Stolen & Fractured

by Cee Smith

  “The harbor’s about ten miles north of here. It’s relatively abandoned as it’s only used for large cargo ships. So if there’s anyone down there Wednesday night, it’s safe to assume they’re part of Zephyr’s gang.”

  “Do you know what time they’re expecting the shipment?”

  “I don’t know for sure. In the past, the shipments came sometime between 8 p.m. and 10 p.m. I would expect the same for this one.”

  “Anything else we should know?” Along with Scout, I could sense this meeting was coming to a close. The longer we stayed there, out in the open, the more at risk we were. As of that moment, Zephyr may not have even known I existed. I intended to keep it that way.

  “Thank you,” George said. His sincerity struck me as odd. This wasn’t a matter of me opening the door for him to walk through. I was talking about killing a man. Yes, he was a man that many wanted dead, but I figured with him being a cop, he would feel conflicted about this sort of thing, regardless of whether it was the only thing left to do.

  “It’ll be my pleasure.” I grimaced at the sound of delight that snuck from my lips, leaking out my true feelings about what I was about to do. I’d never killed a man, but I knew I wasn’t above it. My thirst for blood was palpable, as if I could feel it pooling in my hands at the thought of what my parents went through—for all I missed out on because of one man.

  We stayed for a round of drinks, each of us toasting the downfall of a single man that had wreaked havoc on each of our lives in one way or another. I thanked George again for his help, and Anatoli reminded me of his earlier offer—to assist me in finding my parents’ boat in Pylos. Scout and I made our way back to the hotel to plan our next move. We had gained a lot of information, but there was still too much unknown to risk showing up at the harbor Wednesday night without a plan.

  The shaggy hair covering my ears flaps in the rustling wind, and as I near the barn, I can hear the huffing of the horses. Spring has officially melded into summer and the grass now reaches my knees, making my skin itch as the blades whip across my shins. The sun is slowly making its ascent in the sky, and already the fields smell of warmth and dirt and summer. It’s the smell that I always associate with this place. While the other kids will return to school to boast about the same activities they partake in every summer—croquet, tennis, horseback riding—my activities will sound less like a planned schedule and more like what it truly is like to vacation in South Dakota. I don’t need a schedule to keep me busy. Here, outside of the city, our lives aren’t governed by social expectation and obligatory rituals of fitting in. Here is our sanctuary.

  My mother is already inside the barn, as I expected. She’s petting Trots-a-lot and she hasn’t noticed me yet. Her hand, smaller than mine, pets the horse’s neck. My mother’s hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, her long coils drift down her back, looking like burned chocolate, as the sun filters in through the opposite door. The horse whinnies and it was as though the horse spoke a language only my mother could understand as she finally notices me standing in the doorway. The creases on the sides of her eyes deepen and her cheeks ripen with a smile that makes her face come alive.

  I jolt awake. The dream of my mother felt so real, and it was the only memory I needed to remind me why I was there and who I was doing this for.

  The last couple days had flown by in a whirlwind as Scout’s team set up surveillance and we worked out the minute details of what was to take place.

  It appeared George had been telling the truth when he spoke of Zephyr’s entourage. Anytime he left the house, he was with the same eight men. They seemed to build a circumference between him and the remaining world, like a moving fortress protecting their most valuable asset. I could see why it was needed. Zephyr wasn’t the same tall, strong brute of a man we’d seen in pictures. Time had aged him. Never mind the toll running an organization such as his probably took on his health. For a man of 62, he looked old. His silver hair looked thin, bits of his scalp peeked through his slicked-back style. In all of the footage we’d seen of him, he had worn perfectly tailored suits, freshly pressed. Even when he was just running in to get groceries, it appeared he had to look the part.

  The urge to barrel out of the hotel room and stampede down to where I knew he was, was hard to keep under control. Just the sight of him milling about as if it were just another ordinary day tortured me like slivers of bamboo shoved under the beds of my nails. My skin tightened with the violence that threatened to shatter me into a million little pieces. It was only the hope of what was to come that kept me glued together, kept my thoughts from splintering, until I could no longer see outside of the red-filled haze that followed my roving eyes like a sunspot.

  “I spoke to Sampson,” Scout said just as I emerged from the bathroom. “His men are in position a couple blocks down from the docks. They’ll wait for my signal.” I’d never seen Scout on a real mission and could only imagine the rush of adrenaline he was feeling. His energy coursed through the room, trailing behind him like a flame to gasoline. I felt the energy capture me, forcing me to succumb to the heady excitement that was an endorphin rush, waterfalling me into euphoria. My thoughts raced, my fingers danced, every hair on my body sang like this was the biggest thrill of my life—the boldest dare, the most extreme ride. I knew nothing would ever compare to this moment. Nothing would come remotely close to competing with the high of knowing that my whole life had built up to this exact moment. I know what awaits me at the end of tonight.

  Planning the attack was easy. We were to wait near the docks until the crew that we had following Zephyr alerted us to his movement. Then, once we had a visual, we were going to capture him. It sounded so simple, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

  The sun glinted a crimson shade across the barren port. Rusted cranes and hollow oil drums remained like headstones of a once-thriving city that now lay deserted. George said that the place was still functioning, but it reeked of desolation. Against the side of the pier, boat skeletons of peeled paint and crumpled metal bobbed restlessly with the shifting tides. The place had a sulfuric smell to it, like a mineral pool of waste and rot.

  On one side of the harbor was a large warehouse with a few surrounding buildings. At one point they were probably shops or casual restaurants for tourists coming through, but all that existed now was dilapidated wood and foraging rats. Sampson’s men were positioned on the other side of the warehouse, opposite from the road that Zephyr and his men would be using to get to the harbor. Scout and I were in position on the other side of the harbor, with a perfect view of any oncoming vehicles, but hidden behind the boat that would be pulling in at any moment.

  The static of white noise rang through our headsets, followed by the signal. Zephyr and his team were on the move. We had calculated the distance of his current location to the harbor at 17 minutes. So at that point, it was just a matter of sitting and waiting. Which wasn’t an easy task, seeing as how I’d been waiting for over a decade for a moment I could only dream of.

  “How long will you guys be gone?”

  “You can’t tell me you’re going to miss us. Mr. College Freshman doesn’t have the time for his mama and papa anymore.”

  “Mooommm,” I whine as she ruffles my hair like I am her ten-year-old boy and not the eighteen-year-old man that towers over her.

  “Leave him alone, Leona. I’m sorry, son, but you’re not invited this time,” my father says with a smile. “We’ve waited eighteen years for this. Besides, you’ve got finals next week, correct? You’re focusing on your studies, yes?”

  “Yes, dad. I’m focusing.”

  “I worry about you, son. You’re faced with so many more temptations, more distractions, than I had when I was your age. The choices you make now will affect the rest of your life. Don’t forget that.”

  I shook off memories of the past and watched light slip from the sky until the harbor was bathed in shadows upon darkness. Scout and I faded into the background in our all-black clo
thes and bulletproof vests. The strap of my AK-47 hung across my body like a messenger bag, and for the first time, the belt around my waist wasn’t there to hold up my pants. I had everything from grenades and hunting knives to a pistol and ammo. We looked like real G.I. Joes on a stakeout.

  “We’re rounding the corner at Athinon, expected ETA two minutes,” came the voice from our headset. I watched Scout settle on his haunches like a marathon runner preparing for a race. He looked like a lion about to take off, and I was right there with him. I could hear every beat of my heart and feel the rush of adrenaline winding its way through my body. Every whisper of sound echoed like the ting of a snare drum.

  “Team 2, take position now.” Scout’s rushed words whispered through the air and headset. My eyes drifted shut as I tuned everything out to focus on that moment. Something about it screamed destiny, like in some weird way I was completing my father’s work. Everything had come full circle, and after this, I would be free. I no longer was an active member of the board, which left me free to start something new. All of the people my father helped would be able to stop hiding and possibly return to Greece. I would be able to put the memory of my parents to rest and focus on the family I created.

  “You ready?” Scout nudged me just as the sound of tires crinkling along asphalt reached us.

  “Absolutely.”

  We watched beyond a row of copper-tinged dumpsters to the row of cars that lit up the night with an army of headlights.

  “Alpha has eyes, three back.” The voice rang out, alerting us to the vehicle that Zephyr and his immediate team were in. An even number of extended SUVs and sedans pulled up just outside the warehouse. We watched as the vehicles emptied out like synchronized swimmers, timing their routine to perfection.

  “Hold your positions,” Scout ordered.

  Scout glanced through the binoculars before handing them to me. Zephyr stood at the center of the hive, casually pointing between a few of his surrounding men and the ship that was now docked. I turned to assess the activity of the boat, but it only looked like a few people stood lingering on deck. Probably awaiting orders. It was clear nobody moved without Zephyr’s say-so.

  More men unloaded from the vehicles before splitting into two groups and heading toward the docks.

  “At my signal, Team 2 move into position. Team 1 stand by.”

  Scout gave me the signal, and we both moved closer to the vehicles. The humidity mixed with that sulfuric smell rose up on the wind and assaulted us as we moved with swift feet toward the edge of the parked cars. My body stretched with approval as we moved into position.

  The first two cars still had their lights on, and Scout and I crept low just beneath the side-view mirror. At this range, we could hear the quiet murmurings of their conversation, barely above the clamoring of men unloading the ship. Zephyr peered into the darkness, his head sweeping the docks before focusing back on his men on the ship.

  “Get ready,” Scout said. Our eyes met and it looked like fire danced in his. We probably looked like two hellhounds coming to retrieve new flesh for the devil himself. The beast within huffed and raked its hooves, and I felt a physical pain in my chest like my soul would rip from my ribs and bathe in the blood of my enemy.

  I nodded my reply. I probably looked manic in the way my eyes widened and my lips unfurled into a grin. This was it.

  “Now.” Scout whisper-shouted and soon the sky lit up with a “pop, pop, pop,” that erupted, leading to a climax of activity that made the night air roil with pain and suffering and the smell of death. Zephyr’s men crowded in around him, throwing their bodies to protect him from the attack. Seconds later his men were armed and retaliating with shots fired toward the west side of the warehouse, where Sampson’s men unleashed rounds of ammo like a grand finale of fireworks meant for a graveyard of men. With Zephyr’s guys completely honed in on the activity near the ship, Scout shouted, “Team 1” and from where we were positioned it looked like sparks of light raining down around the vehicles.

  Scout and I crept closer, moving alongside the right of the vehicles. Zephyr’s guys were still huddled close to him, but they were distracted as they fired back at the men still firing from the surrounding buildings. They shot blindly at echoes of sound that bounced along the pavement and dispersed into the air. I watched as men dropped to the ground like Christians catching the Holy Spirit, their bodies morphing in agony as they bounced across the pavement.

  Once we were in position, Scout popped up over the hood of the car, taking out the two men closest to him. A man in the distance spotted him and began firing round after round at the car. The air was thick and hot, the smell of smoke strong, and I could feel bullets whizzing just beyond my body, narrowly missing me. Scout dropped back down, and I leaned around the back of the vehicle, shooting the man closest to me. He clutched his shoulder and I fired another round off, hitting him square in the chest just as he turned around to fire.

  There were only three more guys that were crowded around Zephyr, and after quickly assessing their defense, they huddled closer to the car, making their way to get Zephyr to safety. I felt a slight shift, as the car rocked with the opening of the door on the opposite side.

  “You take the back end, Dom,” Scout yelled to me. Through the back, I watched him sprint around the front and fire off a couple rounds to the men clamoring to get inside the vehicle and flee. I shot one in the back of the knee before he turned and clipped my left shoulder. There was a pinch before a rush of heat swam across my skin. I fired my gun and the bullet slipped into his stomach before he collapsed on the ground outside the still-open door. The car suddenly lurched as if trying to maneuver between the surrounding vehicles, and I shot out the back two tires to thwart their attempt.

  As Scott slipped back around the front of the car, the vehicle jerked forward making Scout dive to miss being crushed between the two vehicles. I moved closer to the open door and got a mere glimpse inside before Zephyr shot a couple rounds off. I dropped to the ground, rolling away from the car as the firing continued.

  A loud crunching sound erupted as the car crashed into the SUV behind it. The sound of metal folding was what kicked me into overdrive. There was no way that I was letting Zephyr leave that dock. I jumped up, swung the back door back open and shielded myself while waiting for the few rounds in Zephyr’s pistol to fire off before he needed to reload. I heard the dull click of an empty chamber and charged forward, pulling him out by his legs as bullets rained down around me. The driver slammed on the breaks, and Zephyr and I crumpled to the floor in a heap. The driver side door opened and I heard more gunshots, but all other sound became dense as I zeroed in on the man flailing over my torso in his attempt to scramble away.

  I punched him hard—one, two, three times. His resilience stunned me, considering only the day before I was taking notice of his frail form. On the third punch, I kneed him in the stomach, knocking the wind from his sails. His full weight crashed down on me as he slumped over.

  “Scout? Scout?” I yelled. I looked over my shoulder, trying to see through the open door to the driver’s side, but I could barely make out a body in the darkness that enveloped us. The gunfire was dwindling down to an occasional crack, limiting any surrounding light.

  “Team 1, vehicle to 3,” Scout shouted as he rounded the front of the car. To say I was happy to see Scout alive was an understatement. As he drew nearer I could see that he had a wound in the front of his thigh. His black cargo pants shimmered like oil with the blood soaking through the fabric. For the first time in the last ten minutes I acknowledged the breath moving through me—the rise and fall of my lungs as I sucked in air.

  Scout helped me lift Zephyr off the ground, and we moved back to the right side of the cars, shielding ourselves from random bullets streaming past while we moved closer to our escape vehicle. The car sped up, breaking as soon as we were near the back doors. Scout threw open the door and pulled Zephyr in by his shoulders, and I jumped in after him, shutting the door just
as the car took off.

  “We’re clear. Fall back. Check in in 30,” Scout hissed. Now that we’d reached safety, the endorphins were starting to wane and it seemed we were both beginning to feel the aftereffects of being shot.

  “Is your shoulder your only wound?” Scout asked as his eyes scoured every part of me visible.

  “Yes,” I grumbled. The fact that he was clearly in more pain but still asked about my wounds baffled me. When this was all over, Scout was getting a raise and a real vacation.

  I readjusted my position, giving myself a wide berth to remove my vest and shirt. My limbs protested movement, and every muscle felt singed from the coursing adrenaline, but my mind felt weightless. For the first time in ten years, I felt a peace that I never imagined possible.

  “Scout…see to it the funds are transferred to Sampson’s account.”

  How could Dominic trick me into coming here? Why would he do this to me, to his family? Did Clema know why we were here? How many people knew what I was oblivious to? I knew Scout and Jessa had grown closer those last few days before Dominic and Scout “left to New York,” but did Scout tell her the real reason they were leaving? What they planned to do? My loneliness and fear warred within, jumbling my thoughts until I felt like an empty shell watching everything else swirl about me.

  I listened, eyes narrowing as Dominic did some song and dance about a business deal that he needed to fly back home for. It was Sunday morning and I watched him like wallpaper while he rushed around as if this was an unforeseen trip. Liar. I wasn’t sure how long he’d known he wouldn’t be staying with me at the resort, but if I went based off my gut, he’d known for some time. Possibly before his trip to Chicago—if that was even where he had gone.

  Everything in me fought to plead with him not to go. To tell him that I knew the truth, that I heard everything that was said between him and Scout that day. But it wouldn’t have done me any good. I would have begged and pleaded, followed him around while he threw together a suitcase, and been left crying on the floor after he still made the decision to leave. I couldn’t put myself through that. I couldn’t make him choose between avenging his parents and staying with me. He had made his choice long before he ever met me. In fact, I was starting to think maybe I was just a rebound obsession. Something to fill his time while he went about finding the one thing that would bring him true gratification.