by mike Evans
Gabriel slammed the toolbox shut and rose, walking quickly to the door. From his pocket, he pulled a pair of electrician wire cutters and snipped off the zip tie he had placed around the door to keep it from opening. He opened it slowly, looking left and right, surveying the hall and making sure that it was clear. When he saw the coast was clear, he sprinted through the hallway and across to the stairwell. He shut the door as quietly as he could and looked over the railing; he saw two security guards coming up the stairwell. Both men were speaking into radios as they made their way up the steep stairs. He could hear the bigger of the two guards say clearly, “We have someone in the stairwell, Pete, we’ll detain him.”
He knew if they were wanting to detain him, they would be cautious with him. He had been taking the stairs two at a time, knowing the quicker he left, the better, but at this new development, he slowed it down. When he came around the corner of a set, he decided it would be good enough to play it stupid. He poured his Russian accent back on, yelling frantically and pointing up the stairwell. “I heard gunshots, why the hell did I hear guns? This is hotel, no?”
This calmed the two guards; the younger guard said, “We’re looking for any suspicious persons of interest. The police should be here soon. They will secure the building and question guests and help us get everything buckled down.”
Gabriel played the part for everything he had… an Oscar-worthy performance. He kept up a heavy breathing and rubbed his dirty hands through his hair. The older guard motioned to the younger and said, “Take him down to the lobby, will you? I’m going to finish the stairs and take the elevator back down. My old knees can’t handle this shit anymore.”
The kid nodded, and with a nervous smile, pointed to follow him back down the long descent. As they made it down flight after flight of steps, Gabriel knew he was using precious minutes he didn't have to waste. The kid asked, “So, what’s wrong with the elevator?”
Gabriel didn’t answer and after a minute he asked, “Hey, is this going to be quick. I have to do three more jobs before I go home tonight. My ass boss won't ever pay out overtime for me.”
The guard slowed down, turning around with one hand on the railing to say something about following procedures when Gabriel snapped a size-twelve boot directly into the man’s chin, snapping his head up and back, propelling him into a backwards arch, down the remainder of the steps. A bloody arch trailed into his descent, landing on him as he hit hard on the floor below. The man’s leg entangled in the railing, and as his head cracked the concrete, his bone protruded from his leg below the knee. Blood pooled around his skull and he began to spasm.
Gabriel, again, knew the man had done nothing wrong, but it was either him or the guard. He ran down the rest of the stairs jumping over him and the pool of blood. He reached down, grabbing the guard’s radio, and looked at his nametag, which indicated his name was John. Gabriel hit the talk button and said, “Hey, it’s John. I am up on ten. I fell and broke my leg in the stairwell. Get up here in the elevator and get me some help.”
A voice came back over that might help Gabriel feel a bit less evil. “You stay put, kid. We’ll send someone up just as quickly as we can.”
Gabriel secured the radio to the inside of his harness and attached an earphone to it, securing it on his own so that he could keep up with the radio chatter that was sure to be plentiful. He turned the volume up and could hear men and women's voices chattering back and forth, unsure what to do about something this high level.
Gabriel raced down the remaining steps that led to the back door, where his van would be waiting for him. He opened it slowly and looked at the room he came through. The kitchen had been emptied; no food was sizzling any longer. The hustle and bustle of the area was now gone. He noticed the only man left in the area was the young guard who had let him in earlier when he arrived, and a new man helping him secure it.
Gabriel pushed through the door, walking towards the young man as if nothing at all was wrong. The two men noticed him approaching and immediately reached for their sides. The first man pulled a Taser—nothing that would kill Gabriel, but with enough volts to put him on his back, killing any chance of him leaving… at least when he wanted to.
Gabriel set the toolbox down slowly, looking nervous. He said, “What is problem? Where everyone go… buddy?”
The guard he didn’t know motioned for him to follow them. “Please come with us, sir. We need to speak to everyone. We’re assembling guests and workers in the front lobby. We’ll try to not detain you for any longer than we need to.”
Gabriel looked flustered, rubbing his hand in his hair and shaking his head. He reached behind his head and down into the back of his overalls, pulling a nine-millimeter pistol from a holster attached inside the top of his overalls. The two men’s eyes both got wide and the threat of the gun was enough to persuade them to walk backwards, stumbling over each other. Gabriel motioned for them to head towards the cooler and pulled it open as they entered. Both were rewarded with a pistol whip to the back of the head.
Gabriel ran back to the counter, grabbing his toolbox and went through the back doors. He wasn’t lucky enough to avoid people. It was just that the people in the hotel were so busy, there was less security staff to have to deal with. He pushed out the door he’d come through, not rushing, but not waiting around to see who was looking for people to question. He quickly noticed two men dressed in identical black suits with bulges underneath their armpits walking around the outside of the back parking lot.
Gabriel thought for a second about trying to make a break for it, but they saw him the moment he had exited the rear delivery door. They knew he shouldn't be outside and wasted no time coming straight for him. They were spread out and coming in slow, training their weapons on his chest.
Gabriel saw this and screamed, “Whoa, guys, settle down, alright? What’s going on here? Who are you? Quit pointing those damn things at me. I’ve had enough gun pointed at me in Russia. I thought in your U S of A you did not do thing like this.”
The agent ignored his chatter, yelling across to his partner, “I got this! You go check out the toolbox and see what’s inside it.” He then spoke directly to Gabriel, “You put that toolbox down now. Do it slowly or I’ll blow your ass away.”
The other agent walked slowly towards Gabriel, reached up, grabbed the toolbox, and yelled, “Just looks like a lot of...”
That was when he pulled out the top tray, exposing the hand-molded carrying case for Gabriel’s favorite weapon. The one-inch thick barrel glistened in the sun. The agent looked over his shoulder as worry and fear spread across his face. “Get cuffs on him. Do it now—he’s the guy; he is the fucking guy.”
The man approached, never wavering his aim on Gabriel’s skull. He spun Gabriel around and slammed him hard against the rusty van. The man yelled with authority, “Get your hands up behind your head now!” To emphasize this, he pulled Gabriel an inch back by his collar and slammed him again into the van’s side. He kicked his feet apart like a pro.
Gabriel complied and within a second, his partner was back on his feet and both were standing behind Gabriel. He spoke into his wrist again and said, “We’ve got a suspect subdued.” The man poked Gabriel in the back with his pistol screaming, “Get your hands behind your head! Now, I said!”
He didn’t want anyone to get jumpy and shoot him in the back of his head so he complied. Gabriel heard the rattling of handcuffs, and he pushed his wrists against the back of his skull hard and then lifted them back off. The spring under each sleeve brought out two small automatic handguns that Gabriel’s open and eager hands were waiting to clutch. The moment they entered his hands, Gabriel pulled the triggers. Each man screamed in pain, which Gabriel could barely hear after firing shots that close to his ears. Gabriel turned and put two more shots in each of the downed agents’ heads. Their bodies each jerked in spasms as the final bursts of life exited their bodies, their souls soon to follow.
Gabriel looked at the van and knew that
after that stunt there would be no way he’d be getting out of the parking lot. The very fact that men had come from the side of the building probably meant they were securing the obvious exit points first and then moving on to the harder-to-secure spots. He grabbed the toolbox and tossed it into the back, hoping it would char well. He cringed a moment, thinking of how many great shots he taken with it and how much he would miss that rifle and its guaranteed reliability.
Gabriel quickly unbuttoned the filthy overalls, glad that he made it a strict habit to always dress in layers, regardless of the temperature. He tore at the buttons once he got past the halfway point, not worried about them being used again. He crumpled them up, tossing them into the back of his van, but not before cutting the leg of the pants off. Gabriel was left wearing a zip up hoodie, blue jeans, and a black shirt. He couldn’t have looked any less attention getting… as long as kept the arsenal beneath it hidden from sight.
Gabriel unscrewed the gas cap, quickly forcing the torn pant leg down the hole as far as he could. He put the van in neutral, which was still idling all of this time and let it start rolling down the slight incline, aiming it directly at the side entrance. It was the only way that to get to the rear of the building. Gabriel walked beside it as it picked up momentum and flicked a zippo, lighting the greasy pant leg on fire. He watched the fire for a moment, making sure it was really on fire and wasn’t going to go out in twenty feet. When he was confident, he turned and sprinted for the back wall, knowing the gunshots would bring the rest of the agents like flies on shit.
He jumped up the six-foot brick wall and disappeared over its edge. The hotel kept their parking lot separate from the chain restaurants with the wall. Gabriel could see, as he was going over, that there were a chain of black SUVs coming down the path and the old rusty van was making its way slowly but surely towards them. He shrugged, thinking their day was probably going as good as his, but he thought of the positive: unlike them, there was a very strong chance that he would live at least.
Two unlucky men hopped out from the back seats of the government SUV and ran up to the van with their pistols pulled and screaming at the empty van to stop and get out. Since empty vans aren’t scared of FBI agents, it kept moving in their direction which happened to be right dead ahead for them.
Gabriel knew how intelligent agents had to be to pass the entrance exams for the academy for the FBI because he’d taken them when weighing his options, as well and had passed them with flying colors. He knew that at Quantico, they were pushed to their limits to be sure they knew everything they should before they are thrown out into the field. Gabriel thought about how his tax dollars were being horribly wasted until he remembered he did not know the last time that he actually had to pay them, as ghosts didn’t pay taxes. He watched, wanting to know what happened, and if anyone was going to be on his ass right away. He was baffled that neither man was aware or responding to the fact that a pant leg was hanging from the side of a shitty old van that was on fire.
Gabriel watched the flame disappear inside the van just a moment before it blew up. The van flipped into the air, landing on its top. The two men who seemed a little slow about the van prior were now very much aware that there had been something seriously wrong with the van. The blast knocked them both back off their feet, and black smoke rolled up into the air in waves. The outline of it was drastic against the bright blue sky. The entrance was blocked and the van was too hot to try to pass, leaving him much less to worry about as far as being followed. When he heard the blades of a helicopter, he ran from the scene before it was overhead.
He walked briskly for a few blocks, not looking over his shoulder or coming off as nervous. He knew it took just one cop that thought he looked out of place, after a high-profile hit, to ruin his entire day. Gabriel made it three blocks before coming to a gas station, watching and waiting, when a man in a truck pulled up. Gabriel had been patiently waiting for an older vehicle that probably didn’t have a GPS system. He waited for the man to get out and head into the store. Once Gabriel saw that he was out of sight, he walked up to the idling truck, slid in, and left, heading towards safety many miles away.
Gabriel drove to the edge of town and dumped the truck. He put five hundred dollars in the glove box and left the truck locked after wiping it down. He walked the two miles back to his shop where he could shower, get fresh clothes, and pick up his own vehicle. Gabriel made it back in a short time and went through the normal procedure of getting the door unlocked and then disarming the long line of bombs. He went to the back, checking everything as he usually did, and pulled his laptop from the office and fired it up. He sat patiently checking the news and seeing what he had expected to see. They said that there was a manhunt underway and that the FBI was searching feverishly for a lone gunman that may or may not be terrorist related. They described him as wearing dark overalls, armed, and having a hat; he was also white with dark brown hair. Gabriel clicked off the browser and smiled. A tall white guy with brown hair; he felt that he was going to be just fine.
Gabriel opened up his secure site that kept a list of his banking institutions. He was going to transfer some of the huge payment he had received. He didn’t think it wise to keep all of his eggs in one basket. He wasn’t worried that the rich man was good for it, but sometimes he knew people had bad habits of thinking that once the job was done, so was their need to pay people for their services. This wasn’t something that had happened to Gabriel more than once. Gabriel leaned back in his seat thinking of his first few months as a contract killer and remembering one of the first issues that had come up as a hitter.
*****
Shortly after leaving the CIA
He was in his late twenties at the time and had just returned from a large job, where he had taken out a man’s business partner who thought he was embezzling. Forsyth, his handler, had just dropped him off a state away and told him to stay off the radar. He sat on a piece-of-shit Greyhound for two days. He remembered the ride very well because it was the last time he had ever ridden on one. He made it home, ready to sleep for a week after being up for what felt like two weeks straight.
He remembered going into his small flat that he was renting for cash from an old lady. He liked her because he knew that she wouldn’t report his payments on her taxes, so it was as if he didn’t exist. It was a perfect relationship between the two. He had been on a short allowance that Forsyth had loaned him while they had gotten the first of what would be many jobs arranged between the two. Gabriel logged into the bank accounts that Forsyth had helped him set up under fake names. When he logged in, Gabriel had hoped to see six figures in the account. Instead, what he saw was exactly the same amount that was there when he went out of town, a few weeks prior, to finish the job. He had Forsyth on speed dial, and was trying to calm himself before placing the call that would make the rest of his career a thing of legends.
Gabriel hit the button for Forsyth and sat back, waiting. On the fifth ring, he picked up his satellite phone, which was the only way that he ever contacted him. “What’s up, kid? I figured I wouldn’t hear from you for at least a month. You ready for another job already?”
Forsyth didn’t pick up on his sarcasm when he replied, “Yeah, you know, I don’t think that I have a choice, but to be ready to work, now do I?”
“Well, you can take all the time you want between jobs, you know. With the kind of money that we are making doing this shit… hell, you can do two or three jobs a year and still retire a rich man ten years from now.”
“Well, it’d be hard to live off of what I’m making.”
“Jesus! Are you getting greedy already, kid? I wouldn’t take so much if you knew how to fly. It’s a damn big convenience having a full time pilot at your disposal who can also set up these type of special working assignments.”
“So, you’re saying that we are making enough money off of these jobs? I guess maybe we should try to get paid more for some of these jobs going forward.”
There was no
thing but silence on the other end of the line. It took a moment, but eventually the bells and whistles had gone off in his head, and Forsyth said, “He didn’t pay us, did he? Damn it! I can’t believe that fucker stiffed us! I tell you what; let me get another job lined up for you. We can do something quick and easy. I’ll make sure that we get paid in advance this time, I promise. How does that sound? You okay with that?”
“So, we spend over a month researching, and then I waste another two weeks going out on the hit, and in the end, I’m still broke? You’re saying that we just write this job off and then you and I start all over again?”
“Yeah, pretty much. You can’t go after the hirer. It’s against the rules of being a hit man. You are aware of that, right? I know it sounds stupid, but if you go around killing the people that hire you, you're going to get into some serious shit in the industry, and you are going to do it very quickly.”
“Well, the only reason that I’m going after that motherfucker is because he stiffed us. He stiffed me, and I can’t live off of nothing. I’m sure as hell not going to just walk away. If they don’t want me to come after them, then maybe they ought to have fucking paid me. I don’t give a shit who he is. There is nothing that will keep him safe from me. I mean, he was aware of what I do for a living, so he is either incredibly well protected or completely stupid! Either way, there isn’t any amount of luck that’s going to keep his ass safe from me!”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Forsyth said.