “I’m unarmed, officer…”

  “I’m sure you are, but this is for your protection.”

  Well, that doesn’t sound overly reassuring…

  “My protection?” I ask.

  “The inmates here are extremely dangerous. Every one of them. We need to make sure there’s nothing on you they could potentially take and use against you. Part of what you just signed is a disclaimer saying you understand the risk to your person while on these premises, and you won’t hold either the Stonebanks Institution or the state of Maryland responsible for anything that may happen to you.”

  Ah… Well… That’s just peachy! I don’t really know what to say to that.

  “Huh…” is about all I can manage.

  The guard finishes patting me down. “Okay, you’re clear. You’ll have an escort at all times while you’re walking around, and you won’t be allowed more than five minutes alone with the prisoner.”

  “Is that standard procedure?”

  He shakes his head. “No, standard procedure is thirty minutes. With your… cousin, you get five.”

  Oh.

  I nod and follow him as we walk through another set of doors into the building proper.

  Inside, it’s actually a beautiful place. We enter a large reception area. The floor’s circular with black and white tiling polished to a shine. Straight ahead is a staircase covered by a deep red carpet and wide, stained-wood handrails running up either side. It stops on a small landing, beneath a tall window that takes up most of the wall, before stretching away to the left and right, continuing up to the next floor.

  Either side of me are corridors lit by flickering light fixtures that cast long, haunting shadows across the walls. This whole place looks more like a 1950s retirement home than anything else.

  I bet there’s some serious crazy in this place…

  The guard steps to one side, and one of his colleagues follows us through to take the lead. “He’ll show you to her cell.” He turns and disappears back through the door, closing it firmly behind him. I hear the locks turn from the other side.

  I look at the guard. He seems young, but has an air of fearlessness about him. “You worked here long?”

  He nods. “Eighteen months, give or take.”

  “Like it?”

  He shrugs. “Not particularly.”

  I smile uncomfortably and follow him as he walks
across the corridor and up the stairs. We climb up, go left, and come out on the floor above. There’s no carpet here—just cold, hard tile. Facing the stairs is another desk. It’s a makeshift security station with two guards sitting behind it monitoring video feeds on their small screens.

  The guard heads down the corridor. I move alongside him, my footsteps sounding loud in the unnerving silence that surrounds us.

  “How come it’s so quiet?” I ask. “I figured this place would be alive with the sound of madness or something…”

  “All the cells are soundproof. They have to be, otherwise it’d be like a goddamn zoo in here.”

  “Huh… makes sense.”

  There’s no natural light along the corridor. The fixtures overhead are motion activated, so in front and behind us is pitch-black—only the lights directly above us are lit up as we walk.

  I snap my head sideways.

  I swear I just heard something from the door nearest to me…

  I frown, slowing as I take a cautious step toward it.

  I think this place is starting to get to me. He just finished telling me the rooms are soundproof…

  But I definitely heard—

  “I’d keep away from the doors if I were you,” the guard says, distracting me.

  I turn my head to meet his gaze. See, now he’s told me to keep away, I have an overwhelming urge to move closer and look through the letterbox window at eye level, blocked by a metal flap. It’s an almost spiteful curiosity.

  Spiteful… stupid—same difference.

  It’s in my nature to do the opposite of what people who think they’re in charge tell me to do. It’s an illness, I know. But, especially given the way everyone’s acting around here, I feel compelled to look inside one of these rooms, or cells—whatever they call them—just to get a glimpse of what I might be dealing with when I meet Ruby.

  I move over to the door, listening closely. There’s a. I move my hand slowly toward it, turning the catch as quietly as possible, holding my breath… I lower it gently, grimacing as the metal hinge squeaks. I put my face close to the window and peer inside. It’s completely black. I can’t see anything… A bit of an anti-climax, I admit. I guess I was thinking I’d—