The Mercy of the Mako Shark

by Nicole Castle

  “I did not feel it.”

  Rolling his eyes, Toby took his hand and carried their bag inside. “What did Nasir say?”

  “He wants me to make a list of everyone from Hector's stories.”

  “To narrow it down?”

  “Yes. Who is still working, who is dead, who was elsewhere.”

  “You'll need Simon's help for that, won't you? Maybe Russell's too, if he works with anyone but your friends.”

  “My friends,” Miko said with a content smile even though he knew Toby was teasing him. “Maybe Simon will believe me now.”

  “I wouldn't count on it.” Toby brought out his laptop so they could see the message, buried among hundreds of Rest in Peaces and In Memoriams. “They do have a point though, don't they? Whoever they are?”

  “Point?”

  “It's the client who's responsible. The 'weapon' was just doing his job. Your job.”

  With a twitch Miko turned away so he wouldn't glower at Toby. “They killed her!” he snapped.

  “I know that,” Toby said meekly, setting his hand on Miko's back. “I'm not saying they're innocent. I'm just—that's who you should be concerned about.”

  Miko put a candy in his mouth, staring at the words on the screen as he'd once stared at the printed words of Ophelia's supposed biography: as if he could see right through to the truth.

  “The message confirms that someone paid for it, so how did they benefit?”

  Holding his head in his hands, Miko took a deep breath. “I need paper for my list.”

  “Want a red pen?”

  “Yes.” He scrolled through the comments again as Toby went to the bedroom to gather supplies for his list. The killer didn't know Miko was the one to cut her face. They suspected two different attacks. Two different clients? He couldn't figure out one person to benefit, much less two.

  Toby sat back down beside him, handing Miko a few sheets of paper and then starting his own list. But Miko was too interested in what Toby was doing to write anything down. Hollywood people: directors, producers—Fuckhead Peterson's father?, jealous actresses—understudy from her play?, etc. Birth parents? Someone who wanted Ophelia's house—expensive property in London; that crazy conveyancer?

  Miko scooted closer, angry at himself for snapping at him. “This is good.”

  “Maybe if we go at it from both directions we can narrow it down better. The client, the handler, the weapon. Colonel Mustard with the candlestick in the library, know what I mean?”

  “No.”

  Toby laughed. “I didn't think you would. I just always wanted to say that. Can we cross any of these off? Or expand them?”

  Miko took his own pen to Toby's list. “Her birth parents were junkies. They may be dead, and her name was changed so we cross off.” He drew a crooked line over Birth parents?, thinking of the straight lines through the marks' names in Silva's book. He spent so long searching for that book when he could've just told Toby the truth about everything and had him make a list. “I am sorry I yelled at you.”

  “You didn't yell at me.” Toby kissed his head. “You're just tense.”

  “I think her house is still there, and her parents would have inherited. If the client wanted the house they would need to kill the parents sooner.”

  “Okay, we cross that off too. So Hollywood people, then?”

  “Her name was not in the book...” Miko hovered his pen over Hollywood people. “If they did not call Silva, and it was one of ours, they would have to call someone who worked North America, yes?”

  Toby nodded uncertainly.

  Miko moved his pen to his own list, tears nearly springing to his eyes as he wrote down Stephen Lewis.

  “The handler that Bella killed on Christmas?”

  “He was the only one left. No one replaced Frank permanently in this area so there was no need. If he was to have Silva killed, he would not report a job to him for his books. He was trying to overthrow him.”

  “Oh my God you're right. Who worked for Lewis? Obviously it couldn't just be the Canadian guy who killed Silva.”

  “I do not know.” Miko held his head again. He was right there. He could've killed Lewis. He could've stopped this, made Lewis call them off. “Lewis was mostly associate. Not a good handler.”

  “Wouldn't Joe Russell know? He worked North America. Bella works for Russell now too, and she was the one who went after Lewis.”

  Miko hesitantly looked at his phone. Nasir had told him not to, but the answer could be waiting for him. Toby nodded with encouragement and Miko dialed, holding the phone with his right hand so he could write down anything Russell told him.

  Joe Russell sounded like he'd just woken up, but he didn't yell at Miko like Simon would. “Hey, kid. Did you get your cupboard thing sorted out?”

  “Who worked for Lewis?”

  Russell was quiet for some time before asking, “What?”

  “Stephen Lewis. I know the Canadian and who else?”

  “Why are you asking about Lewis?”

  “She was not in the book and Lewis tried to overthrow him so if he had job it would not be in the book.”

  “Ahh, got it. Listen, maybe you were already aware of this, but our boss had been sick for some time.”

  “I know,” Miko said, slightly more excited than appropriate to discuss a man's terminal illness, but Miko hadn't had anyone to talk to about it since Hector told him Silva was dying years ago, after Miko fucked up the Amsterdam job.

  “I figured your father might've said something to you about it. It wasn't widely known. Someone like Lewis certainly wouldn't have been aware. When he used to tell you those stories, did he just mention the men, or handlers too?”

  “All things,” Miko said proudly.

  “Procedures?”

  “Um...” He hesitated, having just gotten used to the satisfaction of being knowledgeable only to have it deservedly questioned.

  “This is standard operating procedure when we're approached for a job: we do the initial investigation. That should take about a week. Now, here's the part that pertains to you. If the handler has someone who works for us directly, we assign them the job. We're not expected to pass on the information to our boss until the job is done. If we don't have someone available, then the information is sent up the chain and assigned from there. Do you see what I'm getting at?”

  Miko felt like he was falling. “It could have been anyone.”

  “Right. It wouldn't necessarily mean an attempt at replacing our boss. The job could've also been ordered after he was gone, in which case, no book.”

  “Yes,” Miko said. And of course Russell was right. There was more than sufficient time to request it between when Silva's and Fee's deaths occurred, and it wouldn't even have to be someone in North America. He sighed and crumpled the paper, Toby comfortingly holding his hand around the ball.

  “Can I ask you something?” Russell asked.

  “Okay.”

  “You're only concerned about the second weapon. Did you already take care of the first?”

  Maybe it was the frustration of having Ophelia's mother tell the world that the murderer cut her face, or maybe it was just that Joe Russell spoke plainly with him about their jobs the way Hector had. But Miko decided he trusted him enough to tell the truth. “It was not a weapon. It was an escape.”

  “Hmm,” Joe muttered with intrigue. “Well, that's a bit unexpected, but in a way it's good news for you.”

  “What you mean?”

  “You know the catalyst. The reason it happened, and why it happened when it did. Right?”

  Miko could still hear her sobbing on the telephone, begging him to do something, to keep her from being cast in that film. To save her. “Yes.”

  “We don't know the catalyst for the second weapon. Do you realize what else we don't know?”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Miko said, “You are hurting my head.”

  “Why now, Miko? Why did he send you a message now?”

  Miko gave
an excited squeak as he got it. “Something changed!”

  “Bingo. Something changed. What was it?”

  “I have no idea!” he exclaimed, too thrilled at another clue to care that it was a clue he may not be able to figure out.

  “Well think on it. I'm gonna see the fellas later, I'll run it by them too.”

  “You will run by?” It was one thing for Russell to help him; it was practically his job. But for “the fellas” to think on Miko's situation meant they really were his friends.

  “You got it, kid. Good luck.”

  Russell hung up and Miko beamed at Toby. “Something has changed for the weapon to contact me now and they are going to look into for me because they are my friends.”

  “You are such a fanboy,” Toby said, affectionately stroking Miko's hair. “So what could've changed? Nothing's happened recently.”

  Miko shook his head, but he didn't feel defeated. He felt like he had as a child, that his idols were all looking out for him and had a vested interest in his safety and happiness.

  Toby pried the paper ball out of Miko's hand and straightened it out again. “Until we can think of something, we may as well cover all of our bases.”

  Despite being exhausted from their trip, they spent the next few hours on the sofa, poring over lists of names Miko knew should never be written down. Then Miko's phone rang. But it wasn't Russell.

  The voice was deep, speaking German. “I have a question for you before we get started.”

  “Hallo?” Miko asked, shrugging at Toby. “Who is this?”

  “Frank.”

  “Oh!” Miko bounced in his seat. “I did not know you spoke German. You are calling to help me?”

  Frank got straight to the point. “How did you know what I look like to follow me last year? We've never met.”

  “I saw you at boss's,” he said nervously. Frank was very intimidating. As a child Miko had thought the German language sounded a bit strict, but never as strict as it was spoken by Frank now.

  “When?”

  “A few years ago. You were with Bella.”

  “I didn't see you.”

  “No, you were distracted. She was...not well?”

  Frank went quiet, and Miko knew he realized when it was. “January?”

  “Ja.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “I tried to bite off a man's cock and he hit me in the head. A lot.” Miko halfway expected to get a similar reaction from Frank as he had from Silva, until he realized he'd told the wrong story. “I mean...”

  “Was Simon your handler then?” Frank asked, not a single hint of emotion in his voice.

  “Nein, but he was there for me and—”

  “Danke. Do you have something to write with?”

  Miko nodded, then remembered he was on the phone and said yes again.

  Frank started listing recent dates, and countries, and Miko's hand was shaking even though he didn't know what it all meant. “Those are the foreign release dates for the new biography,” Frank said. “If he lives in one of those countries, that could be what set him off.”

  Miko looked down at the list with the first genuine sense of hope at figuring this all out. Spain, Germany, Italy, and France, all within the last week. If he could narrow it down to nationalities, it cut his list nearly in half. Then Frank continued with countries where the book hadn't yet been released, which took off a couple more names.

  “It could be meaningless,” Frank said once he was finished.

  “It means everything. Danke schön.”

  “Bitte schön.”

  “You speak very good German.”

  “You speak...German as well.”

  Miko laughed. “It is bastardized!”

  “Ja. Auf Wiedersehen.” Frank hung up.

  Looking at his phone in wonder, Miko set it back on the table by his diminished lists.

  “Who was it?” Toby asked with an excitement that wasn't entirely from hearing Miko speak German again. “What did they say?”

  “Oh, that?” Miko smiled nonchalantly. “It was only Frank cutting down my list for me into nine people.”

  Toby's eyes went wide and he gasped, but quickly regained his composure to help Miko do the same. “Are you gonna scream?”

  “I think yes.”

  Grabbing a throw pillow to muffle the noise, Toby gave him a few minutes to calm back down to less hysterical levels. “So what did he say?”

  “He speaks German.”

  “I gathered that much.” Toby laughed, not overly concerned with Miko swooning over another man. “What did he say in German?”

  “Those are days when her book came out in different countries. It is one of these men.”

  “Maybe,” Toby said, giving him a well needed reality check but scooting closer so they could go over the information. “Who have we got?”

  “Serge and Michel, they are both French. They worked together once and threw a man off the Pampidou Center in Paris. Konstandin, he is Albanian but he lives in France. He shot a woman with ricochet off her bodyguard's lapel pin. Lorenzo, Italian, he was superstitious about killing anyone with Z in their name. Dante, another Italian. He...” Miko hesitated, knowing that if anyone found this story more revolting than he did it would be Toby. “Killed a chef and served her to her restaurant.”

  Toby made a face that Miko imagined was quite similar to the one he wore himself. “Served as what?”

  “Cacciatore.” Miko was very knowledgeable, and very cautious about Italian food since Hector told him that story.

  “I will definitely not be ordering cacciatore in Italy. Did Dante get a horrible nickname like you did?”

  Miko shrugged. “It was the client's request.”

  “The client is one sick individual,” Toby said, giving Miko a knowing look. “Even if Dante was the weapon.”

  “Dante cut them into chicken pieces. He is not innocent.”

  Toby drew a star next to his name. “I don't think Ophelia's parents were left in much better shape, even without adding herbs and spices. Who else?”

  “Oskar, German, he is good at torture we give him a star.” Miko nodded as Toby drew on the list. “Hans, also German. He killed someone with a pocket watch down their throat because they made him late for his train.” Miko did not want it to be Hans. He was one of the few German people Miko had ever heard of that actually had a sense of humor. “Mateo, a Spaniard, he killed a Brazilian football player in Majorca who helped win World Cup. Rodrigo, also Spaniard, he—”

  “Yeah, throat guy. I remember him. He's one of your favorites.”

  “Yes.” Miko didn't want it to be Rodrigo either.

  “But some of these guys work for Simon, right? Rodrigo, and...Hans?”

  “And Konstandin.”

  “If Simon thinks she killed herself, it couldn't be their jobs because it would have to go through him.”

  “Yes, you are right.” And Miko was relieved to cross them off.

  “Still a prick.”

  “Yes.”

  “Lorenzo, Mateo, Serge, Michel, Dante and Oskar with stars. What's next?”

  “I will memorize this list to give Nasir so we can burn it.”

  “When are you gonna go?” Toby asked, once again bringing Miko back to reality. Miko had nearly forgotten that leaving was part of the plan. That getting back to work was part of the plan.

  Pushing the lists aside, Miko pulled Toby into his arms. “What are your jobs this week?”

  “An awards banquet Tuesday, small reception Thursday, then I'm booked the entire weekend.”

  “I will go this weekend. You will be busy you will not miss me.”

  “Being busy isn't going to stop me from missing you.” Toby tilted his head up to kiss him. “I think I will take those campaign jobs though. May as well.”

  “Do not work too hard. I will worry about you cutting off your fingers.”

  “Likewise.”

  Wrestling Toby onto his back, Miko leaned over him and pressed
Toby's wrists to the cushions. “I will miss you.”

  “Kevlar?”

  Miko sighed. He was not looking forward to that. “Maybe I will wear your shirts.”

  “Don't wear those to bed. It'll cut off the circulation in your arms.” They both glanced at Toby's arms, held above his head. He was wearing one of Miko's shirts, where the only danger came from Miko suddenly ravishing him for how he looked in it. “I'm surprised it hasn't already.”

  “Safer to take off.” Sitting back on his heels, Miko struggled with it for a bit before Toby sat up and assisted him. Miko immediately pinned him back down once he was free.

  “You'd better leave those here. You'd have to bring someone home just to help you undress.”

  “I can do on my own,” Miko grumbled, annoyed that Toby would suggest such a thing when Miko hadn't gone to bed with anyone but Nasir and Ophelia since they met.

  “Yeah, and end up dislocating your left shoulder the night before you have to strangle someone.”

  Miko blushed, Toby's imaginary scenario so probable that it actually made Miko's shoulder ache. “I will leave home.”

  “Wise decision.”

  “You know me so well.”

  “Yes, I do,” Toby said proudly. That made Miko blush even more. For all the time he'd spent longing for Toby, wishing they'd never parted, Miko hadn't even considered that it was as simple as telling him the truth. That Toby could be his ally, not just his lover, could help him figure things out and even offer advice. Cyanide mashed potatoes. It had been right in front of him the whole time.

  Releasing Toby's wrists, Miko sat back to straddle him. “When did you know that I killed those people in Providence?”

  He laughed. “I looked it up after you came back on Christmas.”

  “That long?” Miko asked in disbelief. “The whole time you knew?”

  “Yup. I looked him up too, your mark. If anyone fell into the bad person category it would be that guy. Do you know who ordered it?”

  “I do not know much about the client. Hector would tell me more when I worked with him, and for stories, but Simon is...what do you call?”

  “Asshole.”

  Miko rolled his eyes.