by Frank Stein
“Hold on, Mo. We’re on our way. It’ll only be a few more minutes. Stay with me.”
“Relax, Frank. I can tell that no major organs have been hit. I just need antibiotics and stitches. It’ll be a cool scar.” Her voice was soft, but steady, and I relaxed.
Once I was on the highway and on the way to our destination, I reached up and twisted the rearview mirror so I could see Mo’s face. She caught me looking at her, and she smiled. I nodded, and gave her a look that said: Don’t worry, you have nothing to be sorry about. I’ve made my own choices. I’ve crossed that line, and now the only direction I’m going is forward. Forward with confidence, forward with you.
TWENTY-FOUR
The address in Port Washington turned out to be the sprawling house of a doctor. Chester was the only name he gave me. Of course, it wouldn’t have been hard to figure out his real name, but I didn’t really care. I figured we got hooked up with him through Mo’s Omega contact or whatever. I was pretty impressed, actually, that Mo could make a call and get immediate private medical attention in the middle of Wisconsin. It almost made me feel proud of being promoted to a full Beta member of the Network. It was kind of like qualifying for a premium membership in a hotel or airline program where you get privileges that aren’t available to the riff-raff. At the very least, it dispelled any lingering doubts that Mo was just insane and had made up the entire secret-assassins-network story.
Chester was a plastic surgeon, which was actually perfect, because it meant he had basic facilities and equipment in his home. He was expecting us, and met us at the edge of the driveway. He pointed to his open garage, and I drove in.
Chester and I carried Mo into a clean room that seemed to be connected to both the house and garage. It was almost a professional quality operating room—at least to my untrained eye. It seemed like he could perform heart surgery there if he wanted to. Unfortunately, it turned out that the one thing he couldn’t do there was replace the blood Mo had lost on the way.
Chester looked at me. “I try to keep some blood here for these types of situations, but it’s becoming harder for me to do it these days. The information technology in the healthcare industry is improving dramatically thanks to you consultants, and they track this stuff much better.” He shrugged. “I’ve almost got the bleeding stopped, but we’re going to have to get her to a hospital for a transfusion. Unfortunately, since I do so much of my work in my own clinic, I don't have deep contacts at Port Washington General. We'll have to roll the dice and try and explain it away as an accident and hope the ER staff don't call the police.”
I looked at Mo. She was barely conscious. I knew we couldn’t go to the hospital. The police would want to talk to us anyway, and we had to hold to the story that Takahashi and Yoshi and Aki were arguing in Japanese when we left them, and that we didn’t see anything else. If it came out that Mo had been stabbed with a knife that had Yoshi's prints on it, things would get too complicated. We'd have to make up something about being attacked by Yoshi and gang. And even then, two of us killing three attackers in self-defense might look a bit suspicious, especially since the attackers had eaten dinner with us. Plus, how to explain having two tire irons on hand? The way it was, the tire irons could fit with some creative cop’s interpretation of the events: maybe Takahashi and Aki used the tire irons to attack Yoshi, who fought back before stabbing Takahashi. Then Yoshi dropped the knife and picked up a tire iron and got into a clubbing contest with Aki, during which the bleeding Takahashi also took a few hits? Or maybe Yoshi was already hit and the knifing was his last act? Or Takahashi double-crossed Aki by knocking him out first and then Yoshi and Takahashi killed each other in a death-match? There were enough permutations and combinations to keep the Milwaukee homicide group focused on the three Japanese victims. And if the case got a lot of press, the feds or the spooks might pick up on it, and perhaps even uncover some of the information that the Network seemed to have access to. Then the feds might inform the local police that Takahashi and Yoshi and Aki were potentially violent extremists, and perhaps liable to be involved in shady dealings that could lead to a parking lot bloodbath. I liked how that situation could play out.
I took another look at Mo. “If we had blood, could you do the transfusion here?”
“Of course,” said Chester.
“Then let’s do it.” I took off my stained undershirt and sat down on a painted metal chair and held my arm out. “Well?”
Chester smiled. “We don’t know Mo’s blood type. I don’t have any bedside test kits, either.” He looked at Mo. “And I don’t think she’s answering any questions right now.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m Type O.” I remembered that O was the universal donor, so Mo’s blood type was immaterial.
Chester warned me that blood compatibility involves more than the simple blood type, but I shut him down and so he got to work. In less than an hour we had enough of my blood to begin the transfusion. I sat on the chair in a semi-trance and watched the dark red blobs drip down and pass through the clear tube and into Mo’s arm. She was still somewhat conscious, but didn’t seem too aware of what was going on. I smiled when I thought of the symbolism of that moment. If I were a writer then perhaps I’d bore you with some cheesy emotional description of how the night had started with a plan to betray Mo and was ending with . . . well, you get it.
TWENTY-FIVE
But that was not to be the end of the night. I was shaken awake and looked up to see Mo standing in front of me. I had fallen asleep on the chair, and not for long, it turned out. I don’t know what Chester had pumped into Mo, but she was awake and upright and alert as hell. She moved slowly, but you couldn’t tell from looking at her that she had been stabbed and had almost bled to death just a few hours earlier.
“We need to get back to the hotel,” said Mo. “Now.”
I nodded and stood up. She didn’t need to explain that we needed to be at the hotel when the police showed up.
Mo slowly walked to the door that led to the garage. “I figure we have until early morning at least. My hope is that the restaurant will be closed by the time the bodies are found, so it’ll take a while before anyone figures out Takahashi and gang were with us at dinner.”
I nodded again and let out a huge yawn. “Sorry.” I looked around. “Where’s Chester?”
“Cleaning the car,” said Mo.
We walked into the garage. Mo wasn’t kidding about Chester cleaning the car. I almost laughed when I saw him. The man was in full surgical garb—I’m talking mask, robe, elbow-length gloves, and even rubber boots. Several industrial size—and I guessed industrial strength—cleaners and disinfectants sat on the floor near the car. It looked like Chester was just finishing up, and when he saw us he stood back and put his hands on his hips and smiled and nodded towards the pristine back seat of the rental car.
I clapped, and Chester bowed. It was a funny scene, perhaps the most surreal moment of the evening.
Mo laughed and shook her head. She held on to the edge of the car roof and lowered herself into the front seat. As Chester shut the door for her, she looked up at him and nodded. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. They were both professionals. And I was one of them now.
I walked over to the driver’s side door and opened it. Before getting in, I looked over the car and nodded at Chester. Then I smiled and shook my head. “You saved us, man. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Chester laughed. “You’ll be seeing me again tomorrow. Once the police are done with you, I want Mo back here. She can stay here for a few days until we’re sure there’s no infection.” He walked towards the garage door and pulled on the lever. As the wooden panels whirred open, he looked at me and smiled. “And don’t worry. You’ll have a chance to thank me.”
TWENTY-SIX
“What did Chester mean by that?” I asked Mo. We had been on the highway for over twenty minutes, and I could see the lights of downtown Milwaukee on the horizon. It h
ad been a smooth ride, not least because our paranoia hadn’t been fed by any flashing lights on the highway.
“By what?”
“About me having a chance to thank him.”
Mo laughed. “Are you worried he was trying to hit on you? I didn’t peg you for a homophobe.”
“Go to hell. I’m not homophobic.”
“Jeez. Sorry.” Mo shook her head. “Anyway, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Chester was hitting on you. I’m pretty sure he could tell that you aren’t gay. Besides, you’re not his type.”
I looked at her in surprise.
“What, you’re shocked that Chester is gay?” said Mo.
“No. I’m surprised that you seem to know him. I thought he was just a hookup through your Omega contact.” I paused to check my blind spot before taking the downtown Milwaukee exit. “Is Chester not part of the Network?”
Mo sighed. “It’s complicated.”
I laughed, but not because anything was funny. “And the rest of this isn’t?”
“Calm down. I’ll explain everything. Just not all of it right here and now, okay?”
“Sorry. I almost forgot you had a knife in your gut five hours ago.” I smiled at Mo and lowered my voice. “It can wait.”
She nodded. We both tensed up as I pulled into the hotel driveway. It looked quiet, and we both exhaled at the same time, and then laughed in relief. I drove into the covered lot and found a spot next to the elevators.
Mo stopped me from opening the car door.
“What?” I said.
“Let’s smoke a cigarette.”
I stared at her. “Okay.” Then I hesitated. “In here?”
“Yes. And keep the windows closed.”
I slowly took out two cigarettes and handed one to Mo. I still wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
Mo smiled as I lit her smoke. “The smell.”
I was mortified for not thinking of it. I sighed. “Shit. You’re right. It smells like a freaking hospital in here. We need to smoke it up a bit just in case the police want to check it out.”
Mo nodded. “Remember, Frank . . .”
I interrupted. “Yes, I know. Paranoia is king.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
My fears of sleepless nights haunted by the faces of my victims seemed unfounded, because the first things I saw when the phone woke me were the big red numbers on the digital hotel clock-radio informing me that I had been asleep for a solid ten hours. My body felt stiff, which I took to mean that I had been neglecting certain muscle groups in my daily routines.
I reached for the ringing phone, expecting it to be the police, but it was just Mo.
“Hey,” she said.
“What’s up. How do you feel? Are the police here?”
“Okay. Nope.”
“Odd. Should we be worried?”
“We should always be worried.”
“You know what I mean.” I lit a cigarette and lay back down and watched the smoke gather in the afternoon sun that streamed in through the sheer liner curtains.
“No, I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad sign. They may not have connected Takahashi and gang to C&C yet. It’s not like we get any press for a small consulting job. When the cops make the connection, we’ll probably hear from them.”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure the restaurant manager knew that I was with a bunch of Japanese people. And he has my business card, not to mention your credit card number.” I sighed and heaved myself out of bed with a groan. Those muscles were stiffer than I thought. “I can’t imagine why they haven’t called yet.”
I heard Mo say something to another person. It sounded like she was in the lobby.
“Are you packed?” she asked me.
“Basically. It won’t take me long.”
“Good. See you downstairs. We’re checking out and heading back to Chester’s.”
I showered and dressed and packed and was down in the lobby within a half hour. Mo was lounging on a sofa. She looked tired and pale, and I felt a chill run through me when I remembered how close she had come to dying. I winced in sympathy when I thought about how much pain she must be in right now. Psycho blackmailer or not, she was a tough woman, and I couldn’t help but admire her. I had no second thoughts about what I had done the previous night. Any doubts I may have had about the innocence of Yoshi and crew had been washed away when Takahashi held Mo down and Yoshi stuck her. I had given them a chance to stop the attack. They didn’t need to try and kill her. Their lack of hesitation gave them away as men who had thought about killing, if not already killed. And such men would almost always kill again. I knew, because I was now such a man.
I carried Mo’s bags out to the car. She didn’t object, which meant she was really hurting. I wanted to ask about Chester and why she was connected to him if the Network used only a strict two-person cell framework. Maybe she herself was an Omega? Perhaps every Alpha was also an Omega, but had to keep it a secret from their Betas? I shook my head to get the Greek out of it.
We pulled out of the parking garage, and I drove to the highway, making sure to take the turns slowly so as to minimize any pressure on Mo’s wound. I glanced at her as I took the exit, and could see a spot of blood on her green blouse. I was glad we were going to Chester’s, and I was glad the police hadn’t tracked us down yet. It wouldn’t do to have Mo bleeding all over the place while the police asked about why her dinner companions were found beaten and stabbed outside the restaurant.
It being Saturday afternoon, the highway was busy but not packed. There were just enough cars around to give us a feeling of inconspicuousness, which was nice. We didn’t say much during the thirty minute ride to Port Washington and Chester’s. I got the sense that Mo was doing everything she could to not break down and cry in pain. I gently pushed down on the accelerator, which was the only thing I could do to help her—just get her to Chester’s faster so he could change the dressing, give her some antibiotics, and let her rest for as long as was needed.
I wasn’t too worried about work, and not just because it was the weekend. Most C&C consultants got some downtime between projects, and they usually weren’t asked to account for their whereabouts during that timeframe. Consulting is a business where even a low-level professional has an extraordinary amount of freedom when between projects. I guess it makes up for the absolute lack of any personal time when you’re working a job. Plus, I was with Mo, and at C&C it wasn’t unusual for a partner to work from pretty much anywhere, as long as there was cell phone service and internet access. Neither was it odd for a partner to have a senior consultant or manager come out to some god-forsaken spot to help them with a sales proposal or whatever. So, as far as C&C went, we were covered until the next project came up.
I had Chester’s address in the GPS, and we got there without a hitch. I was worried that there’d be a line of cop cars outside the place, with forensics geeks checking the trash for swabs of blood to match what they found in the restaurant lot. But no, there was nothing except for Chester’s spotless driveway and virgin lawn. I sighed. This seemed too perfect. Something had to go wrong, right?
It was only when I heard Mo cry out in pain as Chester and I helped her into the house that I realized something had gone wrong. One of us had almost been killed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were the killers. I gnashed my teeth when I remembered that Mo wouldn’t be in this situation if I had done my job. Mo hadn’t brought it up, but the fact remained that I had betrayed her. She had gone in expecting me to be with her, and I had stood back and waved my hands like a goddamn pansy. How lame. Never again. No, this was my life now. No more pleading to stop the violence. Now I was the violence.
I stretched out on Chester’s white leather couch in the massive living room of his house and sighed. I was just starting to reflect on how quickly my mindset had flipped from thoughts of escape to virtually complete acceptance of my new lifestyle, but was interrupted by Chester.
“Tea?” he said. “Or something else to
drink?”
“Sure. Tea is fine.” I stood up and walked towards the front door. “Just going to step outside for a cigarette.”
“Oh, you can smoke in here,” said Chester. He pointed at a ridiculously ornate piece of cut-glass that I hadn’t recognized as an ashtray. It was some kind of angel holding a deep, thick glass bowl.
“That’s an ashtray?” I took a closer look and saw that the glass bowl was lined with subtle grooves to hold a burning cigarette. “Oh, I guess it is. Wow.”
Chester nodded. “Yes. My ex-partner’s choice. Too baroque for me, but that was Tom.” He smiled, and I thought I saw him tear up before he turned and went towards what must have been the kitchen.
He was back with a loaded tray before my cigarette was done. I watched him pour the tea, and nodded when he asked me if I took milk and sugar.
“So,” he said, sitting on a leather chair that matched the white sofa, “you’re Mo’s Beta. That’s good. It was time for her to move on.” Chester sipped his tea and leaned back into the armchair. “It was time for Simone to move on too.”
“How can you say that?” I hadn’t thought about Simone for a while now, but hearing her name aroused mixed emotions in me. “Who are you to say that it was time for Simone to die?”
“Wow, you are really pissed.” Chester laughed. “Simone said you were a great lay, and I can see it now. All that fire.” He laughed again.
I remained silent. Chester’s laughter upset me, but I figured it was just a matter of time before I’d be desensitized enough to make jokes about dead people.
Chester put down his cup. After he was done with his laughing fit, he wiped his mouth with a yellow paper napkin. “Oh, come on, Frank. You must have guessed that Simone isn’t really dead.”
My foot hit the tea tray as I jumped up. The steel and china rattled and cackled, but did not drop or break. I stared at Chester, but I could neither move nor speak—not that it mattered, because I wouldn’t have known what to do or say. Of course I had guessed it, but then I had convinced myself that the photograph had been real and Mo was telling the truth.