A Jar of Dreams

by Cartharn, Clarissa

  He grew hot and he quickly relieved them both of their clothes. He looked down to her mound. Her legs were spread wide and ready to take him. She was dripping with her juices, a quiet groan in her throat.

  “Eric,” she said.

  And he pushed the tip of his head into her. She let out a gasp and soon she was meeting his thrusts, rhythm for rhythm. Finally, their bodies convulsed together. In the dim lights of their living room lamp tables, her body glistened with sweat and the creamy remnants of their love making. He slumped forward onto her breasts wishing he could stay like that forever with her.

  Eric sat on a box crate, watching his target enter his dingy motel lobby. He opened the cling wrap of his sandwich. He had packed a small provision for his two day scout of the man who had replaced him.

  A quick search, and with the incentive of a small remuneration for willing informants, put him on the track of Ivan Kesey, an upcoming hit-man with an acute eye for target shooting. But Kesey was a mimic. His assassinations were largely copies of others. And in Eric’s book, that largely amounted to stupidity.

  He bit into his sandwich. Small crumbs dusted the dirty floor beneath his feet. Mice squeaked in the dark corners of the abandoned attic, waiting for him to leave so they could feast on his fallen crumbs. The noise in the clothing store on the first floor that kept it vibrant during the day began to ebb as the staff left for the night. Someone creaked down the shutter of the shop and soon everything stilled.

  His phone buzzed. “Yes, Bobby,” he said into it.

  “Okay, I’ve told him to meet me in fifteen minutes.”

  “Thanks, Bobby.”

  He disconnected, wiped the crumbs of his growing stubbles and leaned down onto his rifle. His senses were peaked, picking up on the sounds and temperature around him. A little breeze fluttered his hair and he adjusted the windage of his rifle. His elevation was adjusted. He knew exactly where he wanted Kesey to drop. He had a window of only thirty minutes before people started filing the street again for the start of another evening life.

  His finger was readied on his trigger, his eye focused intensely on the front door of the motel. His temples pulsed slowly. Like a mimic, Kesey had assumed that the window of his motel room would be the perfect spot for any attempt on his life. The busyness of the street outside his motel would also have made it difficult to isolate him from the rest. But Eric had sat two days studying the movements of the life outside that motel door. And if there was a perfect timing, it would have to be now.

  The man stepped outside the motel lobby, glancing about for potential danger. Wait. Satisfied, Kesey proceeded on, stepping perfectly into line with Eric’s scope. Now. His breath stopped, his finger pulled on the trigger and the man dropped, knee first onto the ground.

  His adrenaline rushed through him as he grabbed his rifle, splitting them apart with masterful ease and packing them into his bag. He lugged it over his shoulders and then used the attic stairs to make his descent down to the shop beneath. He made sure the stairs were folded and locked in place before sneaking out through the shop back door, keeping out of any cameras that might capture his image.

  He walked with a deliberate casual and steady pace to an apartment building a block away and headed straight up to the top of the building which he knew wasn’t used much at all. He opened his bag and pulled out a pair of track pants and a sports jacket. He switched his clothes as fast he could, zipped up his bag and opened the vent above him. He tucked his bag neatly into the duct pipe and then screwed the vent shut again.

  He made his way down the building, threw his hood over his head and then prepared to jog his way through the city’s wooded park and out of the chaos gathering over Ivan Kesey’s dead body.

  CHAPTER 22

  Cavallo was always a pack bully. And like most pack bullies, he felt stronger when his side-kick stood by his side.

  But Eric had got rid of his right arm. He was going to feel threatened. And when bullies retreated, their first point of withdrawal would most likely be their den. A place where they could trust they would be safe before launching onto their next plan for a counter-attack. And Eric couldn’t afford the risk of leaving Cavallo enough time to even think about one. The possibilities of closing in on Cavallo depended on the man’s habits and his vulnerable state. Because after this, it would be a battle of wits and Eric didn’t have the time for that.

  Cavallo burst through his motel room, panting in deep, heavy breaths. His face was pale, his body trembling from the fear inside him.

  “Haven’t you settled yourself comfortably here?” Eric said, emerging from the darkness. “Keep those hands in the air, Joe,” he warned and the man froze, swallowing nervously.

  “How… how did you know?” Cavallo asked with a tremble in his voice.

  “I’ve always told you to cover your ass. You never were the one to listen.”

  “You had me followed?” Cavallo eyes darted about, searching for clues in his mind. “That kid, Bobby… he said he knew where to find you.”

  Eric didn’t answer, stepping closer to him as he frisked the man for concealed weapons. He threw the guns on the table and ordered him to sit into a chair. “Keep your hands on your head, Cavallo. Don’t drop them or you’ll be losing more than just your dick.”

  He kept his eye on his former partner as he dismantled Cavallo’s guns.

  “I’m not going to ask you why you did it,” Eric started. “But was the money worth it? Personally, I was insulted with what was offered.”

  “You’re stubborn, Ricky. Too stubborn and far too principled. I’m the corrupt bastard who suffocates in the presence of your kind. We couldn’t survive as a unit.”

  “So when Ivan Kesey came along and Kurt Lynch contracted my killing you thought ‘perfect timing’.”

  Cavallo snickered.

  “Oh well,” Eric continued. “No hard feelings. What I am here for is Kurt Lynch. Where can I find him?”

  Cavallo pursed his lips tightly.

  “There’s no one else in this god damned business who knows me better than you do, Joe,” Eric said. “If I say I’m gonna shoot you dead here with your hands still on your fucking head, you know that I will, Lynch or no Lynch. You know I will find him either way. So why don’t you spare me the hard work, okay?”

  Cavallo licked his lips, staring nervously at Eric’s gun on the table. Eric picked it up and pointed it at him.

  “Fine! Okay!” Cavallo shouted. “I’ll tell you. You’ll find his address and phone number in my cell.”

  “What name?” Eric asked firmly, fully aware of Cavallo’s penchant for nick names.

  Cavallo grew quiet, his sweat trickling down the side of his face.

  “What name?!” Eric shouted at him, cocking his gun.

  “I’m thinking!” Cavallo cried out in panic. “’The Leech’. It’s ‘The Leech’.”

  Eric pulled his trigger, shooting into Cavallo’s knee. The man cried, falling onto the floor, clutching his wounded leg.

  “What the fuck, Ricky?! Get your finger off the fucking trigger!”

  “I didn’t miss, Joe.”

  Cavallo lifted up his head, his eyes widened with fear and disbelief. “You promised…” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Fine, I deserved that one. But you’re a man who keeps his word. I gave you what you wanted. Now get out of my fucking room!”

  “I lied,” Eric said, shooting into his head, splattering Cavallo’s brains onto the wall behind him.

  He took a long shower, his mind all the while calculating on how he was going to get to Kurt Lynch. After his third day of scouting the man, he was at a loss, unable to get a clear target.

  He stepped out of the shower as he grabbed a towel to dry himself off. His phone rang and he frowned. He had told Bobby to never call again on that number.

  He strolled over to the bedroom and picked up the phone. He looked at the number, unable to decipher who it was. A random telemarketer?

  “Hello,” he spoke cautiously into the phone
.

  “Anne Mullen is such a sweet girl.”

  He froze, his heart beginning to pound heavily inside him. “Who is this?”

  “Meet me at this address and don’t be late.”

  The man blurted out an address and Eric jotted it down quickly.

  “And why do you think I’ll meet you?” Eric said, trying to goad him into an argument in the hopes of identifying him.

  The phone went dead. He stared at the phone, dumbfounded by the call. How did he know about Anne? He had been careful.

  He dressed quickly, loading his guns. He couldn’t risk it. He had to find out who this new puzzle piece was and how he found out about Anne. He had exactly thirty minutes to the location and that meant no time for prior planning.

  He pulled in a deep breath. There was nothing he could do other than depend on his wits to make it out alive.

  He stood in the middle of the dark carpark.

  “Move away from your car and keep your hands in the air,” the man said.

  Eric narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the dark at him.

  “Straight up,” the man said again. “I don’t want to see a bend in those elbows.”

  Eric breathed deeply. This was it. He was going to die.

  The man emerged from behind a concrete pillar, pointing his gun at him. “Don’t worry; I’m not here to kill you. I just want to talk. Can I trust you to behave? I know you’ve got guns somewhere under that jacket.”

  “You have my word,” Eric said.

  The man nodded and Eric lowered his arms down slowly.

  “Who are you?” Eric asked.

  “Stuart Clarke. I’m an investigator for Kurt Lynch.”

  Eric arched his brow with curiosity. “You don’t want to kill me? Surely, you must know about the attractive price on my head.”

  Stuart shrugged. “It means nothing to me. Lynch would never pay me. He would just assume I did it in the capacity of his employee. He’s a fucking Scrooge. And besides, I’m not an assassin. I’m an investigator. And that is all I do- investigate.”

  “So what are you going to do with me then? Tie me up and drag me over to Lynch.”

  He snorted. “You’re giving me ideas. Is that a wise thing to do?” He sighed. “No, I’ll take you to Lynch alright. But then you’re going to kill him.”

  “It sounds too easy,” Eric said suspiciously.

  Stuart nodded again. “Well yeah. You can take that chance or spend the next six months trying to get a better opportunity than this.”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “I’m not.” Stuart paused. “I’m hoping you could help me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you’re trying to get out of the business. Bobby told me.”

  Eric tensed.

  “He didn’t speak until he was convinced I had honorable intentions,” Stuart continued.

  “How do you know about Anne?”

  “Like I said, I’m an investigator. And I’m good at it.” He quieted. “A certain bus driver remembered you very well. Rod?”

  Eric recalled the bus driver who had urged him to help Anne out of the bus that first day he had met her.

  “And then there were others,” Stuart said. “John Adelstein, the biker you punched at the diner…” He rubbed his brow. “Listen, I could go on the entire night, detailing how I got to you. But that is not important. I’ve found you and that is all you need to know.”

  “You were the one who was asking Max Pepi about me.” Eric realized.

  “Your team’s got a lot of respect for you,” he said. “You’ve turned your life around and that is quite commendable. Even if it is because of that blind girlfriend of yours. That itself is certainly admirable.”

  “You didn’t explain how I was going to help you?” Eric reminded, apprehensive about his mention of Anne.

  “I want out of the business also. But I know Lynch too well. He wouldn’t let me retire without trying to kill me first. He can’t be trusted.”

  Eric drew his lips into a thin straight line as he delved into the possibilities of this man cheating him. There were many. Could he risk it? “What do I have to do?”

  “You do know the backlash I could receive for approving the flooding of this valley,” Drew Patterson growled.

  “I’m sure your PR team is efficient enough to counter such an attack on your image,” Kurt replied carelessly.

  “Kurt, there are homes in this valley. Where will the people go?”

  Kurt laughed. “You were never the one to care about anyone.” He stood on the edge of the cliff, looking out into the lush basin. He imagined the dam in its place. It would be perfect. He would have the biggest dam the country would ever see, and henceforth would begin his rise in the kingdom of hydropower. And he would reign as king.

  “You’re mad!” Drew spat out. “I can’t believe you’re doing this!”

  “I don’t need you to believe in any of what I do,” he smirked.

  “If it weren’t for that fucking tape…,” Drew grumbled. “Tell me, does your wife fuck every man daring to stand up against you?”

  “I don’t remember you doing much standing at all.” Kurt chuckled. “Yeah, she can be such a bitch. But you’ve gotta admit, she’s got one heck of a cunt.”

  “You and your wife are so fucked up.” Drew shook his head. “Everyone knows what you did to Bartlett’s little girl. You are a sick bastard, Kurt Lynch.”

  The wind tousled his hair and he sighed. “Perhaps, it would be wise for you to shut up now, Senator Patterson. I recall Senator Gordon suffering from a similar disorder of the loosetongueitis. God rest his soul, he didn’t make it through his elected term.”

  Drew grunted and turned around to signal at his assistant to bring out the papers. A shot fired, echoing in the wilderness about them. Drew ducked. Birds screeched, frantically flying in flocks into the air. Someone slumped behind him and he gave a short quick glance. Kurt was lying on the dirt floor, blood trickling out from a speck in his jacket right over his heart.

  He breathed heavily. He could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. His legs moved steadily through the brush of the forest. His bag containing his rifle bounced against his back as he ran towards the carpark. It was done. Kurt Lynch was finally dead.

  He recalled Stuart Clarke’s words from three nights ago. “Lynch will meet up with Drew Patterson on the cliff overlooking the valley. The only access to the cliff is through the only road leading up to it. If you want him, you’ll have to take cover in the forest surroundings. The nearest carpark is four miles away. If you can trek through the forest and to the park, you will be fine. Not everyone can handle such a feat, Eric. But you can do it, right? You are The Runner.”

  He threw a towel over his shoulders, the water droplets on his body glistening in the lights of his motel room.

  “Hi honey,” he said into the phone.

  “Oh, Eric,” she cried. “I’ve been waiting ages for your call.”

  “I’m sorry, babe. I just… got caught up in my work.” He ran a hand through his damp, thick mane. “How have you been?”

  “Missing you.”

  He smiled. “Me too. But here’s the thing…”

  “Eric, what is it?” she said worriedly.

  “I’m coming home tomorrow.”

  She screamed into the phone. “Oh hon, I can’t wait. When will you be home?”

  “What time do you finish work?”

  “I’m leaving early. Maybe about three in the afternoon.”

  “You don’t have to leave work because of me. What will your father think of me?”

  “Does it make a difference?” she teased. “He doesn’t think much of you anyway. And I don’t really care right now. I’m coming home to meet you whether he likes it or not.”

  He bit his lips, trying to suppress his wide smile. It was all over and tomorrow was his start of a new life with her.

  He hoped he could make it on time to her office. He w
anted to surprise her. But most of all, he just simply wanted to drive her home.

  He caught sight of her walking out of the building lobby and he raced to cross the street over to her. She descended the steps and turned to walk towards her bus stop. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. His phone buzzed and he realized she was calling him. He smiled as he reached into his pocket to pick it up.

  But something knocked him into the air and his phone flew out of his hand, smashing into smithereens. His body pounded against the cold hard road. Tyres screeched in an effort to avoid running over him.

  A man jumped out of his truck and ran over to him in a state of panic. “You okay, man? You okay?”

  “Someone call 911!” Another shouted.

  Some others cried, their voices filling the air with sympathy and sorrow.

  He tried opening his eyes and he caught her turning towards the chaos about him. But then she began to walk away, fading into the distance and the crowd.

  Anne… His eyes remained glued on the little dot marking her as his spirit ebbed away.

  She stopped. “Eric?”

  But the screaming and the cries continued to pour through the streets. She must have misheard. She tilted her head, that nagging feeling inside her that she surely had heard his voice.

  She continued on towards the bus station, hoping whoever was caught in the midst of that motor accident wasn’t too badly hurt.

  She tried his number for perhaps the hundredth time and she still couldn’t get through to him, receiving an automated reply each time.

  She started to worry, fidgeting with the ends of a tea towel in her kitchen. He must be caught up in something important, she told herself. She was being silly and possessive… and… and…

  The door bell rung and she jumped, the sound catching her by surprise. She walked over to the door and pressed on the doorbell camera.