The Good Kill

by Kurt Brindley

  He found his rental car, an Ingot Silver Metallic 2016 Ford Mustang V6 convertible, and got in it. The first thing he did after starting it up and putting down the top, was to search its navigation system for the nearest Walmart. He needed supplies, foremost among them, a smartphone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Henderson pulled into the dimly lit Walmart parking lot just as their mark had exited his car and began walking toward the glare of the enormous gray store’s main entrance. Henderson creeped his car down an aisle two over from the mark’s and backed into a spot that allowed him and his partner to observe both the mark’s car and the front of the store. He put the Cadillac into park but kept the engine running. McKnight powered down his window and reached for his cigarettes.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Henderson said without a trace of smile in his voice.

  McKnight withdrew an empty hand from his jacket’s inside pocket. “Well, if I can’t feed my addiction,” he said without taking his eyes off the store, “then I’m going to have to insist that you stop, at least for a few fucking moments, feeding yours.”

  “My addiction?” Henderson said. “What the fuck addiction am I feeding?”

  McKnight shot his partner a look. “Seriously? If I’m addicted to nicotine, which I admit that I am, then you’re addicted to the sound of your own voice. You haven’t shut up for one second since we left the airport. I mean, give me a fucking break, dude. I do not give one single fuck about your theories on love or whatever the fuck it is you’ve been going on and on about.”

  Henderson turned in his chair to face McKnight and, seeming to have once again missed his partner’s broader point, said in exasperation, “What do you mean you don’t give a fuck about love? Every single person with a beating heart and even a minimally thinking brain cares about love.”

  McKnight couldn’t help taking his eyes from their task and looking directly at Henderson. “I didn’t say I don’t care about love. I said I don’t care about your thoughts about love.”

  “If you would have been paying attention, my brute of a partner, then you would have realized that my point wasn’t about love per se, it was about how it is love and not money that is the root of all evil. I mean—”

  “Whatever the fuck it was you were blathering on about, or whatever the fuck it is you will blather on about in the future, I don’t care. Do you hear me, Happy? I’m serious, dude. I don’t fucking care. What I do care about is doing my job. So, whether you’re gonna keep flapping your lips or not, which I’m pretty damn sure you will, I won’t be listening. I will be focusing on what it is I’m getting paid a lot of money to do – tailing our mark.” McKnight turned his attention back to his duties.

  Henderson stared at his obviously pissed off partner for a moment. He then turned toward the front of the store and stared at it. After a few minutes he turned suddenly back toward McKnight and began staring at him again. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and the words burst forth from him, “Come on, Mack, be honest. How can you not care about yet another falsity propagated throughout the ages by one of the biggest hoax generators in history?”

  McKnight ignored the question and kept his eyes locked on the front of the store.

  Henderson turned himself the best he could in his seat so he could sit facing McKnight. “For the bible tells us in First Timothy, chapter six, verse ten, and I quote,” He closed his eyes as if he were channeling the apostolic spirit of Saint Paul himself, “For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.”

  Henderson opened his eyes and watched to see if his partner would respond. After a brief wait, he continued. “See, Mack, money isn’t the root of all evil, as so many often say when misquoting the source, it’s— Look, I’m the first to admit that I’m no fan of the concept of money, a concept that in application has evolved into an arbitrary system that appoints arbitrary value upon arbitrary objects, objects as arbitrary as, say, seashells, or necklaces of beads – wampum is what I believed the Native Americans called them – or pieces of paper, or, as we’re seeing now, digital bytes. I mean, give me a fucking break.” As he spoke an uncontainable passion rose up within him. His eyes widened and his cheeks flushed as he proselytized his newly held secular beliefs to McKnight. “No,” he continued gravely, “as ridiculous and pervasive as it is, it’s not this concept of money that is the root of all our societal and personal evils and ills like so many ignorant fucks would like us to believe. It’s Love, man. And that’s love with a capital L.”

  Still no response from McKnight.

  “No, seriously, Mack. It is love, or, I guess another way to call it would be desire, that is the root of all our problems. I mean, to me, it is our love of this arbitrary system, these arbitrary objects that we value as money that causes the problem. And love, in this instance, is of course often referred to as greed. Greed, love. Love, greed. A thorn by any other name is still a thorn, right?”

  He thought for sure he would get a stir from McKnight from his misquoting of Shakespeare, but he didn’t.

  “Greed, as I see it, Mack, is nothing more than a point on the long and woeful gradation of love. So is lust. So is jealousy. So is envy. So are all forms of desire. So, even, is hate.”

  At this, while still watching for his mark, McKnight reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. He took one from the pack and lit it.

  “Sure, go ahead and smoke, my lustful friend,” Henderson said haughtily. “By doing so, you’re making my point perfectly. It’s not those cigarettes that are killing you, it’s your love for them that is. Am I right or am I right?”

  McKnight finally gave in and looked at his partner. He shook his head and said, “Dude, you need to just drop out of society and go live as a monk on top of some faraway mountain. You’d be a much happier man for it. And you know what, so would I.”

  Henderson smiled wide, pleased that he had finally goaded a response from McKnight. “I’m sure you don’t realize it, Big Mack,” he said condescendingly, “but you’re right. The monks that you are now mocking, the ascetics, those who see love and desire for what it’s worth, the Stoics, the Zen Buddhists, are probably the happiest humans of all, despite their concepts of no attach—”

  McKnight took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew a thick cloud of smoke right in Henderson’s face. “Good god, man. You can find a way to twist anything I say into fitting within your warped concept of reality, can’t you.”

  Henderson wanted to reply, but he was too busy coughing.

  McKnight smiled to himself, pleased to have finally found a way to shut his partner up. He looked back to the store. Still no mark. He then looked over to where the Mustang had been parked. The spot was empty.

  “Holy god damned shit!” McKnight hollered. “We missed him. He’s already gone.” He twisted his bulk the best he could to search the parking lot behind him. “There he is. Heading for the exit.”

  Henderson, still coughing, followed the line McKnight had his sights on and saw the mark’s silver Mustang heading toward the store’s side exit. He threw the Cadillac into gear and sped out of the parking spot.

  “Slow down, Happy,” McKnight ordered. “Jesus, dude. We can’t go at him balls to the wall. We gotta give him his space.”

  Henderson refrained from reminding McKnight who the better driver of the two was and slowed the Cadillac down to a crawl. They watched the mark’s car pull up behind a line of traffic in the right turning lane. The light was red, and the turning lane was moving forward slowly. McKnight nodded and Henderson picked up the pace. By the time they reached the exit, the mark’s car was one car back from the turn and they were two cars back from the mark.

  McKnight’s phone began buzzing. He took it out of his jacket pocket and looked at the caller’s ID. “It’s Ham,” he said and then answered the call.

  “McKnight,” McKnight said by way of answering, keeping his eye on t
he mark’s car. He listened, responding only once with a grunt before hanging up with a “Roger that.”

  “Update?” Henderson said, cutting McKnight off before he could speak.

  McKnight sighed wearily from his partner’s predictable impatience. “Nothing much,” he said. “Ham was just calling to tell us he couldn’t find anything out about our guy other than he got fucked up pretty good in Mosul. Apparently got a small chunk of shrapnel in his heart that could end him at any minute. Got his brains pretty scrambled from a blast, too. Medically retired him because of it.”

  “Great. So we’re tailing a ticking time bomb,” Henderson said.

  “Right. And with that, Ham stressed that we do not lose him. Sounds like there are other things in play that, if this dude gets too close, can really fuck things up.”

  “Other things in play,” Henderson said, looking at McKnight. “Like what?”

  “Like keep your eyes on the fucking road, that’s what,” McKnight said. “I’m serious, Happy. Do not lose this mother fucker.”

  “No shit, Mack. I’m not going to lose him. Just tell me what other shit is in play here. I think I deserve to know.”

  McKnight scoffed. “Like I fucking know. Ham only tells us as much as we need to know to accomplish our present task.”

  Henderson shot his partner a skeptical look. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Mack. Everyone knows how tight you and Ham are. You two go way back. If anyone knows what that hard ass is scheming, it’s you.”

  “Scheming?” McKnight said. “Look, man, I don’t know what the fuck you’re so paranoid about, but I do know that Ham will Lazlo our asses in a heartbeat if we lose our mark.” He nodded a chin toward the Mustang, which was now four cars ahead of them and had crossed through a major intersection where the light had just changed to yellow. Three of the cars behind it continued on through the intersection. The car immediately ahead of Henderson’s Cadillac began to come to a stop as the light turned red.

  “Shit,” Henderson said as he swerved left around the car and passed it, running the red light and forcing the oncoming traffic to screech to a halt. The angry drivers laid into their horns as Henderson and McKnight sped by.

  “Well, if he didn’t know he was being tailed, he sure as hell does now,” McKnight said, pissed off.

  “Ah, relax, old man,” Henderson said, slowing down behind a car five back from the mark’s. “That dude ain’t worried about nothing but rescuing that fine piece of ass of his.” He looked at McKnight and flashed his trademark smile. “And can you blame him? If she was mine, I sure as hell wouldn’t be thinking about anything but her tasty ginger spice either.”

  McKnight ignored him and kept his eyes fixed on the target. The light ahead turned red and the mark’s car was the second car to come to a stop for it in the right turn only lane, its right turning signal blinking. Henderson and three of the five cars ahead of them pulled into the lane behind the Mustang. All their right turning signals began to blink. A steady stream of cars began passing before them.

  “Traffic’s pretty heavy heading downtown,” Henderson said.

  McKnight grunted. “Typical Friday night down at the bayou,” he said.

  Henderson nodded. The car was quiet for a moment as both he and McKnight watched the cross traffic go by. The car ahead of the mark’s took advantage of a short lull in the traffic and turned right.

  “Okay,” McKnight said, sitting up in his seat, “our man’s next up. Looks like there’s another break in traffic coming, so he’ll be turning. Keep your eye on him. He’s gonna be able to put some distance between us.”

  “No worries,” Henderson said. “Traffic will be slow heading downtown. We won’t lose him.”

  But when the break in traffic came, instead of turning right, as his signal indicated he would, the mark peeled out, running the red light and barreling straight through the intersection.

  “Fuck! He’s made us,” Henderson hollered.

  “No shit,” McKnight said. “Get us out of this fucking mess.”

  To their left, they were blocked in by a line of traffic waiting to head straight through the intersection once the light turned back to green. To their right, the shoulder was lined with a string of orange construction drums. Henderson threw it into reverse and mashed his foot into the accelerator, slamming the rear end of his prized Cadillac into the front of the car behind him, forcing it back. When he had made enough room for himself, he threw it back into drive and drove over two drums as he steered the car to the right, up over the curb, and onto the sidewalk. When he reached the corner, he didn’t bother slowing. He just jumped the curve, cutting off the double lanes of oncoming traffic, tires squealing when they caught the asphalt at full throttle, sending the rear end into a brief fishtail.

  “You got eyes on him?” Henderson asked as he got the car under control and sped off at high speed after their mark, weaving in and out of cars as he passed them.

  McKnight was leaning forward in his seat, his forearms on the dashboard, in an effort to better his view of the road before them. It was dark out, and there were few working streetlights so it took him a moment before he caught sight of the Mustang’s iconic rear end and taillight signature. “Yeah, there he is. He’s...” McKnight’s lips moved as he counted the cars between them and their mark. “...six cars ahead of us in the right lane.”

  “Okay, hold on. I’m gonna get us closer.” Henderson floored it and the Cadillac’s powerful turbocharged engine growled in appreciation for being let loose.

  McKnight gripped the dashboard as the car tried to throw him back into his seat. But he didn’t lose the mark and he saw the Mustang’s taillights go out as it blew through another intersection. “Oh, shit,” McKnight said. “The mother fucker just went dark. Pick up the pace, Happy.”

  “Roger that,” Henderson said as he passed a car on the inside lane, leaving them now three cars back. They blew through the intersection, gaining air briefly.

  “Okay, I got him again,” McKnight said. “Wait! Shit! He just turned off up ahead, right before that 24-Hour Chicken joint.

  “Got it,” Henderson said coolly. He darted back into the inside lane, just barely avoiding the rear end of a parked car and floored it. He braked hard but late at the chicken joint and took the turn too wide. The left front tire slammed into the corner of the far curb and brought them to a full stop. He got his bearings, ignored McKnight’s curses, and gassed the engine. The back tire thumped over the curb and rattled the car hard as they continued their pursuit down the side street.

  But they hadn’t gone far down it before McKnight hollered, “Back it down, back it down. We lost him. We fucking lost him!”

  Henderson slowed the car down to a crawl. The street before them was dark and mostly barren except for an occasional parked or abandoned car, it was hard to tell which most were, on either side. The buildings that ran along it were old, rundown, most were either boarded up or their windows and doors were broken out. As the Cadillac crept along, the two guns for hire powered down their windows and listened closely for the sound of the Mustang, hoping to hear it as it made its way somewhere through the maze of alleyways and side streets they now found themselves in. However, all they were able to hear was the steady stream of cars passing by behind them on the main road.

  “Think he might be hiding in one of these crack houses?” Henderson asked as his head swiveled from side to side searching for their lost mark.

  “Who the fuck knows,” McKnight said angrily. He took off his seatbelt and then took out his gun.

  “What the fuck’s that for?” Henderson said dejectedly. “We lost him.”

  McKnight’s eyes were slits as he focused them on their surroundings. “Maybe,” he said. “But it just may be that instead of us stalking him, he’s stalking us.”

  “What do you mean?” Henderson said skeptically but pulling out his gun all the same.

  “Think, Happy,” McKnight said sarcastically. “If he’s down here in search of his gir
lfriend, chances are, finding out he’s being tailed is the first clue for him that he’s getting close. Who better to find out where she is than from the guys who are trying to stop him from finding her?”

  “I don’t know, Mack,” Henderson said as he rolled up to a stop at a T-section. He looked either way, uncertain whether to turn right or left. “I think we have him scared shitless and I bet right now he’s doubling back and hightailing it to somewhere sa—”

  The front window exploded as a cinder block came blasting through it, skipping off the dashboard right into Henderson’s chest and landing hard onto his lap. A large figure jumped out from behind a parked car and onto the hood of the Cadillac. Before McKnight could open his door to counter the attack, the end of a baseball bat came slicing through where the front window used to be and whacked him in the jaw, sending a shockwave of pain through his body and flashes of white explosions before his eyes. Barely holding onto consciousness, McKnight was unable to prevent leather-gloved hands from reaching into the car and grabbing his gun.

  Killian chambered a round in McKnight’s Desert Eagle and pointed the pistol straight at Henderson’s head. “You even think about trying to drive away, pretty boy, and I’ll put a bullet right between your eyes,” Killian said calmly. “So, real slow like, put the car in park, shut it down, and then toss the key fob on the hood.”

  Henderson was still recovering from the shock and pain of a cinderblock landing on his crotch. He gave a quick, questioning glance at McKnight, but the big man was busy trying to hold his shattered jaw together.

  “Don’t look at him,” Killian ordered. “He’s got enough to worry about with all the broken teeth in his mouth. You just need to worry about the barrel of this exceptionally large gun pointing at your head and do exactly what I just told you to do.”