Ophelia was afraid too, and Miko sat beside her on her bed, shielding his writing from her eyes as he scribbled Do not be scared. He slipped it back into her luggage and stuck the pen in his hair. “Like this?”
She giggled. “You're very fashionable.”
He was very homicidal, but needing the assistance of a twelve-year-old girl to get a purple pen out of his hair because he only had five usable fingers and wore gloves indoors had a way of putting things back into perspective. He wasn't an assassin yet, and this was probably the exact reason Bella didn't wear pens in her hair.
“You shouldn't let it bother you,” she said, catching him unconsciously moving his disfigured hand out of sight once the pen was free. He'd told her about his sister and even shown her the prosthetics, but he couldn't stand to face them himself. “Yours look better than mine at any rate.” She smiled and held out her hands, each of the fingernails bitten down to the point of looking painful.
He took both of her hands in his left one to inspect them. “You ate so much.”
“I've been nervous.”
“What if they bleed?” he asked concernedly. “You could get it in your mouth.”
She shrugged.
Miko sighed and took off his gloves, handing them over to her like he would with Tola in the winter, letting his fingers freeze so hers could be warm. Tola was constantly losing her gloves. And Miko's. “Do not eat your hands. You need them. Trust me.”
“Thank you.” Ophelia blushed and put them on.
“Now you are very fashionable.”
“I'm certain my mother would approve.” She held her hands out and admired the too-big gloves. “Style pages, here I come.”
“You can take them to Hollywood.”
“Are you sure? Won't you need them?”
“It is okay. I get more.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You're sweet. But I won't tell anyone. It would ruin your reputation as an assassin.”
Miko couldn't imagine having a reputation among Silva's men, good or bad. Having a reputation would entail someone actually noticing him. But maybe Bella would be the one to train him, and she had so much of a reputation that she'd have plenty to spare for him.
There was the sound of the front door opening and closing and conveyancer popped into Miko's mind, but it was only her parents leaving for the party without saying goodbye. “If only they would really leave me here,” Ophelia said, lying back on her bed.
Miko lay beside her, the flowers between their heads. “You can stay with me and Hector...” He hadn't told her that Hector was there when Tola died, that Hector was a part of it. He only said Hector adopted him after it happened. He'd trusted her enough to tell her about his hand, but he wouldn't betray Hector's secrets to someone he just met, no matter how much he trusted her.
She stared up at the ceiling, her gloved hands clasped demurely at her waist. “You would do anything for Hector, wouldn't you?” Miko nodded and she continued, “Because he chose to take you in. It wasn't biology, he chose you. They chose me.” Hector hadn't chosen Miko. He had no choice. But he had taken him. Ophelia sighed. “It seems a bit ungrateful, doesn't it? Not being what they want?”
“What about what you want?”
“Actresses never work past forty. I just have to make it that long.”
Propping himself up on his elbow, he turned to face her. “That is thirty years, Fee.”
She rolled onto her side as well, a helpless smile on her face. “How long do assassins usually work?”
Most of the time assassins got killed. The strong ones, the skilled ones, were promoted to associates or handlers. The associates did basically the same thing handlers did, but they lacked the charisma to deal with clients. Miko didn't think himself charismatic, or skilled for that matter. Thirty years sounded more than sufficient. “The same I suppose.”
“Will you come live with me once we retire? We can get a little house where no one will bother us.”
“We will have a garden.”
“That's perfect.” Pulling the flowers close, she languidly shut her eyes. “I shall dream about it tonight.”
Miko watched her innocent face, flicking the purple pen with his fingers. He knew what he'd dream about.
The conveyancer arrived first thing in the morning, bringing pastries for breakfast. Miko now understood barmy to mean out of her mind. She was a frazzled, middle-aged woman whose thick eyeglasses hung from a beaded string around her neck. She wore a good deal of color, none of it matching the rest of her wardrobe, and she spoke unbelievably fast, a little laugh at the end of every statement. She patted Ophelia on the head like she was a dog. She did not pat Miko's head. She did steal his pen. He hoped she'd use it to kill Fee's parents, but she only stuck it in her hair.
Miko had slept very little the night before, spending most of it standing over her parents in bed, flicking the pen and praying for the courage to do the right thing. But in the end he couldn't save her. Ophelia would be upset, too upset with him to come live with him and Hector, and there was no telling where else she might end up.
He told himself that she may never even get famous, may not even be cast in a film, but somehow he knew that wasn't true. Ophelia must've known it too, staring blankly into the distance whenever she wasn't staring at him. Her mother had told her to take off the gloves, but as soon as she saw the state of Ophelia's fingernails allowed her to put them back on.
Ophelia's parents went over the last few details with the conveyancer before the taxi arrived, and Miko carried Ophelia's bag to the trunk. Then he ended up carrying her mother's bags as well, and her father's, each one at a time in his good hand while hiding the other in his pocket. Ophelia hadn't spoken a word all morning. Neither had Miko.
“All right, my darling,” Ophelia's mother proclaimed, waltzing around like she was on stage. “Say goodbye to your friend.”
Ophelia withered into his arms and he twitched, staring right at her mother as if he could glare her to death. She didn't even notice. “You will write me?”
“Every day,” he said, stroking her hair. She nodded, crying harder than Miko had ever seen anyone cry. “Only thirty years.”
She sniffled and laughed, wiping her eyes. “Goodbye, Miko.”
“Auf Wiedersehen.”
Following her parents, Ophelia got into the cab, gazing out the back window at him as it pulled away from the curb. Miko waved with his left hand, his right clenched so tightly in a mangled fist that the prosthetics had fallen off in his pocket. He waited until they were out of sight to let his head drop in defeat, and he whispered “Do widzenia,” knowing thirty years was just too long. They would never have their garden.
A Thickening Plot
Miko: Age 27
Their plane was about to board and Miko still hadn't heard from Nasir. He paced the terminal, staring at his phone while Toby stared at the news on TV. In desperation Miko finally called Simon instead. “Where is Nasir?” Miko asked the instant Simon picked up.
“And the Mako Shark has finally returned my calls.”
“Where is Nasir?”
“Working, as you should be.”
Miko twitched, his eyebrows knit. “But he is retired. He cannot be working.”
“Yes, but unlike you he has respect for an agency that has taken such good care of him. When there's a need he helps fill it. So where have you been? Los Angeles?”
“Just traveling around,” Miko said suspiciously. Simon guessed Los Angeles. Had he heard about her parents?
“Well travel your ass back to London and we'll talk. Otherwise I've got better things to do than help you look for your boyfriend. You're no good to me while you're on a sabbatical, Miko. There are needs to fill.”
“Why do you think I am in Los Angeles?”
“You worked for her mother, didn't you?”
With a growing smirk, thinking he was catching Simon in a lie, Miko asked, “Worked?”
“Are you telling me you haven't heard the
news? Isn't that why you're looking for Nasir.”
Miko slumped over beside Toby. So much for outsmarting him. “You did not think I did it?”
“Not even you would be that much of an idiot.”
Toby grabbed Miko's knee to get his attention, nodding towards the TV as they reported breaking news: information released by the police stated that there was evidence the Marlowes were tortured before they were killed. It was just as Nasir had foretold. Whoever murdered Ophelia went after her parents for information. And now maybe Fee's assassin knew who was after them. Miko liked that thought. “We will talk, Simon.” He hung up, giving one last glance at his phone, and the decreasing line to board the plane, and turning it off. “Let us go.”
“What did he say?” Toby asked, looking worried again.
Miko didn't want to leave, but he did respect the agency and he loved Nasir too much to have him doing Miko's job just because there was a need. “He said there is work.”
“You're actually considering working for that asshole again?” Toby scoffed. “Miko—”
“It is like you said. Your job is what you always wanted. This is my job. It has been long enough.”
“But Simon? Why not work for the other guy. Russell.”
“Nas is working for Simon. I cannot have this.”
Toby sighed heavily, not speaking again until they were seated, Miko taking Toby's window seat because seeing the plane take off stressed him out. “I'm gonna miss you.”
Miko gently held Toby's hand under the armrest where they wouldn't be judged by prying eyes of small town people. “We will see each other between jobs like before. There cannot be as much work, not for me.” He pulled down the blinds so Toby wouldn't have to see it. “You meet me in STP?”
Gripping his hand tighter, Toby gave a sad smile and said, “Always.”
Nasir had called while they were in the air, and just as Miko was about to call him back the phone rang through. Joe Russell. Miko hesitated to answer it but he thought about what Toby had said, that he should work for the other guy instead of Simon. Work for Frank's handler. “Hello?”
“Hey, kid,” Russell sighed. He sounded weary, but not perpetually disappointed the way Simon sounded when he spoke with Miko.
“It was not me,” Miko said, knowing he would only be calling about the news.
“I didn't think it was. Actually, I'm calling because I said I would keep an eye on that website for you.”
“Yes?” Miko felt that prickling on the back of his neck again.
“It could be nothing, but the terminology...” He was silent for a moment. “There was a post just a little while ago. There's been a ton of them after what happened but this one...It says 'Hamlet should know to concern himself with the clients, not the weapons.'”
Now Miko was silent, unable to breathe. He was aware of Toby staring at him, whispering his name, finally shoving a candy into his mouth to snap him out of it. “It says weapons?” he asked. There were so few people who knew her murderer wasn't the one who cut her face that Miko could practically count them with his right hand: Toby, Nas, Simon. And her killer.
“Yeah. Plural. And clients. Does that mean something to you?”
He ate another candy. Was it possible that Ophelia's mother had actually been onto something with the site? Could it be that easy? “Can we find out where it is from?”
“Not with my resources. It says Los Angeles, but if it's legitimate they would never be stupid enough to do it from somewhere we could find them.”
“We,” Miko muttered.
“I said I'd do what I can to help you. So what do you say? This the guy? One of them at least, if there were two.”
“One client. One weapon.” He twitched and started laughing, then crying, sinking down to the floor in the middle of Logan Airport while Toby struggled to lift him back up, eventually managing to plop him into a chair. “I was right I was right I was right.”
Russell laughed too. “You were right, kid.”
“I need to sit in the cupboard.”
“Uh, sorry?”
Toby winced and only then did Miko realize what he'd said. “I call you later.” He quickly hung up before he said something even more embarrassing.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Toby asked, looking so concerned that he was likely to worry himself gray if Miko waited any longer to tell him.
“He posted a message on her site after what he did to her parents.”
“They said weapons?”
“And clients.”
Toby covered his mouth. “Oh my God. It's really him?”
“It is him.”
“This is great news! Come on.” Toby put his arm around Miko's shoulders and led him out of the airport to economy parking. “You want to get in the trunk?”
Miko cocked his head like Toby was insane for asking. “Toby, that is where bodies go.”
“As if that would be the weirdest thing you've ever done. Do you want to get in or not?”
Glancing skeptically at the trunk, Miko realized it would make him feel a lot better, corpses or no corpses. “Yes.”
“Take your phone with you. Call Nasir. If I get pulled over...” Toby raised his palms and shook his head.
“Do not do stupid shit with the stick shift.” Miko took the keys and popped the trunk, climbing in and trying to pull it shut.
Toby grabbed the trunk before Miko could shut it, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “I'm gonna need the keys to drive.”
“Oops.” He blushed and handed them over.
Toby grimaced as he carefully closed it and went to start the car.
It was actually quite cozy in there, although Miko was fairly certain he was the first person riding in the trunk who had ever thought so. Having a quiet, closed space to think was exactly what he needed. “I was right,” he said to himself. The killer knew who Miko was. They knew what he was. Miko couldn't decide whether the message was a threat or a plea for leniency. He needed to see it for himself. And to get Nasir's opinion.
He dialed his phone, flinching as they went over a bump that would undoubtedly leave Toby racked with guilt for days. “I called about her parents and now I call about the post!” Miko exclaimed when Nasir answered.
“Post?”
“On the site! 'Hamlet should know to concern himself with the clients, not the weapons.'” Only as he said it did he realize that it could've just as easily been from Simon fucking with him again, and he started panicking, Nasir silent on the other end. “You think Hamlet should not concern himself with the clients?”
“I think you should be very concerned, Miko,” Nasir said quietly.
“It is threat?”
“It sounds like a warning to back off. I think he knows who you are. That means he's one of ours.”
Miko tasted blood. For the first time in his life it made him smile. “He knows me.”
“I want you to make a list of everyone Hector told you stories about. Anyone you can remember who worked for Silva. Handlers too. We need to figure out who's still out there.”
“You are working,” Miko said in his best scolding tone, not realizing that the ability to accuse Nasir of doing something he wasn't supposed to could only be possible by doing something he wasn't supposed to do himself to begin with.
“And I told you not to speak with Simon.” Nasir's scolding tone was far better than Miko's, and it made Miko think of Hector, of all the times he inadvertently confessed greater misdeeds to his papa when the first misdeed was more than enough.
“I spoke with Russell too,” Miko admitted as well for old time's sake.
“I'm doing a favor for Simon. That is all. And since we know I didn't post the message, it's inconsequential.”
“It is consequence to me. You should be retired and you are doing my job. It seems I do not respect the agency.”
“Miko, you love this agency more than anyone. What it seems like to Simon—who I'm certain is responsible for putting such an idea into your head, i
s also inconsequential. Listen to me, whatever you do, do not respond to that message. Promise me?”
It hadn't occurred to Miko that he should respond, that he could respond, but Nasir was right almost all of the time. “Yes, Nas.”
“I want you to make that list. We will go through it together and narrow it down all we can.”
“Yes, Nas.”
“We're getting closer, my friend. Do not lose faith.”
“We are close,” he agreed. He hoped they were close to the apartment as well. It felt like Toby just hit a pothole.
“How was Ohio?”
Twenty minutes ago, Miko would've proudly told him all about Toby's getaway driver skills, but now he was less impressed with Toby's driving. “I met his father.”
“I thought you were going to see his brother”
“He did, yes. It made him happy.”
“What did you think of his father?”
“I bopped him on the bottom with a photo album.”
Nasir laughed for some time, not needing Miko to repeat himself for clarity. “I assume you didn't tell Toby that.”
“No.”
“That is wise. Some things are best left unsaid.”
The car came to a slow stop and the engine was shut off. “I have to go, Nas. Toby is going to let me out of the trunk.”
“Goodbye, Miko,” Nasir said, not needing Miko to repeat himself on that either. “We will speak soon.”
Miko hung up as the trunk was lifted open to a string of apologies. “It is okay,” Miko said, letting Toby help him out just so he would feel better about it. “This car has very smooth ride, even in trunk.”
“It did?”
“Yes, it was fine.”
Toby sighed with relief. “I guess I'd have to take your word for it, huh? No one to really corroborate.”
“That is right,” Miko said. “No one to corroborate.” Or tell him otherwise.
Toby sighed again, this time with annoyance. “Liar.” He hugged Miko and apologized some more. “I hit a pothole.”
The Mercy of the Mako Shark Page 7