Dante rose to his feet. “That rings false, my friend. Mr. Jaquel paid you a visit last night, told you about my little problem. Told you tonight is when you’d have to make your decision.”
“I know, but I wasn’t expecting you to come down personally,” said Flint. “Especially not like this.”
“I thought I’d see if you still have the old spark in you. And it seems you do, especially after the appearance you put in at the Cobra Club. That’s good, the kind of thing I like in an operative.”
“You sound like one of those Agency pricks,” said Flint. “And speaking of, why didn’t Jackal tell me you wanted me to hit an operative?”
“Because he didn’t know,” said Dante. “All Tauna told him was I had a job in town and I wanted you.”
Flint opened the gun’s chamber, examining the rounds inside. “And was I going to know?”
“You know now.”
“Only because I figured it out.”
“With some help. How is old Johnny these days? Still mailing anthrax to politicians?”
“You and I both know he had no idea what it was going to be used for,” said Flint. “Besides, since when do you care if a politician bites it?”
“I don’t sell chemical weapons to terrorists.”
“Here’s a tip, Dante: when you run an international network of assassins, you lose the right to sit on a high horse and pass judgment on others.”
“Someone’s become feisty in his old age,” said Dante. “And you know the targets we go after.”
“I also know the money you accept. From the same kind of people who bankroll the Agency.” Flint set the gun down and reached for the shelf above his desk. He took down a bottle of Wild Turkey and two glasses. He filled each one. “You’re no better than they are.”
“I don’t blindly follow orders like the Agency. I pick and choose only those jobs which benefit my cause. Sometimes what’s good for them is good for me.”
Flint handed Dante one of the glasses and sipped the whiskey from his own. “How convenient.”
“If you have something to say, just say it,” said Dante. “You have my permission to speak.”
“You’re not gonna like it.”
“I’m a big boy, Carlton. I can handle nasty things said about me.”
“Fine,” said Flint. “You’re nothing but a whore.”
Dante smirked. “That makes you a whore’s bitch.”
Flint tightly clenched a fist for a few moments but then relaxed his hand. Dante noticed this and his grin grew even wider. “I didn’t come here for a verbal boxing match, Carlton. I came here because I have a job I need taken care of and I need you to do it.”
“Go to hell.”
“Now you’re just playing hard to get.” Dante sipped his drink. “We both know you want this job, Carl. If you didn’t, you would have told Jackal you had no need to think about it. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have dropped by the Cobra Club. When was the last time you walked around with a gun anyway?”
Flint turned his back to Dante and reached for the cigarillos on the desk. He placed one between his lips and began to light it, trying to ignore Dante’s rationalizations and his explanations.
“You need this. Not because of the money but because you need to feel like you’re worth a damn.”
Flint abruptly turned on his heel. “And what the hell did this guy do anyway? You want me to go after an Agency operative—why? Who benefits?”
“I do. And if you take the job, so do you.”
“Who is he?”
“Will it help ease your conscious if you know?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” Dante pushed past Flint and sat on the edge of the desk. Dante took one of the cigarillos for himself and lit it without permission. “His name is Christian Pierce. He’s been causing some trouble for me in this area, sniffing around some of my recent jobs.”
“How does your turned operative play into this?”
“That snake seems to know a lot,” said Dante.
“You’ve got an active assassin within the city limits. So why don’t you use her against Pierce?” asked Flint.
“I plan on it,” said Dante. “But she’s a tad unpredictable. And Pierce has gotten very close to her without revealing who he is. I’m afraid he might turn her back. So I need a little insurance.”
“Insurance?” asked Flint.
“If Lockhart doesn’t finish the job, you finish it for her. But if she does kill him, you don’t have to lift a finger—just enjoy the show. Either way, you still get the fifty grand. Or should I say a certain orphan will get the fifty grand.”
“Bringing that up to me is poor salesmanship.”
“You can help her. Set up a trust fund. Make sure she has a good life, a good education. And all it’ll cost is the body of an operative. You know what those pricks are like—you know the world is better off without them.”
“When does this go down?”
“Tomorrow,” said Dante. “That’s when I’m sending Angela after him. Your job will be to set up shop in the building across the street from Pierce’s apartment. There’s a unit I’ve rented out, it provides a perfect view into his place. Wait there until the fireworks start.”
“How can you be sure Lockhart will hit him in his place? Suppose she decides to bide her time. What am I supposed to do, shadow him?”
“Not necessary. With the information I’m providing her, Lockhart will want him dead immediately. She won’t wait.”
“And either way, I get the money?” asked Flint.
“That’s how it works.” Dante finished his drink and set the glass beside him. “Actually, I should clarify. You get the money only if he dies. If he survives, you get nothing.”
“And if things go south? If I’m made?”
“You have my word if the heat comes down, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you evade capture.”
Flint looked down at his drink. “Your word you say?”
“I’ve never steered you wrong, Carl.”
Flint looked up at Dante and noticed something in the power broker’s eyes few had ever seen, something he himself wasn’t sure he’d ever seen—sincerity. Dante meant what he said, at least in this instance. And if he didn’t, then he was one hell of an actor.
“Okay,” said Flint. “I’ll do it. But I want to be clear on something.”
Dante stamped out the cigarillo in an ashtray on the desk. “Name your terms.”
“After this, I don’t want to hear from you or Infernum ever again. And after this job is done, if Jackal ever shows his face around these parts again, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes.”
“Understood.”
“Now, I need some details on the target,” said Flint. “A recent photo, current address, keys to the nest you have set up.”
“You’ll get all you need,” said Dante.
“When?”
“Soon.” Dante hopped off the desk and went to the window. “Just be ready.”
“One more thing, Dante. Next time you wanna drop in, you use the goddamn door like everyone else.”
Dante smirked. “Sorry mate, not my style. I like to make an entrance.”
Once Dante climbed out the window, Flint closed it behind him and shook his head. “Asshole.” He finished his drink and slung his coat over his arm. He picked up the gun from the desk, hiding it beneath the duster and went out into the bar.
Once he set foot onto the floor, he saw the narrow-faced man with spiked, blond hair and round sunglasses watching him with a smile. Flint walked by the bar and asked Mickey for his usual before he moved to the table. He sat across from the blond man.
“Take it you spoke to him?” asked Jackal.
“Yeah, we spoke,” said Flint. “Not too happy about this situation but if Dante lives up to his word, I’m onboard.”
“Good,” said Jackal. He reached inside his jacket and dropped a manila folder on the table. “Everything you need should be in here.”
As Flint examined the photographs, Mickey came over and set the double whiskey on the table. “Thanks,” said Flint without bothering to look up. Mickey nodded and left without a word.
“Hey bartender, I could use a refill,” said Jackal, raising his empty glass.
“Then maybe you should’ve left him a tip last night,” said Flint.”
Jackal sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Prick.”
A few of the photos showed him with a blond woman about the same age. Her eyes had a hardness about them. Flint turned the picture so it faced Jackal and tapped on her image. “Is that Lockhart?”
“Yeah,” said Jackal. “Personally, I don’t know why he’s bringing you in on this when she’s damn good at what she does. But far be it for me to question our Glorious Leader.”
There were also photographs of Pierce’s building and the view of his unit from the one across the street. Accompanying papers detailed the specifics of each building in addition to the addresses.
“Did Dante mention a time I should be there?” Flint raised the glass to his lips.
“Pierce usually gets home around seven or eight. I’d say get there by six just to be on the safe side.”
“And when this is all over, who do I get in touch with?”
Jackal set down a smartphone on the table. “There’s one contact programmed in there. You call the number and you wait for the voicemail. Then you hang up. In a few minutes, you’ll receive an e-mail from an unknown contact. That e-mail will provide you with instructions on what to do next.”
“Thanks.” Flint took the phone and slid it into the pocket on his jeans.
“You know how to use one of those?”
Flint glared at Jackal. “I may be getting old but I’m not a dinosaur.”
Jackal raised his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. I’m not judging.”
“Is it safe to assume you’ll be my handler for the duration?”
“If that’s what Dante’s decided, he hasn’t told me yet.”
“Good,” said Flint. “Just so we’re clear where we stand, I’m hoping it’s someone else.”
Jackal smiled as he placed his hands, palm-over-palm, on his chest. “My heart is breaking. After all we’ve meant to each other?”
“Piss off.”
Jackal chuckled. “Anyway, think you’re stuck with me. Far as I know, the only other person in town is Tauna. And we both know you don’t want to deal with the Tigress.”
“Can’t argue with that,” said Flint as he took another drink. “Although she’s much better to look at than you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” said Jackal. “Oh, almost forgot.”
He dropped a keyring with one large key and one small one onto the table. “Those go to the nest you’ll be using. Big one opens the building, small one is for the unit. You need us to provide you with a rifle?”
Flint shook his head. “I got it covered.”
“Good man.” Jackal stood. “Glad to see you’re back in the game, Flint. It’ll be nice working with you again.”
“That makes one of us.”
“...yeah, whatever,” said Jackal. “Forget I said it, you’re still a miserable prick.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
NOW
In the center of the round, wooden table were five cards laid face up and a pile of multicolored poker chips. Five men sat around the table, each one with a handgun resting right beside their chips. Each man held a pair of cards in his possession.
The cards on the table were a Queen of Hearts, a Two of Hearts, a Five of Clubs, a Queen of Diamonds and an Ace of Hearts. One of the players threw down his cards, a Five of Hearts and a Ten of Hearts. He smiled and spoke one word: “flush.”
Curses came from the other four men as they threw their cards down. The winner chuckled as he swept the chips towards him. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you boys a chance to win back some of your money tonight.”
“Not me, I’m out,” said one of the other men. His pile of chips had been reduced to nothing, the previous hand cleared him out. He stood and walked to the front of the hotel, taking his gun with him and stuffing it into the back of his jeans. Stepping outside into the hot, Mexican night, he took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. As he sucked on the end of the filter, he heard something off in the distance.
He looked up, squinting to try and get a better view. It was a car racing towards him, kicking up dust in its wake. Also, it had lights on the top, but they weren’t on. A police car. He drew his gun from the hem of his jeans just in the event of any trouble.
The car turned and skidded to a stop, dust flying into the man’s face. The door opened and an older man with graying hair and wearing a long duster coat stepped out from the driver’s side. He was an American, from the looks of it and as he stepped out of the car, he drew a shotgun.
The guard barely had time to raise his handgun before Carl Flint pulled the trigger, blowing the man against the door of the hotel. Flint kicked open the door and stepped over the body of his first victim. The four remaining poker players stood quickly, scrambling for their guns. Flint acted quickly, taking three of them down before they managed to reach their weapons.
The final one had gotten his gun and leapt for cover behind the old reception desk. He had just gotten over it a split-second before Flint’s next shell struck the front of the desk. The man waited behind the counter as Flint fired a few more shots, but then stopped. The man thought Flint was reloading and it gave him the opportunity he needed. The instant he was on his feet, he fired blindly until the gun clicked.
“Hey!”
He looked down and saw Flint crouched in front of the desk with his back pushed against the wood. His shotgun was pointed up at the man’s face.
“Down here,” said Flint and pulled the trigger.
Shotgun in hand, Flint stalked through the first floor of the hotel. He went to the office first, kicking in that door and finding three more gang members counting cash. Flint fired a shot at the first who looked up, taking off his head.
The other two drew their guns quickly and opened fire. Flint moved back outside the office, his back pressed against the wall. He was careful as he pointed his gun around the corner and blind-fired twice, then retreated back to cover. A few more shots and he heard the sound of empty clips striking the floor. Flint was back around in an instant, shooting one in the knee and the other in the chest.
Flint placed the shotgun on the desk next to the blood-stained money. He looked down at the survivor, who was now clutching at his knee. Flint took out a fresh cigarillo and lit it as he knelt down at the man. His free hand went beneath his coat and drew a revolver.
“Where is he?” asked Flint.
“Who?”
“Victor Cruz, where is he?”
The man appeared genuinely confused. Or he was simply a good actor. “Who is Victor Cruz?”
Flint pressed the barrel against the man’s face. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to be played?”
“I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about! I’ve never heard that name before!”
“I know all about the little ‘offers’ Suárez makes to the townspeople. And I’m not gonna stand for it anymore, you hear?”
“Suárez? Did that asshole put you up to this?”
Flint paused, biting down on the end of his cigarillo. “You trying to make me believe you’re not working for Suárez?”
The man couldn’t help but snicker. “Work for Suárez? That asshole is running me out of business! Ever since he came to this country, he’s caused nothing but trouble for the other cartels!”
“You’re lying.”
“
Search the place! You’ll find no Victor Cruz.”
“I will,” said Flint. “After.”
“After? After wh—”
Flint pulled the trigger and got back to his feet. Just as he promised, he searched the entire hotel. No sign of anyone other than the men he killed. And certainly no sign of any Victor Cruz.
He had been played.
***
As the sun rose, Miguel Suárez stood on the edge of the dock overlooking the Pacific Ocean. A Cuban cigar sat between his lips. He removed it just long enough to sip a cup of hot coffee.
Footsteps echoed on the wooden planks of the pier. Miguel looked over his shoulder and smiled at the woman who approached him, wearing a simple white sundress. Tanya Cruz leaned against the dock, standing next to him.
“I think I’ve found someone who would make a very good addition to our family.”
“The American?”
Tanya nodded and handed Miguel a small booklet. The front bore the name and seal of the United States and the word PASSPORT. Miguel flipped through the pages to the identification and saw the face of a weathered, middle aged man staring back at him.
“Joseph Andrew Lawrence,” he read.
“I want you to check with our friends in America. Find out who he really is.”
“Very well,” said Miguel. “Where did you get this?”
Tanya smiled. “Lifted it right from him when I gave him a hug. After he had promised to find my brother.”
“You don’t have a brother.”
“Call it a test,” said Tanya.
“Who did you send him after?”
“The Gonzalez cartel.”
“Why them? They’re small time, no threat to us.”
“Like I said, just a test,” said Tanya.
Miguel nodded. “Very well, I’ll look into it.”
“You’ve grown quite nicely into this life, Miguel,” said Tanya. “Your father would’ve been proud. If you hadn’t killed him, that is.”
“As I recall, I had some help from his mistress,” said Miguel. “Suárez is dead.”
“Long live Suárez,” said Tanya.
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