Until Nothing Remains: A Hybrid Post-Apocalyptic Espionage Adventure (A Gun Play Novel: Volume 1)

by C. A. Rudolph

  While Natalia continued to stew, I decided it best not to offer a reply. I didn’t want to give off the indication that I was making light of the situation—even though I didn’t think it was anything worth getting distraught over.

  Jonathon popped the rear hatch and I packed the luggage in. Natalia helped herself inside to the rear seat, and I stepped into the passenger compartment. Once inside with the door closed, my nose detected something pungent enough to overpower the new-car scent. One glance back at my wife told me she could smell it too.

  “I probably should’ve had you guys take the metro in,” Jon said while wiping his nose and thumbing his thin yet well-shaped beard. “Traffic around here is…I don’t know,” he chuckled and added, “it’s fucking impossible.”

  I watched him for a moment while he fretted more than what was usual for him. His attire was wrinkled and in complete disarray, almost as if he’d slept in it. His eyes were glassy and sunken in, and his movements, though deliberate, were delayed.

  “Jon?” I asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you drunk?”

  He turned to me, offering a look of both indifference and denial. His eyebrows lowered. “Um…I’m sorry. Did you just ask if I was…drunk?”

  I nodded. “That’s what I asked you.”

  He nodded once and turned away. “I see,” he muttered, thumbing his beard and sending a glance out his window. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

  “Are you going to answer my question?”

  He chuckled, then mumbled softly to himself nearly repeating my words. “Heh…am I going to answer his question…”

  “Well? Are you?”

  Jon cocked his head, casually nodded once and then slowly nodded again. “Yep,” he said. “Pretty much.”

  “Pretty much…what?”

  “I’m pretty much drunk.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Natalia bellowed from the back seat. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? It’s not even eight in the morning!”

  “All things being equal, I never paid too much attention to the time of day with regard to drinking,” Jon said, followed by a semi-maniacal, overenthusiastic chuckle, one that had become one of his signature traits. “By the way, it’s nice to finally meet the missus. I’m Jon Roc—”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Natalia growled. “But before you do so, kindly pull the vehicle over and let us the hell out.”

  “Whoa…whoa…whoa!” Jon cried, his hand motioning palm down in the air as if trying to fan a small fire. “Calm down there, little lady. Everything here is under control. We are on schedule and on point. The weather is looking great, and we’re about to catch us some big fish in the next couple of days. There’s nothing to be upset about or worry over, I assure you.”

  My mind raced with astonishment. I couldn’t believe Jon was drunk. I was blown away that he’d just called Natalia ‘little lady’. If she was irritated with him for being late, and irate over finding out he was intoxicated, there was little doubt in my mind that she’d now crossed the boundary of outrage. And that, by and large, wasn’t a good thing for anyone in proximity with her.

  I turned around to take in the view of Natalia’s impending wrath and make every attempt at de-escalation; and hopefully, save Jonathon’s life in the process. I presumed—well, hoped that she wouldn’t choose to kill him while he was driving, but I wasn’t entirely sure. “Natalia, please calm down,” I pled with a hand held up in protest. I turned back to Jon. “And, dude, you have some serious explaining to do. We have a very long, grueling set of days ahead of us. Why in the hell are you drunk right now?”

  After a pause, Jonathon tilted his head and shrugged. “Why in the hell not? Anymore, I tend to stay this way.”

  “Drunk, you mean?”

  “Yes, drunk, I mean.”

  “Okay, have you turned into some sort of alcoholic now or something?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve always been ‘some sort of alcoholic or something’, Quinn. It just so happens that as of late, I’ve become pretty damn good at it.”

  “And that means what, exactly?”

  “Well, it means…hardly anyone even notices.”

  “I noticed as soon as I got in the car with you,” I argued.

  “Consider my husband’s impression echoed from the ‘little lady’ in the back seat,” Natalia quipped.

  Jonathon chuckled slightly and followed it with a frivolous grin, which exposed his full set of perfectly white teeth. “Okay, well, I guess the two of you are the exceptions, then. Everything’s relative.”

  Natalia cursed under her breath in her native language. “Quinn, seriously? I know this person is your friend, but you can’t possibly take him in earnest right now. We can’t move forward like this.”

  I waited a moment to see if Jonathon planned on offering yet another impromptu ill-witted response, and used the time to gauge his driving. He was just pulling into the morning commuter traffic on the eastbound lane of the Dulles Toll Road. Scooting past car after car, he merged across four lanes and into the HOV lane with grace. If he was drunk, which I was more than certain he was, both by the smell and by his own admission, I couldn’t tell by his driving.

  “Did something happen?” I finally asked. “Something bad…that made you want to drink like this?”

  “By something bad, could you mean life?” Jon asked almost rhetorically. “Because if that’s what you mean, then the answer’s hell yes.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Life happens every day, Quinn. It happens to everyone, but it hates me. It loathes me. Life makes me drink like this.”

  “You’re not kidding…”

  “You’re goddamn right I’m not kidding!” Jon said with a forceful tone and an even more forceful nod as his face hardened.

  Natalia’s indignant voice from the back seat responded, “Far be it from me to judge, but I believe you are what most proud, masculine Americans refer to as a ‘grown-ass man’, and life is what you make of it. You’ve obviously made a conscious decision to turn yours into a twenty-four-hour-a-day stupor.”

  “Life is a lie,” Jonathon stated. “It’s a big piece of shit sold to us as something amazing…but in the end, it’s just one big fucking lie. It’s invention…and propaganda…falsehoods…and an endless highway of bullshit.” He reached over my lap to the glove box and opened it to expose a half-empty plastic bottle of Aristocrat vodka. Pulling it out, he twisted the top off and took an exceedingly large swig from it, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and handed the bottle to me. “It’s also pain,” he added. “A lot of pain. And this numbs the pain. And if I drink enough of it, it even takes it away.”

  I looked down at the bottle, fully expecting him to take it back into custody and finish it off after that tirade. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “No, thanks, buddy. I’m okay,” he replied firmly, his face beginning to soften. “Think what you want, but I got this.”

  “Thinking what I want is irrelevant. We didn’t come here for a social gathering or an intervention.”

  “Meaning…”

  “Meaning I—we need assurances, Jon,” I said. “And so far, I’m not getting the warm-and-fuzzies from you today.”

  Jon smiled and gestured his head back at Natalia. “That’s okay. I don’t think she is, either,” he said, then turned to me and slapped my leg, a solemn look befalling him. His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Everything is already set up. It’s handled. It’s solid, just as on point as anything I’ve worked on for you before. I would never let my brother down. The same goes for my brother’s wife.”

  I reached forward and set the bottle of vodka back into the glove box. When I heard him utter the word brother, I was tempted for a second to take a drink and maybe talk things through with him. The profile of a Glock pistol nestled between some papers and the Volkswagen’s owner’s manual brought me back to the here and now.

  “That’s for you, by the way,” Jon said, pointing
his index finger at the nine-millimeter handgun. “I imagine they didn’t let you bring yours with you on the flight.”

  I took hold of the weapon, performed a press-check, and released the magazine into my opposite hand to verify the reflections of all fifteen hollow-point rounds through the witness holes. “Yeah. The TSA is kind of funny about that.” It was a fourth-generation Glock 19, the exact weapon I normally carried, less the custom barrel, raised sights, and suppressor. “So where are we headed first?”

  “The Mayflower Hotel,” Jon said proudly. “I took the liberty of reserving both presidential suites, so we’ll have the whole club level to ourselves. The rooms are amazing, and I have a feeling you guys will enjoy them. They even have a terrace.”

  “Sounds expensive,” Natalia hissed, the sarcasm dripping from her lips. “How considerate of you.”

  “Nothing but the best for my friends,” Jon said, not detecting her tone.

  “I wasn’t aware this op had a carte blanche budget,” Natalia snapped back. “Why the commercial flight, then?”

  Jon inhaled, sucking air through his teeth. “I never gave it much thought, just figured any method to get you here was as good as any. I’m sorry, were the seats not comfortable?”

  “The seats were fine. But a private flight wouldn’t have necessitated passports and a voyage through customs.”

  “You’re right. And like I said, I’m sorry,” Jon relented, then continued. “So, after we get settled, we’ll have a few hours to kill. We can wine and dine and take in the town for a while if you like. Our man is scheduled to meet us at the DC Improv at twenty hundred hours sharp.”

  “The DC Improv?” Natalia probed.

  “Yeah. It’s an improvisational comedy clu—”

  “I know what it is,” Natalia broke in. She was on a roll now. “I’m curious as to why you thought a location like that would be suitable for a meeting of this magnitude.”

  Jon shrugged and looked over to me, as if wanting me to answer for him.

  Regrettably, I had nothing to offer. “It’s a legitimate question,” I said.

  Jon smiled, his teeth gleaming. “Indeed it is. The answer’s pretty simple, actually,” he uttered. “Because…it’s fucking funny!”

  While Jon laughed maniacally at his attempt at a comedic punch line, I couldn’t help but chuckle along with him.

  Natalia wasn’t amused.

  When Jon saw her face in the rearview mirror, he knew instantly that she didn’t get the joke. “I’m kidding…I’m kidding, sorry,” Jon said, his laughter slowly losing tempo. “Actually, it’s where he wanted to meet.”

  I rotated around upon hearing Natalia let out a brief sigh coupled with a faint giggle. But, no sooner did I get her into my peripheral did her scowl return. I knew I heard it, though. Maybe she was starting to come around…but I doubted it.

  “So we’ll ice break and enjoy a couple of drinks in the main hall before we move into the private lounge, which will be cordoned off for us,” Jon continued. “I have a crew working security there tonight, so we won’t be bothered. We’ll discuss particulars and concerns—if you have any.”

  “As long as the money is where it needs to be when it needs to be, there shouldn’t be any issues,” I said.

  “The same goes for our safety net,” Natalia said, “assuming one exists.”

  “It’s in play,” Jon assured her. “I have fallback positions and safe houses set up in multiple locations around the city, and various outs established for you both. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “Nor mine,” Natalia countered. “And I’m sure I don’t have to disclose what’s at stake if we’re screwed over, even to the slightest degree.”

  Jon leaned over and shot me a glance. Whispering, he said, “Your wife is a hottie, bro. No doubt about it. But she’s…really intense.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  He hesitated. “Kind of fiery, too.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Jon nodded. “Or maybe I do. I know a threat when I hear one. Listen…I am not going to screw you guys over. You do know that, right?”

  I nodded. “I do. But I’m not the one you need to convince. Still, irrespective of that, I’d take her warning at face value, or greater.”

  “Are you saying she’s gonna kill me?” He chuckled over his undertone, acting as though he couldn’t care less. “Because I don’t have time for that shit tonight. Actually, I might have a date later.”

  I nodded slightly. “If that were her intention, she’d have the advantage. And, not to mention, a motive.”

  Jon pulled away, nodded and looked up into his rearview mirror at Natalia’s reflection. “Understood.”

  Four

  DC Improv Comedy Club, 1140 Connecticut Ave NW, Washington, DC

  Monday, March 24, 6:55 p.m. EDT

  Nihayat al’ayam minus 77 hours, 5 minutes

  While we waited for our meeting to kick off at the comedy club, Natalia and I found entertainment at the Sauf Haus Bier Hall just up the street. Our headliner was an immature, rather presumptuous, German-born American uproot bartender who wore his lederhosen a bit too tightly. We thought it would be a good idea to take the edge off before dealing with business, so we shared a tall glass mug of Paulaner Hefeweizen, which to me, tasted almost as good as it had when I’d enjoyed a liter of it at the Paulanergarten in Munich several years ago.

  We each also ordered one of the pub’s warmed German-style pretzels, a menu item that Natalia said tasted only slightly better than Kuh Scheiße, or cow shit. I’d never sampled cow shit before, and pretzels weren’t one of my go-to cuisines. Still, I had been forced to agree with her nonetheless. It was general knowledge that food items concocted to resemble authentic German fare in the States were rarely able to compare.

  We’d taken Jonathon along with us, but lost track of him several minutes post-arrival. A relatively attractive brunette in heels and pink-framed spectacles caught his eye after his third or fourth straight-up Ketel One martini. Initially, I’d gone looking for him, but soon thought better of it, deciding it best to allocate my attention to the small segment of free time I had with my wife before going kinetic yet again. I knew him well enough, despite the new venture of intemperance he’d been subscribing to, that he wouldn’t let me down. At least, not intentionally. Trying to get Natalia to understand that foundation, however, was a battle not even worth fighting.

  While we walked down the chewing-gum-ridden concrete staircase to the basement-level location the Improv called home, Natalia reached for my hand and I took hers into mine willfully. At first, it almost felt like we were on a date, something she and I hadn’t done in a number of years.

  At that moment, the black formal dress she was wearing took me back to an earlier time and to a better, more exciting place; and I found myself unable to take my eyes off her. I could even feel my heart fluttering a bit. We were the same two people then, much as we were today, sans the novelty of a new connection. I remembered how we used to try so hard to impress each other. I’d always been articulate and well-spoken, but being around her had been daunting for me at first, and oftentimes, I’d stumbled over words. There were even times when I’d forgotten I’d even possessed a vocabulary. I’d wanted to win her over so badly then, the harder I tried, the more I failed. I’d only succeeded when I’d stopped trying so damned hard to figure out the ebb and flow and just allowed the waves to carry me in.

  “You know, we never do this,” I said.

  Natalia turned to me, her expression almost beaming. “We never do what?”

  “This,” I said, adding a body gesture I hoped was more descriptive than my words.

  Natalia smiled and moved closer to me as we approached the tinted glass entrance door. “I know what you’re saying. Does it bother you?”

  “Yeah, sometimes it does. We’re always together though, no matter what we’re doing. We just never take any quality time for ourselves.”

  “Away from the work thing?”

&nb
sp; “Yeah.”

  Natalia smiled. “Q, did you ever consider that maybe we’ve just redefined our relationship over the years in substitute?”

  Good question. Maybe we had. I didn’t know for certain, but I didn’t chance a response. I didn’t want it to sound like an admission, and I knew it would.

  Natalia stopped me before I reached for the door handle, and pulled both of my hands close to her. “After this job, you and I are done, Q,” she said softly, yet decisively. “After this…I promise you, it will only be us. It will only be about us. And we can spend the rest of our lives doing whatever we want…away from this life.”

  “I know,” I said, still unable to take my eyes off her. She looked incredible in that dress, but I imagined it looked even better lying in a mound at her ankles. “I just got caught up in the moment.”

  Natalia leaned in and kissed me. When she pulled away, her eyes narrowed, and she set her jaw in place. “There’ll be plenty of time for us, but we have to get this done first. So let’s focus. I need your A game.”

  “I’m your MVP. You always have my A game.”

  “I know,” she said. “But we cannot afford to trifle with this one. This is serious, and we need to be prepared for anything—call or fold.”

  I nodded in recognition. That damn Paulaner was hitting me more than I expected. “I just hope the hell Jon shows up,” I said lightheartedly.

  Natalia rolled her eyes. “Don’t even get me started.”

  Upon walking inside and into the dimly lit vestibule, a young, vibrant female employee with caked-on makeup strode directly up to us and introduced herself while toying with her teased-up sandy blond hair. “Good evening, and welcome to the DC Improv,” she said in a voice that bordered on screeching. “My name’s Brigette, but please call me Bridge, like Brooklyn Bridge. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” She waved a translucent black plastic clipboard within inches of her face. “Can I have your names, please?”

  I peeked over at Natalia and caught her eyes, which would’ve been near bulging in surprise if she hadn’t perfected her impassivity over the expanse of her career.