The Mercy of the Mako Shark

by Nicole Castle

  While Toby was picking out produce at the corner market, Miko was shopping for other supplies: bullets, which Toby had neglected to buy; earplugs; latex gloves; and a red sweater that would ensure Toby was visible to hunters, and ensure Miko would be unable to keep his eyes, and hands, off of him.

  Somehow, Toby ended up with more bags.

  “You really hate parsnips,” Miko said, looking at the grocery bags on the kitchen counter.

  “It's not just parsnips. I got other stuff too.”

  “So did I.” Miko held out the sweater. “For you.”

  Toby smiled knowingly. “I think it's more for you.”

  “No, it is so you do not get shot.”

  Furrowing his brow, Toby suspiciously asked, “At the range?”

  “We are not going to a range. We are going to the woods.”

  “Maybe you're not the best person to ask considering you kill people for a living, but are you sure it's legal to go out in the woods and shoot parsnips?”

  “Killing people is illegal?”

  Toby opened his mouth to speak, then realized Miko was kidding and laughed instead. “Definitely not the best person to ask.” He took the sweater from him. “I'm don't think I'm bold enough to pull off red.”

  “You will have rifle. It makes you bold.”

  “Rifle?” Toby fretted. “I thought we were using my gun.”

  “Parsnips are small. You have not shot before, you would not hit them.”

  “I'm absolutely not bold enough to use your rifle.”

  “But you are wearing red.”

  Toby gave him a doubtful look. “What about you? What's going to prevent you from getting shot?”

  “I will stay close to you,” Miko said with a grin, doing just that and backing Toby up against the counter. “You will wear? For our protection.”

  Turning a complimentary shade of red, Toby sighed and put it on.

  Miko felt a heat rise to his own face, and to the rest of him. Toby didn't look bold, he looked warm and cozy and Miko wanted to be inside the sweater with him. And inside of him. “Now take it off.”

  Toby rolled his eyes and pushed him away. “If you want to go to the woods we'd better leave soon. We won't have much time before it gets dark.”

  “Today is a bad day,” Miko sighed.

  “That's why we're going shooting.” Toby kissed him on the forehead and started putting away groceries. “You pack up what we need. I'm packing lunch.”

  Miko knew for a fact that if Toby was making lunch it would take far longer than just running into the bedroom to get the rifle and carrying it down to the car, so Miko made himself comfortable standing directly behind him with his chin on Toby's shoulder, watching as he sorted through the groceries. Parsnips, pears, candy, flowers. And what looked like meat, wrapped in brown paper. “Toby, you buy meat?”

  “I thought you might want to stare at it for a bit before we went shooting.”

  Miko urgently kissed him like he had their first night together, when Toby had confessed to being a victim of parsnips instead of violence. There was a queasiness in Miko's stomach that wasn't over his revolting habit or even Toby's newly found involvement in that part of his life. Toby understood him, and loved him so unquestionably that he'd taken it upon himself to prepare a murder inspiring meal for him. “We are killing parsnips, not people,” Miko said against his lips.

  “We'll keep it in the freezer until you need it then. It's not like you'll actually eat it so we don't have to worry about freezer burn.”

  It occurred to Miko that he may never need it, may never work again because Silva was dead and he was famous, but knowing there was steak in the freezer was reassuring. And knowing that Toby would fry it up for him in a heartbeat was even more so. He finally did as instructed and went to pack up what they'd need for a parsnip massacre, grabbing the blanket off the bed for their picnic and being turned right back around again to put it back since they'd be taking the worn throw blanket from the sofa instead.

  Miko actually liked the throw blanket better because Toby had brought it into the kitchen cabinet with them, but the comforter was nicer and still relatively new. He made the bed again, then thought of something else they would need.

  Taking Emmett's photo from Toby's box of useless things in the closet, Miko hid it in his back pocket and went to help Toby make lunch by snacking on everything he could touch, until Toby just gave up and let Miko eat his lunch in pieces on the walk down to the car. He ate his own disassembled lunch as Miko drove out of the city.

  Miko couldn't help but think of all the bodies that may be hidden as they tromped through the woods, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Toby didn't. “Do you think anyone's been killed here?”

  “Yes, it is good place.”

  “What if you got lost after...” Toby laughed. “I suppose that sort of thing would only happen to you.”

  Miko laughed too. It was the sort of thing that would only happen to him, but he thankfully had a good sense of direction. “We will not be lost. Sit here, this is good.”

  Toby sat on the blanket and started questioningly looking through Miko's purchases. “Gloves?”

  “So we do not get fingerprints on the bodies,” Miko said with a straight face.

  “We are still talking about parsnips, right?”

  Cracking a smile, Miko put on a pair of the latex gloves. “For gunpowder residue. It is easier to take off gloves than to scrub it off your skin.” Or the prosthetics. He scooted closer to Toby and showed him how to load his revolver, which Toby did by touching the gun and bullets as little as physically possible.

  “It's gonna be loud?” Toby asked hesitantly, picking up the earplugs.

  “Yes.”

  “You didn't buy a silencer?”

  Miko kissed his head. “Silencers are illegal, my criminal mastermind.”

  Toby huffed a nervous laugh and put the earplugs in. “Right.”

  “And not for this gun. This is revolver. See...” He spun the cylinder. “Revolve.” Then he took out his semi-automatic, which did have a silencer that Miko screwed onto the barrel while Toby watched.

  “That's not a revolver? No revolving-thing?”

  “Cylinder.”

  “Cylinder.”

  Miko took Toby's right hand and placed it around the gun underneath his own. He would let Toby do the shooting so it didn't matter that he had no real fingers on that hand, and Miko liked the feeling of holding a gun like the rest of the men would. Nasir had told Miko that he was the only left handed assassin in the entire agency. “Now support the weight with your other hand.” Miko cupped Toby's left hand around the base of the gun, then aimed at a tree. “Just squeeze the trigger.”

  The only thing Toby squeezed were his eyes shut. “Oh God.”

  Miko slipped his left index finger over Toby's right one and fired, which at least got Toby to open his eyes even while the rest of his body flinched against Miko.

  “Silencer?” Toby balked.

  “They do not really silence, it is still very loud.”

  “And the...my gun is going to be louder than that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must've been the bravest eight-year-old on the planet not to scream when that guy was shot above you.”

  Miko hadn't really thought of that. He was just protecting his sister. “His was louder. Big gun.” He set down the semi-automatic and picked up the revolver, forming Toby's hands around it like he had with the other gun. Then he released him. “Do not shut your eyes.”

  Toby looked as worried as Miko had ever seen him, but once Miko went and stuck a dozen parsnips in the ground for him to aim at he started to relax. The parsnips were in a row like a picket fence, no more than an inch between them so it would be possible for Toby to hit something, even accidentally. But it turned out Toby was a worse shot than an injured eight-year-old who was missing nearly half his fingers. “I think I hit that one.”

  “No, it fell over when you shot the dirt.”
<
br />   With a shrug, Toby handed the gun back to Miko. “Maybe I should invest in a security system instead.”

  “I am your security system.” Miko loaded the revolver again and took out six of the parsnips one by one, Toby's smile, and arousal, growing every time Miko hit the target. Miko laughed. “You are turned on by this.”

  “I am not!”

  “Yes you are.” Miko pressed him down to the blanket, which further proved his point when Toby's breath caught and he involuntarily shuddered with desire. “Admit. Do not be embarrassed. I already know you are a pervert.”

  Toby self-consciously turned his reddened face away. “I need to have my head examined.”

  “Me too!” he exclaimed and they laughed together. Miko leaned down to kiss him, but Toby's expression had become worried again.

  “When you said it concerned you that I like it...rough...was that because of, um, that guy?”

  For a moment Miko didn't understand which guy Toby was referring to. There were so many he'd been rough with that he didn't even consider the one who'd been rough with him. “What happened with that man is not to do with us.” Miko smoothed down Toby's sweater. Red, like blood. Like the alarm clock Miko used to beat the Niçoise man to death. “I am concerned I will hurt you, but if it does not hurt then it is just fun and good exercise.”

  “Better than carrying boxes?”

  “Much better.” Miko gave him the delayed kiss and let him sit back up since he was clearly still bothered by it. “If you like you can come in my mouth.”

  “That's not necessary,” Toby said sweetly. “Thank you though.”

  But Miko had an even better offer for him. He jumped up and propped Emmett's photograph against two of the parsnips left standing. “Rifle time.”

  Toby covered his mouth to hide his smile. “No, that's bad,” he said anxiously between his fingers.

  Miko ignored his protests and set up the rifle, not even having to instruct Toby to lie down before he was assuming the position and taking hold of the gun. Miko smirked and lay down close to him, leaning over his body to adjust the scope.

  Following another sleepless night, Miko longingly watched Toby head off to work first thing in the morning, unsure of what to do by himself for a whole day and not entirely comfortable being alone.

  He pulled on the red sweater. It smelled like gunpowder and roasted parsnips from their dinner celebration. The revolver was still on the kitchen counter where Miko had left it, acting as a warning to the survivors while Toby chopped what they hadn't shot.

  Miko ate the rest of the streusel for breakfast and piled together what they'd take to the bank to put in the safe deposit box: Miko's guns, not Toby's revolver; Miko's extra passports and Kevlar vest; his eyeglasses; Ophelia's heavily edited biography; the seventy thousand in cash Miko had given him years ago and the fifty thousand Miko had taken from the client before bashing her head in with her shovel, since Joe Russell never had asked for it; and what was left of the photograph of Emmett.

  Mrs. Marlowe was all over the TV just like she had been after Fee's death, only now Miko was safe in Toby's apartment instead of some anonymous motel room, slowly losing his mind. And he really did feel safe, no longer torn between having his vengeance and having Toby. No longer having to lie.

  Ophelia had been the link to Miko's past, to his sister and his life before his father left them to fate; Nasir was forever a part of what Miko became, his mentor and his most loyal friend; but Toby was both, reminding Miko of himself as a child, the innocent inquisitiveness, peeking behind his fingers while covering his eyes. And then the anger on Toby's face once he'd stopped crying over what Miko had told him, about Anton and the mistakes that were made, the Niçoise man and finally Simon's cruelty, ready to fight for Miko and to stay with him. Of all the arms Miko had slept in, none had been as strong as Toby's as he held him through the truth.

  Toby had arranged the flowers he'd bought in a vase on the kitchen table next to the laptop so Miko could look at both if he got bored during the day, but Miko took the flowers and the computer back to the desk in the bedroom, still fearing the fruit bowl. He scrolled through the comments, the drawings and declarations, and he suddenly began to laugh, thinking of how ridiculous it all was. “Hamlet,” he said to himself, spinning around in Toby's chair until he got dizzy.

  He looked up the play online but it made him question his comprehension of the English language so he spun around for awhile more instead. “Ophelia,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. She had told Miko that he sounded like a giant when he spoke her name. That's where the nickname came from. “Fee-fi-fo-fum,” she'd recited gruffly, her voice nowhere near as deep as his. Miko could still see her face at twelve years old, giggling over his accent. It wasn't until later that he learned the next part: I smell the blood of an Englishman. Fee had left that out. She knew blood made Miko sick.

  The spinning was also making him sick.

  He got up and fell down, then waited until he was steady and got up again. Toby would be baking at that moment so Miko wanted to as well, and he went to the kitchen, deliberately preparing streusel with the other powder to see if it really would've made a difference. It did. The batter tasted similar enough but the streusel looked strange and tasted stranger and Miko's admiration for Toby grew as the baking supplies were further diminished.

  The next batch was made correctly but it still wasn't quite the same, and Miko knew that was because he'd made it himself. It tasted better when Toby did it. When Hector did it. He smashed a whole bag of candies and sprinkled them on top, then sat at the table with the fruit bowl and ate nearly the entire pan piece by piece. Miko felt significantly better for a very short time, then he felt significantly worse. His stomach began to hurt and he pushed the plate away and laid his head down on the table.

  It was the bathtub from Ophelia's home in London, not the one she'd died in, and it was filled to the brim with flowers from Hector's garden. Simon was there, holding a skull. Miko knew it was Nasir's skull because RUF was carved into the top, and Miko didn't want Simon to have it but he felt like if he tried to take it from him Simon would just drop it and it would shatter and crumble into dust.

  Simon nodded towards the tub and said, “Hector is rolling in his grave.”

  Miko rushed to the tub to help Hector roll his way out, but when he started to dig he realized it wasn't dirt but blood. He pulled his hands away, knowing Ophelia was under there but he was too scared to touch it.

  “Go on then,” Simon told him, and Miko swallowed down bile and went to plunge his hands in but all of his fingers were gone.

  He woke with a start and the sound of a crash, and Miko immediately panicked, gasping “Fruit bowl!” but it was his plate he'd sent to the floor with his thrashing, not the bowl. He leaned over and held the bowl in both hands without raising it off the table, and he gave it a huge relieved kiss. “You are okay.” Then he looked at his hands, at his fingers, and he felt sick again.

  Backing away from the table, Miko tried calling Nasir but he didn't answer. Miko remembered trying to call Ophelia on Christmas morning as well but she was already dead. She'd been dead since the night before. Or was she? California was in a different time zone. Could she have still been alive when he called? Everything that had happened was still so fuzzy in his head, but Miko felt a prickling at the back of his neck like he was on to something.

  He grabbed Ophelia's biography to look for the coroner's report, but he'd torn that part out. “Scheisse.” He left the broken plate where it was and got dressed, wandering around town until he found a bookshop. The clerk, a busty girl with red lips like Miko and a fluffy orange sweater who Miko wanted to hug said there'd been a rush on the book since Mrs. Marlowe's press conference and they were all out. Miko left empty handed but he had reached out to pet her sweater when she was turning away to help another customer and that made him feel calmer. He returned home and looked online instead, and there it was, approximately 9:00 pm.

  Closing the lapt
op, Miko sighed as the familiar despondency settled in. She was dead when he called. It was nothing.

  He was startled by his phone ringing, Nasir returning his call. “Is everything okay?” Nasir asked.

  “Do you have RUF carved in the top of your head?”

  Nasir laughed. “Miko, I am not so tall that you have never seen the top of my head.”

  “Yes, you are right,” he said, although Nasir was so tall that never seeing the top of his head was certainly conceivable. “It is silly question.”

  “It is. Why would you ask it?”

  “I had a strange dream. You were a skull.”

  “The skull was Yorick. A court jester.”

  Miko smiled, imagining Nasir as a court jester in a clown costume with bells. And his bunny ears, that Miko needed to get back from Bella. “Does Hamlet have a happy end?”

  “No, my friend.” Nasir laughed again. “It is a tragedy. But it is only because of Ophelia's name that there is even a connection. You will have a happy end.”

  Miko knew Ophelia's name wasn't the only thing that connected him with tragedies. They surrounded him. But they surrounded Nasir too, and he laughed better than anyone in the world. Nasir was not poison. “How do you feel? You get to rest on the plane?”

  “I am fine, Miko. I had a lovely flight where no one became inconveniently famous and I didn't have to scold aging Englishmen for childish behavior. How is Toby?”

  “I took him shooting!” Miko exclaimed even though it wasn't really anything worth exclaiming about.

  “How did he do?”

  In an attempt to be polite, Miko tried, “I think he is maybe better suited for knives.”

  “Didn't he cut off the tip of his finger with a knife?”

  “Yes,” Miko muttered, having failed to put a positive spin on Toby's single shortcoming.

  “I see. Well it is good that he's trying to relate to you, even if it is not his true calling.”

  “Not his true calling,” he repeated. It was such a better way to say it that Miko wished he'd thought of it, but having difficulty articulating was one of Miko's many shortcomings. And so was making messes. “I have to go clean up something I broke.”