by G. K. Parks
“You were just another pawn in Carlton’s game. And you were led by the nose into believing Jack was responsible. Hell, Jackie’s two co-workers were practically accomplices at the time of the shooting. So it looks like Carlton convinced you Jack wanted to kill Ben, and therefore, you should kill Jack.” Daniel smiled. “You threatened my little brother. It was caught on the security feed. He even filed a police report against you. But then you threatened him at work, and finally, you came to his house to finish the job. Y’see, everything traces back to you, Mr. Mercer. You discovered that John Welks was the mole. You took him captive, ransacked his apartment, and then you practically beat Isaac Armann to death. Your actions make their testimonies suspect if they were to talk, but frankly, I don’t think they will. Welks would be too afraid, and Armann is too proud, assuming he survives. There’s enough circumstantial evidence and hints of impropriety circling to discredit anything you might say.”
“No one could have predicted I’d stumble upon the botched murder attempt or that Carlton would hire me.” Mercer narrowed his eyes. “Even you aren’t that brilliant.”
“Maybe I am.” Daniel’s boastful nature surfaced, and the smug look reappeared on his face. “I’ve always had a contingency in place in the event Isaac failed. Carlton’s predictable, and I knew he would hire someone to eliminate the threat. It just happened to be you.” He smiled again and held the gun slightly away from Jack’s head. “Does this look familiar?”
“My Sig,” Mercer said, remembering the police had confiscated it. “I’m impressed. The one thing I don’t understand is how you plan to escape. You shoot Jack. I shoot you.”
“Not quite. I shoot Jack with your gun, the police bust in, and I say I came to protect my brother. You go down. The evidence is against you. Who would believe a disgraced, former military man who’s already been accused of murdering his own wife?” His eyes lit up. “No one. And that’s what makes this brilliant.”
“Except for the bullet through your brain,” Mercer replied calmly.
“You don’t kill for sport. You didn’t kill Armann, and you won’t kill me.” Daniel shrugged. “It’s that simple.”
“Pathetic,” Mercer retorted, changing tactics. He lowered his gun and walked around the couch, taking a comfortable seat. “The break-in was reported. The police shall be here momentarily, and you’re the only one pointing a gun. It’s game over.”
“Not if I do it now. I can kill Jack, shoot you, and claim it was in self-defense.”
“You’re forgetting one basic fact,” Mercer replied, his finger twitching slightly at the notion of his next move.
“What’s that?”
“I work with a team.”
Bastian fired once, having snuck into the room during Daniel’s long-winded diatribe, landing a well-placed shot to Daniel’s forearm, causing him to release Jack. Immediately, Mercer brought his gun up, firing a single shot to the side of Daniel’s head. His skull blew apart, covering Jack in brain matter and skull fragments.
“Dan?” Jack asked, teetering and collapsing to his knees. One look at his brother’s lifeless form sent relief and sorrow through him, and he continued to back away, becoming violently ill in the corner of the room. He swallowed uneasily, eventually drawing his eyes upward to find Bastian assessing the displaced handgun. Slowly, he dragged himself toward the couch. “You killed my brother.”
“Would you have preferred he kill you?” Mercer asked.
“No. I…no...” Jack swallowed again. And the sounds of heavy footsteps shook the apartment.
“The serial number is the same. There’s no doubt it’s yours,” Bastian said, “which means there’s a cop on the take.”
“I told you that at the beginning,” Mercer declared, holstering his own gun and raising his hands. “Unfortunately, the next few hours won’t be particularly pleasant, but the traitor might just reveal himself.”
The police swarmed the apartment, separating the three men for questioning before anyone could be removed from the scene. Techs arrived, followed by the coroner and a few higher ranked members of the police force. Mercer narrowed his eyes at them, wondering how many of them were corrupt.
“I’ll take it from here,” Rowlins said, dismissing the uniformed cop that had been questioning Mercer.
“Detective,” Mercer said, pondering Rowlins’ potential involvement, “notice anything strange about the handgun Daniel Pierce had in his possession?”
“Like?”
“The fact that you confiscated it from me after the shooting at the hospital.”
“Yeah?” Rowlins glanced around the apartment. “Let’s head to the car.” Mercer stood, and the two went down the steps. “I’m not telling you this, but a few batches of evidence went missing from the precinct yesterday. Some of it was related to Styler, including your gun.” He stopped Mercer at the car, opening the passenger’s side door. “Your people were snooping around. Did they take it?”
“No.”
“Internal Affairs sent someone to investigate. They’ll figure out what happened. In the meantime, you admitted to shooting Daniel Pierce in the defense of his brother, Jack. From the whispers I’m hearing, Jack’s corroborating your version of the events.”
“That’s because I accurately described what occurred.”
“Be that as it may, until it gets sorted out, you’ll be held at the precinct. The problem is,” he put the car into drive, “if your insistence on police corruption is just as accurate, you really can’t afford to be stuck in a place where evidence goes missing or tampering may occur.” He tossed a sideways glance at Julian and remained silent for the rest of the drive to the precinct. When he pulled into a space around back, he scanned the parking area. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” Rowlins muttered to himself. He cleared his throat and stared out the windshield. “I forgot I have a quick errand to run. You will wait in the car until I get back, right?” His eyes darted to the door, and Julian understood. “Thanks for helping out on this. If you hadn’t gone inside when you did, Jack Pierce would likely be dead. You saved someone tonight, and in my book, that makes this an exception to the rule.”
“But there are still unanswered questions.”
“Just maintain a low profile while IA works out some of the kinks. I’ll be in touch.” Rowlins exited the vehicle, walking into the precinct and not glancing back at the car.
Once the detective disappeared from sight, Mercer let himself out and set off in the direction of the safe house. Hailing the first cab he spotted, he got dropped off in the neighborhood, checked for a tail, and returned to update Katia and Ben.
Thirty-seven
The next few days were an exercise in patience. Katia and Ben bickered constantly. The person primarily responsible for the intended murder was dead, and Mercer was told to stay out of sight. The phone calls were just another annoyance. Carlton called multiple times a day to speak to Katia, apologizing and begging for his daughter to come home. Thus far, she wasn’t willing to leave Ben’s side until the police investigation was concluded.
Bastian was released from police custody thirty-six hours after the incident in Jack Pierce’s apartment. The medical examiner determined Bastian didn’t deliver the kill shot, which went along with the statements Mercer provided inside the apartment and Jack’s testimony. However, while Bas was stuck at the precinct, he met the Internal Affairs investigator, Detective Smoltz. After Bastian answered more questions than he cared to concerning Mercer’s team, Carlton Rhoade, Benjamin Styler, and the Pierce family squabble, Smoltz made some notes and released Bastian on his own recognizance. Detective Rowlins and IAD had his contact information and warned that no one should leave town until the investigation into the evidence tampering and possible police involvement in an attempted homicide was resolved.
Finally, on the fourth morning of bodyguarding hell, Bastian’s phone rang and after answering, he passed it to Julian. Mercer glanced at the caller I.D. and took a deep breath. He wasn’t in the
mood for more police bullshit.
“We need to meet. Do you remember that diner we went to?” Rowlins asked, sounding cryptic.
“Are you planning to arrest me?”
“I’ll see you in an hour.” Rowlins disconnected, and shaking his head, Julian handed the phone back to Bastian.
“Good news?” Bastian asked.
“Our detective friend wants a meeting. If you don’t hear from me in two hours, then I’ll probably need a barrister and bail money.”
“He won’t arrest you,” Bastian said, even if his voice sounded somewhat uncertain. “He’s been pulling double duty, so he can help out IA and investigate the corruption. Maybe he has news on who’s got it out for you.”
“I could speculate,” Mercer replied, his mind drifting to Rhoade’s friendship with the homicide lieutenant. “Two hours. The clock starts now.”
When Mercer arrived at the diner, he took a seat at a booth in the back and waited for a squad of police officers to swarm the building, but that didn’t happen. Instead, Detective Rowlins walked in, gestured for a cup of coffee, and sat across from Julian. The two remained silent until the waitress placed the steaming mug on the table and walked away.
“What?” Mercer asked, impatient like always.
“I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” Mercer continued to stare. “Fine, we’ll start with the bad. There isn’t enough evidence to support claims of corruption. Yes, evidence went missing and someone tried to run you down after you left the precinct, but no one’s talking. IA’s focused on the homicide lieutenant, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
“He’s Carlton Rhoade’s contact in the police force. Do you think he was also friendly with Daniel Pierce?”
“Yep.” Rowlins took a sip of coffee. “At a lot of city and charity functions, Rhoade would invite his staff. They must have crossed paths. It would have been nice to ask Daniel Pierce about that, but dead men don’t speak.”
“Am I under arrest for his murder?”
“No. It was self-defense. Jack’s let us go through some employee info from Pierce Industries, and we’ve been scouring through Daniel’s belongings and communications. It’s obvious you did this city a service. First of all, you took care of that contract killer. Second, you dealt with the man pulling the strings. Which leads to my next question.”
“I’m waiting.”
“What are you going to do about the unidentified officers that covered for Daniel Pierce by attempting to make you look like a killer?”
“It’s not my problem,” Mercer said, leaning back and studying the detective.
Rowlins snorted as he attempted to stifle his chuckle. “Bullshit, it’s not your problem. None of this was your goddamn problem, and yet, you took care of it, even when I told you we didn’t need the help.”
“Clearly, you were wrong.”
“Eh.” Rowlins reached into his back pocket for his wallet and laid a five on the table. “We might want to bring you in for questioning again. Probably tomorrow afternoon. I’d suggest you terminate your employment and hit the road before that happens.”
“Was that the good news?” Julian asked, still wondering why the detective was giving him and his team a free pass.
“Yeah.”
* * *
Later that evening, Carlton Rhoade returned home from work. In the darkened expanse of his living room, he didn’t notice Julian Mercer seated in the armchair, his handgun sitting on the table a few inches away. Rhoade poured himself a drink and turned. Startled by the man waiting for him, he dropped the glass, and it shattered on the floor.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” Mercer said, his tone even.
“Goddammit, you scared me. How did you get in here?” Rhoade made a move toward the security system on the wall, and Julian leaned forward, hovering closer to the weapon. “Where are my bodyguards?”
“I’m sure you’d prefer to have the rest of this conversation in private,” Mercer warned. “Take a seat, Mr. Rhoade.”
Carlton sat on the couch, his gaze uneasily shifting to the weapon. “Let me guess, you want money.”
“No. I want assurances that you will not interfere in your daughter’s relationships. Right now, no one is entirely sure what role you played in the assault on Benjamin Styler. You’re in the clear. He’s alive, and whether the two of them remain together is none of your business. Her happiness should be your primary concern. Do not do anything to make her miserable. Do you understand?” Mercer’s tone went from professional to cold hatred.
“Yes.”
“Good. Additionally, if you do anything to jeopardize John Welks’ well-being, we will have a problem. He made a mistake and deserves a second chance. I trust that you will give him the opportunity to make amends.”
“Okay,” Rhoade must have thought this was a business arrangement because he relaxed slightly, “would you like your payment now?”
“Payment?” Mercer practically spat. “I don’t accept blood money.”
“It’s not blood money. It’s payment for services rendered. All I did was ensure Daniel could never pose a threat to Katia or anyone else again. I wish it could have gone another way.”
“Rubbish. You used everyone at your disposal to stack the odds in your favor. How long did you know Daniel was behind this? In your office, you swore you didn’t have a clue, but you set a lot of things in motion very quickly.”
“That just a newsman’s knowhow. We’re used to working with close deadlines.” He stood and went back to the wet bar, letting the broken glass crunch under the soles of his shoes. He poured another drink and took a sip. “I’ve been honest with you, Mr. Mercer. Katia is all I have left, and I would do anything to protect her, even if it meant paying you to kill a man.” He went to his desk and picked up a document-sized envelope. “But like you and your friend have said numerous times, you’re not mercenaries. So I had to take additional measures in order to ensure you would take care of the problem.”
“You made sure the evidence that was stolen made it back into Daniel Pierce’s hands, along with my personal firearm, just so I would act accordingly? That was a fucking ridiculous gamble by an entitled, narcissistic egomaniac.”
Rhoade smiled, returning to the couch and placing the envelope on the coffee table next to Julian’s handgun. “You give me far too much credit, Mr. Mercer. Daniel made contact with a mutual friend that we have within the department, and word traveled back to me. Initially, my contact wanted to set up a sting to lure Daniel out of hiding, but after I presented him with my dilemma, we came up with a more permanent, foolproof solution. Don’t forget, I’m nothing more than a businessman with strong ties to only the most upstanding members of this community.”
“Bullshit.”
“Believe what you like, but justice has been served. Inside, you will find payment for the additional work your team has performed.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I figured as much, but there must be some agreement we can reach to keep you from sputtering your misguided beliefs concerning my involvement. Perhaps you’ll consider some priceless information a fair trade.”
“What kind of information?”
“I made a few phone calls on your behalf. I’m not without friends, even in merry old England. In addition to the money, you will find a few newspaper articles detailing similar crimes that occurred over the span of a decade, a reporter’s personal notes, photos, and police reports that were removed from the official public case file. It may inevitably provide a lead to your wife’s killer.” Rhoade stood. “I believe that shall be sufficient consideration for our business to be concluded. I expect Katia to be home by the morning. Good evening, Mr. Mercer. You can see yourself out.”
Thirty-eight
“Are you sure, love?” Bastian asked. “You don’t have to go back there.”
“He’s my father,” Katia insisted, “and it’s about time we had this out.” She shifted her gaze to Mercer. �
�Don’t worry, I won’t lose your card. And if anything out of the ordinary happens, you’re my first and only phone call.”
“Emergencies only,” Mercer said.
“No problem.” She tossed him a smile. “Thank you. When you came rushing into the alley that dreadful night, I knew you were a hero.” She hugged him, much to his annoyance. “Thank you for exacting vengeance on my behalf,” she whispered, feeling him nod.
“All right then, Donovan will take you home and ensure your safety before he leaves. Hans will return Mr. Styler to his residence, and that shall be the last time you have to deal with us,” Bastian concluded.
When the team dispersed, Bastian and Julian scrubbed the safe house, eliminating any prints or DNA before repeating the same process with the vehicles. It was an old habit, but it never hurt to be cautious, particularly when the police were only hours away from knocking down the door. After a final check, their remaining belongings were gathered near the front door, awaiting a taxi to the airport.
“Have you opened the envelope yet?” Bastian asked.
“I don’t believe him,” Mercer replied, but every fiber of his being ached to see what was inside, to find that one clue that he was still missing.
“You’re afraid to believe him. Hope can be a crushing thing, but after the shit he put us through, it is the least he could do.”
“It’s hush money.”
“So what? We’ll let bygones be bygones for once.”
“And what if it’s like everything else we’ve read and uncovered over the last two years? What if there’s nothing new? Michelle deserves peace.”
“So do you.” Bastian lifted the envelope out of the bag. “Shall I give it a look-see?”
“Bas,” Mercer paused, unsure how to respond, knowing his friend would dig through this just as doggedly as he would, “whatever you do, never agree to let us take another one of these questionable jobs. We aren’t investigators.”