“So she is gone then? The girl next door?” asked Billy innocuously as he took a bite of the third ham sandwich, which his aunt had dutifully made him, as he finished recounting his false stories of Africa.
“Yes, and it is all very sad. He just vanished, Tom. You remember him? He picked you up from the airport when you came back from India. Anyway, some people think he may have had another woman. But you know me, Billy, I am not one for gossiping or spreading rumors. Apparently he just got up one morning and like that,” Cindy clicked her fingers, “he was gone. Not a trace of him. Probably living a double life. It was the same day you left, very strange. You know some people do, live double lives? You never can tell.”
Billy nodded, not realizing the irony of his aunt’s last statement.
“So what happened to her?” asked Billy, appearing concerned for the poor girl next door. “Kelly? Where is she?”
“Well, you never met her, did you? I remember now. She was sick, some virus or something. Such a shame. You would have liked her, very sweet girl.”
Billy confirmed that he had never met Kelly, and expressed his disappointment that he hadn’t.
“So, she moved in with her parents in Atlanta. She took Shmitty with her, that’s her dog, and just left, about three weeks after Tom did. So sad. I think the house is being taken back by the bank, it must be, I am sure. Such a shame. She just left it how it was; left the furniture, all her clothes I am sure, everything. You should see her garden, Billy. It is overgrown with weeds, and the lawn really needs mowing. It is becoming a bit of an eyesore really, kind of bringing down the neighborhood, if you ask me. Poor girl. I heard that she had a nervous breakdown, but I don’t know. Just gossip, something I don’t ever listen to. It’s all very sad.” Cindy sighed.
“And it’s a mystery,” continued Cindy. “I mean, I just can’t imagine Tom just leaving her like that. I would love to know who the other woman is; of course, that is not none of my business, and I wouldn’t want to spread any rumors. But he was so handsome, so rugged, so fit, I would think he could have his pick of women,” Cindy paused for breath before continuing, “but Kelly is beautiful. It is very strange; they were the perfect couple. But who really knows what goes on behind closed doors?”
Billy nodded, indicating to his aunt that he concurred with her statement. He remembered the last time he had seen Tom, heading towards the park. After Billy had returned from taking Paddy for a walk, and smoking a cigarette, he had spotted Tom walking along Atkinson Avenue, wearing those ridiculous and hideous lime green sweat pants. Billy shrugged, well, at least she was gone, the liar and the fraud, Kelly Hudd, and as an extra bonus, her house was empty, no doubt filled with items he could steal and probably sell. The Hudd’s situation could prove very profitable for Billy, he thought, as he took another bite of his sandwich.
“Well, you relax, my dear, and if there is anything you need you just holler,” said Cindy. “Nothing is too much trouble for my Billy,” she continued, patting her nephew on the knee.
Cindy then proceeded to tell Billy all her other gossip and news, mostly focusing on her neighbors. Billy listened with feigned interest as his aunt gave him a blow by blow account of Elliott Miller’s mayoral campaign and the highly likely chance he would win the election. Billy stifled a yawn when she told him Doug Partridge had probably left his wife, and he had to stop himself from falling asleep as Cindy talked about her friends Carla and Heidi. The only time Billy showed any interest in anything his aunt said was when she once again mentioned Kelly and Tom Hudd.
“Poor girl. Gone. Completely gone. Haven’t seen her for months. And him, well, what on earth is he thinking? He must have found another woman. So sad. You never actually met her, did you, Billy?” said Cindy, repeating herself and revolving the conversation back to whence it had started.
Billy shook his head, becoming slightly irritated that Cindy was doing what she always did, repeating herself and reiterating conversations they had already had. “No, wouldn’t recognize her if I bumped into her,” he lied. “Such a shame though, it sounds, that people do that to each other. Why can’t people just be nice to each other?” asked Billy.
Cindy hugged her nephew again. “Maybe if people were more like you,” she said.
Billy Malphrus was tiring of his act, and he was tiring of Cindy. He didn’t enjoy staying with her; it was a necessity. He wasn’t interested in anything she said and he couldn’t care less about Heidi, Elliott, Carla, Doug or any of her friends. If it wasn’t for the money she gave him, and the fact she waited on him hand and foot, he wouldn’t even come and visit. And, of course, the potential opportunity that existed for him to steal from her friends.
How could his aunt be so dumb? She had to be the easiest person in the world to fool, apart from of course Kelly Hudd. She hung onto his every word, believed every word he said, sucked in his lies, and worshiped him. Billy was slowly coming to despise the woman, despite all she did for him. The fact she was the only person on the planet who so much as gave two hoots about him did not register with Billy. She was stupid, pathetic, but Billy envied her easy simple life. No money worries, she could do as she pleased. No sleeping rough for her, no working twelve hour days for minimum wage for Cindy. No. She had had it easy her whole life. She had married a rich man and inherited his money. Piddling around with her stupid friends and gushing over that Elliott Miller. She had a perfect little life, thought Billy, she had never worked a day in her whole life. It wasn’t fair, she had pots of money, no responsibilities and spoiled her dog more than she did him.
Billy smiled at his aunt. “I love you, too” he said, as he returned her hug.
Paddy stared at Billy who was lying on the rug in the den. Billy didn’t like Paddy much either. Spoiled rotten. The dog probably ate better than he did. He doubted that dog had a care in the world, waited on by his stupid aunt all day, all the dog seemed to do was eat and sleep. That was the life Billy wanted.
“Another sandwich, Billy?” asked Cindy.
Billy nodded. “Oh, yes please.”
Paddy tilted his head to the left as he stared at Billy, hoping that he would throw him a piece of ham. You can forget it, thought Billy, you aren’t getting anything from me.
CHAPTER NINE
Pete Ferguson knew he was facing a tough task. The Organization was in tatters; they had been the victims of hacking. Despite their security levels and precautions, someone, somehow, had gotten hold of an electronic file listing the names of several of their contractors. To make matters worse, a Senator had started asking questions, questions about ‘Black Ops’, clandestine operations, and ‘plausible deniability’. He wanted a house investigation to provide answers he was not getting from certain government agencies. There would, of course, have been an easy solution to the senator’s snooping, but killing him, even if they made it look like an accident, would just bring more heat onto the already under pressure Organization.
The first task at hand for Peter Ferguson, though, was dealing with the leak. Those named on the stolen list were sitting ducks, their lives very probably in jeopardy, but worse for Ferguson and the Organization, they provided a lead and a link to them. It was every man, and woman, for themselves.
All operations had been canceled. The Organization had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared. Computers and mainframes wiped, bank accounts closed; it would be virtually impossible for anyone even trying to even prove they existed, or had ever existed.
Peter Ferguson’s only task was now to tie up loose ends. He could take no chances, he had no idea how large the leak was, and as he went through the list of names before him, marking those contractors and former employees who would soon be receiving a visit from an elite team of killers, handpicked men that Ferguson knew had not been compromised, with a red cross, he felt a tinge of guilt. Some of these men, and women, had been recruited by him, some had been former friends. Now, he was marking them for death, before they could talk, before they could be tortured for information. In a
way, thought Ferguson, maybe he was doing them a favor. Maybe by marking them for death he was saving them from a far worse fate; governments and individuals hell bent on revenge, long prison terms and the stripping of assets. With his contractors dead, there could be no trials, if it ever came to that, and without trials and proof of any wrongdoing, their hidden bank accounts would be safe. In a way, he was assuring security for the families of his former killers.
He opened up the latest encrypted e-mail he had just received. It contained a list of outstanding contracts, and each contract named was linked to an electronic file, detailing the particulars of the ‘job’ requested, jobs that had been paid for, but not yet carried out. While perusing the files, one caught his eye almost immediately. It was simply titled “Gordonston”.
He opened the electronic file and downloaded the contents to the secure hard drive of his laptop. Three outstanding contracts, all within the same neighborhood, ironically the same neighborhood as his friend and the now retired ‘Director’, Ignatius Jackson. He leaned forward at his desk and began reading, shaking his head in disbelief at the contents of the file. What a neighborhood, he thought, removing his glasses and rubbing his forehead. He began to type… just one word. Canceled.
As he sat at his desk, Ferguson found it hard to comprehend how many people so quickly resorted to murder to settle their differences. It wasn’t just private individuals, such as the three women in Savannah, whose contracts he had just canceled, but countries and governments. How quickly the human race resorted to violence. He doubted any one of the victims who had just been reprieved from death deserved to die.
Another encrypted e-mail arrived in his inbox. He opened it immediately. The title of the e-mail read ‘Jackson?’ – There was no text or message. Peter Ferguson did not hesitate, he replied immediately:
“Jackson — NO Termination — leave him alone”.
Pete Ferguson was well aware that the Organization was in trouble. Despite their work for various governments, and some partial immunity from scrutiny, the knives were out. He was unsure who exactly had compromised them, but the rumor was it had been a foreign government.
As head of the Organization he had had no choice. It was time to hide. To disappear. To erase all traces of the Organization, and to sever the connections of all those who had links to it. When he discovered that a computer file containing the identities of some of the Organization’s associates had been compromised and was being offered for sale to the highest bidder, he knew that it was over.
His only concern was for his friend Ignatius Jackson; he must be protected at all costs. He owed him that. Ferguson had broken protocol and contacted Ignatius directly, informing him that it was time to ‘clean up’ loose ends. That every known contractor was now a target, not just a target of the Organization’s enemies but the Organization itself. There could be no links back to those who controlled the Organization. The implications of the world discovering that governments used hired guns to carry out their dirty work was bad enough, but to learn that these hired guns also killed anyone for money were unthinkable. Senate hearings and possible impeachments were one thing, but the global consequences could be disastrous.
Ignatius had sounded sick, throughout their brief telephone call he had coughed continuously and his voice had sounded weak. No matter what, Ignatius Jackson would remain protected. Ignatius had surprised Pete with one request — a request that initially he had steadfastly refused, but Ignatius had been adamant. He wanted just one thing, one final favor.
Peter Ferguson eventually agreed. It was the least he could do for his oldest and best friend.
CHAPTER TEN
He had just one more suitcase to unpack. He had arrived with three, just clothes, toiletries and a few mementos to decorate his new temporary home. The flight to Savannah had been quite uneventful. He had, of course, flown first class from his departure point, and though the flight had been long, over eight hours, he had enjoyed it. Thankfully, none of his old family photographs had been damaged during the flight, and his luggage, though having traveled on three separate flights, had arrived, as he had, intact and on time.
The house he rented would be adequate; he wouldn’t be here long anyway. Just enough time to complete the business he intended to conduct. From what he had already seen, his new neighborhood seemed to be a quiet place, pleasant even, and he had been assured by the owners of the home he had rented that Gordonston was a genteel neighborhood, where people kept themselves to themselves, and that nothing out of the ordinary ever really occurred. It was, of course, different from his own country and home. He owned a much larger house, and though he had neighbors, so big were the grounds of his home, he never encountered them. It was going to be odd living so close to others.
As he delved into the last suitcase, containing his personal possessions, he paused briefly and smiled as he removed photographs of his family. He lovingly wiped each framed picture with a cloth before placing them on shelves and the mantel piece above the fireplace. His wife, his son, his grandchildren, his brother and then last of all a photograph of his parents; a black and white image of happier times. People had often told him he resembled his mother, others told him he looked more like his father. He didn’t know. He gently stroked his mother’s face; she had been a beautiful woman, a kind and caring mother, and she would have been proud of him and the grandson she had never met.
His murdered mother, his murdered father, victims of one of humanities greatest tragedies, victims of a man hell bent on destruction, an evil man who had created a regime of terror and hate, a regime that had singled out his family and others like them, who had persecuted them, taken not only their possessions but their dignity, and, ultimately their lives. Six million — six million of his people slaughtered — interned in labor camps and then concentration camps, just as he had been, just as his parents and brother had. Anger welled up inside him, anger that had lived with him for many decades. He clenched his fist, causing the faded blue tattoo on his hand, the tattoo containing just numbers, to appear to become larger as the skin surrounding it made it appear to bulge and grow. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
He was eight years old when the Nazis arrived in his village. At first, they thought they would be safe, that they would not waste their time singling out who was and who was not Jewish. But there had not been any reprieve. His family had been singled out almost immediately, their home ransacked, what possessions they had, stolen, and then a few days later they had been transferred to the camp.
He could still remember the train journey, treated like cattle and with hundreds of others transported like animals, afraid and unsure of the fate that lay ahead. There were rumors, rumors that he overheard the adults discussing, rumors that they were being sent east, merely being sent back to the countries of their roots. But then there were the other rumors, talk of a word he had never heard before — genocide — and impending certain death.
He had been separated from his parents and his younger brother the moment the cattle truck door opened, and they had been ordered to disembark by the soldiers, who kicked and spat at them. He had turned back to look inside the truck that had been his home for three days. Lifeless bodies of those who had not completed their journey lay strewn on the floor. He was afraid, confused, and now, alone.
He remembered the two lines; the soldiers and guards had separated the trainload of people into two separate lines; he did not know which line to join. He had spotted his parents, in the left line, with his brother, who was clutching his mother’s hand. As he walked towards them, he was grabbed violently, a voice in a language he did not understand spitting out words and instructions pointing to the line on the right. He had managed to make eye contact with his mother, and she had mouthed the words “go” in his own language. He joined the line, which seemed to consist of younger men and boys older than he, not the line that contained his family.
Many times he had supposed that it was most likely the fact he looked olde
r than his years that had saved him from the gas chamber that day. Though only eight, he looked older. He was strong, and bigger than most of the boys who had already had their bar mitzvahs.
He had been put to work immediately, and for the next three years he was transferred from one labor camp to another, never knowing if he would be selected for the ‘other’ line. He had suffered, as they all had suffered, but he had lived. The day the British soldiers arrived at the camp, after his tormentors and guards had fled, not before killing as many of the camp's prisoners as they could, he had been barely alive. Starving and weak, he had feigned death and hidden amongst a pile of corpses, corpses clad in the striped uniform they had been forced to wear.
He could never forgive them — how he hated those people for the murders they committed on behalf of that man — a crazed lunatic who had the power of life and death over millions. And for what? To single out those who were different, to blame others as an excuse for the failings of his own race.
He fell back into a chair and sighed. So, this was it, Gordonston. He had arrived, and at last he could avenge those he loved. An eye for eye, a tooth for a tooth. He retrieved another picture frame, raising it to his mouth he kissed the face that adorned the photograph. “Soon, very soon,” he whispered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“So how are the driving lessons going, Betty?” asked Heidi Launer, as she took a bite of Betty Jenkins’s delicious fried chicken, closing her eyes as the tender chicken and crispy coating entered her mouth. It was, as always, fabulous.
Unleashed - The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Part 2 Page 7