Assassin

by Seiters, Nadene

  “Don’t you get it? Your father is potentially dead because he helped me. If you stay here, then it’ll put you at an even greater risk!” Frustrated that he has to push her away just as soon as he could have her back, Troy turns away from her to look at Moonlight for a confirmation.

  “He’s right, Cassidy. Blake’s waiting at the airport right now to escort you to a safe house until we can get this straightened out. If Robert’s, I mean Troy’s, shit, Jack’s cover is blown, then your cover is blown.” He pockets the phone and tries not to huff with his impatience, but it’s starting to show on his face.

  “But-” She opens her mouth to argue, yet Troy silences her with one look and helps her off the stool. Just as they get to the front door, he spins her around to look down at her as Moonlight climbs into the driver’s seat of the sedan.

  “What were you going to tell me?” He asks quickly. Cassidy shivers at the proximity of his face to hers, and debates whether or not she should tell him the big secret. But it wouldn’t sway him, and she wouldn’t want to use something like this against him.

  “It can wait.” She tells him quietly as their eyes meet, and Troy sees the lie there. He lets his hand trail up her arm until it’s resting on the back of her neck, and tilts her head for adequate access. Cassidy doesn’t fight what she knows is coming and lets herself go for those few brief seconds that Troy kisses her. It’s rough and full of promises that she knows he may never be able to keep, and then she’s hurrying down the steps before she starts begging him to come with her.

  They both have unfinished business to take care of before the personal business between them can be discussed. Moonlight waves once before he starts the sedan and disappears with Cassidy by his side. Troy looks at the new porch post and tries to remind himself that screaming and tearing things apart did nothing the last time his heart ached this much. It won’t help now.

  The first thing he does when he gets inside the house is book a flight to Los Angeles. He chooses an obscure, small airport on the outskirts of the city and packs two changes of clothes. It shouldn’t take him more than two days to track down the hitman who was hired to kill Robert Grant. Troy knows exactly who the man is due to his signature of leaving the porch light on. It could be a coincidence, but he’s ninety nine percent sure it’s an old colleague of his.

  Two hours pass by with him sitting inside his home, and three times he almost backs out of the plan. He could just let this go and continue to run, but if he sends a message to his pursuers, may hap they will stop chasing. All the while, Troy tries to figure out what Cassidy was attempting to tell him. He still is clueless by the time his departure draws near, and he decides to put it on the back burner as he loads up his duffle bag of belongings.

  A scribbled note resides on the stool that Cassidy sat on merely hours before. Inside the folded flaps of that piece of paper are three words. They’re the three words that Troy has yet to mutter to her, and he wonders if he will ever get the chance.

  The BMW purrs to life, and he barrels down the road at the same reckless speeds as before. He has to admit the car is fun, even if he didn’t want it in the first place. The airport is almost deserted, save a few elderly people boarding the same flight as Troy, and a young couple who look as if they’re on their honeymoon. His bag passes as a carry on, and his identification clears.

  Troy pulls the one device he missed for the past two months from his pocket and smiles as he puts the ear buds in. They’re purple because they were Lilly’s favorite color, and there are a few songs on the iPod he won’t ever listen to. But it’s nice to have it back.

  The flight is not long, and it’s rather smooth. Troy pulls his headphones out as soon as the plane touches down and pockets the device. He doesn’t go anywhere without it, and even when it stops working he won’t get rid of it. This is the only artifact from his old life that was worth saving because it reminds him of the good times he had with his family. Now he has to avenge someone else’s.

  He’s pleasant to the flight attendant that smiles at him and wishes him a good day. Troy is also amicable towards the man that pulls him aside to check is bag one last time, and then he’s stepping out of the airport onto the busy streets of L.A. Unable to help himself, he hails a cab and slips into the back.

  “76 N. Rochester Street.” He tells the driver as he slips the man two twenties. It’ll take them a long time to get back to his old haunts, but Troy needs to find closure for the man he was, Robert Trenton.

  Brick buildings and skyscrapers both compete for space as they reach for the sky, and Troy feels himself falling into old habits. He pulls out a sweatshirt from his duffle bag. It’s not because the air is slightly chilled in the late, summer weather, but because he does not want anyone to recognize him. The hood comes up as they pass through the traffic like water through the cracks.

  “Keep the change,” Troy tells the gentleman as he exits the vehicle.

  In front of him is the dingy building that he spent his adult life in up until almost two months ago. His old apartment has already been rented out to someone because he would never have flowers on the tiny balcony three stories up. There’s also a plastic chair with a tiny stand that holds another vase of flowers. Troy stares at the balcony for an exceedingly long time as he wonders if the locks are different.

  This isn’t why he came here though. Turning on his heel, he walks four blocks down with the hood up to cover his face. People glance at him sideways, but it’s not because they recognize him. The man walking amidst them is tall and even under the sweatshirt he looks like a killer. It’s not hard to fall into the old habit of moving lithely and deliberately.

  The faces on this street are unfamiliar, but the building he stops at is extremely familiar. He lets the accustomed rage and self-loathing fill him as he stares at the entrance to his sister’s old apartment building. Unable to bring himself to look up at the balcony of this one to see if there are flowers on it, Troy turns away from the glass, revolving door and shoves his hands into his pockets. He needs a weapon.

  “Robert!” The voice stops him dead in his tracks, and Troy feels his back muscles bunching as he waits for a bullet to hit him there. When none comes, he starts walking again in an attempt to deter the person from pursuing him. Her squeaky voice washes over him again. “Robert Trenton!” The woman calls out to him.

  He hears the footsteps on the sidewalk and increases his own until he’s almost at a power walking pace, but the young woman catches up anyway. Her cheeks are flushed prettily as she puts an arm on Troy’s forearm to grab his attention. He tries to shake her off, but her friendly demeanor quickly vanishes.

  “You have some fucking nerve showing up here after what happened!” The day he was told he would be entering the Witness Protection Program, Troy was told to stay away from the city he grew up in. He should have heeded the warning, and yet here he is.

  “Go home, Tracy. Otherwise, you’ll end up like my family.” Her face becomes gray as the realization hits her that she’s hanging on the arm of a killer and a wanted man. The woman with alluring caramel eyes and peach flesh glances around nervously. She runs a hand through her curly, brown hair and lets go of Troy’s arm.

  “So it’s true? None of that was just a ruse?” Did he really hang out with her and bang her a few times? She’s dumber than some of the bricks surrounding him.

  “Why the hell would it all be a ruse, Tracy? Of course it’s fucking true! Now scat home before you get a target on your own back, and forget the name Robert Trenton.” Her bottom lip trembles as she takes a step back from him, and he sees her hand rest on her abdomen. The gesture seems awkwardly familiar, but Troy can’t remember where he’s seen it before.

  Before he can ask her what she’s doing, Troy turns away from her and ducks into an alley to see if anyone else is following him. He reaches the end and glances back, but there’s no one. Still suspicious, he waits about thirty seconds with his back to the wall just outside of the alley. No one comes through, so he he
ads off to the right into the dying light of an L.A. sunset. He knows just where to get a gun without exposure.

  Seven blocks away from his sister’s old apartment, Troy is in the part of the city that no one dares wander into without a purpose. He fingers the cash in his pocket and keeps his gaze on the sidewalk as he moves along, effectively keeping anyone from seeing his face. A few kids are playing on one corner, and what used to be comforting and familiar is not just sad to him. Kids shouldn’t have to grow up in places like this.

  The scent of hot dogs wafts from a window as he passes, and his stomach grumbles. But he doesn’t want to have to perform what he’s going to do tonight with a full stomach. He’ll have to wait until after he can live with himself to eat. That may never happen.

  A small convenience store with a glass door awaits him at the end of the street, and when he opens it up a tiny doorbell overhead jingles. The cashier at the register looks up, and as soon as his eyes meet the obsidian gaze looking out from the sweatshirt hood, he cracks a smile. Before he can alert any of the other customers, which consists of mostly kids, Troy raises a hand for silence and starts heading for the back.

  The balding man in his fifties locks up his register as quick as he can and trails after Troy with a warning glare to the kids. He doesn’t want any of his candy stolen while he’s gone, but that’s inevitable in this part of town. Half his shelves will be empty while he’s making his money from Troy in the back. But the convenience store is not what keeps his family fed. It’s the selling of illegal guns.

  “Robert!” The man says when they’re in the safety of the back room. Boxes of food items line the walls, and then there’s the small door between those boxes. The balding man opens up the padlock on that door, and motions for Troy to follow him.

  “How is business, Mick?” His voice is neutral as he picks through the selections. There are the automatics, the pistols, and then the classic shotguns. But he’s not here for shotguns or automatics; he’s going to need a Glock with a silencer.

  “It’s good, kid. How’s yours?” Troy pauses as he looks around the table for a silencer for the Glock in his hands. When he finally finds one, he unscrews the tip of the barrel and screws on the silencer to gauge the weight. He won’t be shooting from a long range, but he doesn’t want something hard to handle either, just in case.

  “I’m doing alright. Life’s a little different now. In fact, you’d best keep your mouth shut about me being around, Mick. If anyone knows you sold me a weapon, they’ll off you as they did my family.” Mick’s face grows a little paler as he purses his lips. The man looks as if he’s reexamining the decision to let Troy into the back of his convenience store.

  “You find what you needed?” He asks hurriedly, and Troy unscrews the silencer. It’s a wet one, so he’ll need to grease it before he uses it. But that can be picked up at any local hardware store.

  “I did. How much?” Mick takes only a few seconds to decide how much he’d like for the stolen goods.

  “Three thousand.” Troy’s laugh echoes around the room as he pockets the weapons. Then he scoops up a packet of bullets off the table and pockets those, as well.

  “I’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars, and that’s generous!” His lips twitch up at the corners as he waits for a rebuttal.

  “I’m taking a huge risk having you here right now! You said so yourself! Three thousand is enough to overrule that risk; otherwise, I might have to make a phone call after you leave.” Troy’s fingers twitch at his sides as he looks at a man he used to consider a friend, and he wonders why he ever thought that.

  “How will you make a phone call if you’re dead, Mick? Eighteen hundred dollars is my final offer, and you retain your life.” The decision is a tough one for Mick, but he nods his wobbly chin once and Troy forks over the cash. He doesn’t say goodbye as he waltzes from the back room and crunches over the bags of chips that were scattered about the place. It looks as if a hurricane came through.

  The grease for the silencer costs a lot less than the weapon itself, which leaves him with barely enough money for a flight home. He’ll be staying on the streets tonight, but that’s alright. Troy does his best hunting when he’s wandering, and he’s sure to come across some details about the whereabouts of a specific hit man.

  He could check the old haunt they both frequented when they were younger. With that in mind, Troy starts walking to the even rougher side of town. First he has to find the hit man who killed Cassidy’s father, torture out who hired him, and find that person. Revenge can be a bitch, but it’s one that Troy is willing to cat fight with tonight.

  * * *

  It stinks.

  He used to like the smell of raunchy flesh and stale beer, but now it just reminds him of the times that were not so pleasant. He thought they were the best of times when he was living them, but now he knows a sweeter side of life. The side of life that involves a woman who actually cares and one that might come to understand him some day. Troy wants to give that a chance for a while longer.

  “Robert Trenton!” Heads turn, his back stiffens, and Troy smiles at his old name on the lips of a woman he used to frequent. Her dark hair is teased into curls tonight, and she’s wearing green, glittering eye shadow that makes her look like a stripper.

  Oh, wait. Troy thinks with a coy smile.

  She’s wearing pasties tonight, which is a change of pace for Jackie. She’s usually wearing nothing, but everything changes. Her eyes sparkle when she sees him staring at her breasts, but what he’s seriously thinking is that he should get himself tested. Not all women who strip use the back rooms, but Jackie sees mostly nothing but the back rooms and barely anything of the actual pole she’s supposed to dance on.

  “Jackie, or is it Baby tonight?” Her lip quirks up at the corner as she pokes him in the chest and swivels close.

  “It’s always Jackie for you, Robbie. Are you here for a dance?” She says this all quite loud, and then her voice drops as she turns towards the wall. “You’d better get your ass out of here if you want your dick attached after tonight! The higher ups are looking for you, Robert, and they’re not happy!” It’s flattering that she cares enough to warn him, but then again, he did practically support her for over eight months with all the time he frequented those back rooms.

  “I was hoping you’d say that, Jackie Baby. Thanks for letting me know.” He lets his hand move down to her hip to make it look as if they’re discussing business, and leans in so that his lips are brushing against her ear as he whispers over the loud music. “If you want to survive tonight, get out.” Her shiver against him is not one of want, and she makes a whimpering noise in her throat as he pushes her away.

  Troy is not in the mood to spare casualties if it goes south.

  Two men eyeball him warily as he sits down at the bar and puts down a ten. He’s going to need a few drinks for this, and it’s still going to be rough. No matter how hard Troy tries, he cannot shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be doing this. But how else will he ensure that they stop coming after him?

  But will this be enough to get them to stop? He wonders as he downs a shot of Yukon Jack. The name of the whisky makes him almost chuckle.

  “You have some nerve, Trenton.” It’s not the man he’s looking for, but this one might know the whereabouts of his target.

  “Why do you say that, Nate?” Troy’s fingers grip the tiny shot glass as he stares at the last drop. He can never seem to get every little drop out of the glass. He tries to use that thought pattern to keep from landing himself in more trouble.

  “You know there’s a hit out on you, right? Fifty thousand dollars for your head on a silver platter, Trenton.” One of the girls makes a startled noise when she sees the knife appear in Nate’s hands. It’s a well-sharpened hunting knife, and one of Nate’s signatures, but this isn’t the man who killed Cassidy’s father. Nate was the closest thing to a friend that Troy had here, and the man is probably considering cashing in Troy’s head for fifty thousand dol
lars.

  “That so? Seems a little cheap, I’m insulted.” Another man settles down on the left side of Troy with a pile of twenties in front of him for the women dancing around the poles. He has no intentions of giving that money away so easily. It’s merely a distraction.

  “You’ve made business very hard for us, kid. Most of the time, we’re getting phone calls about one of our own. Clients are afraid that we’re all going to turn on them because of what you did.” The man’s deep timbre washes over Troy and he turns with an expressionless face.

  “Bobby, it’s so good to see you again. How’s your wife?” It’s evident on Bobby’s leathery, scruffy face that he holds a severe grudge against Troy. His lip is curled up in disgust and his sea green eyes cannot contain the hatred behind a veil of friendship any longer. Troy knocks another shot back to give himself something to do, other than smash the man’s face in. This is the man he came looking for. Now he just needs to figure out a way to get him into the alley.

  “I divorced the bitch for sleeping with your mangy ass. She could have chosen someone much wealthier to sleep with.” For Bobby, it is never a matter of emotional turmoil over a woman cheating on him; it’s a matter of pride. He doesn’t hate Troy because he slept with the man’s wife. It’s because it was Troy she slept with and not the mayor.

  “That’s a shame. She gave one hell of a blow job.” Unfortunately, goading a psychopath can be difficult. Bobby only nods once as if Troy just stated a fact, and slides off his stool.

  “You know we’re here to cash in on that offer, right Trenton?” Nate slides off his own stool and twirls his knife once. A few of the dancers have realized what is happening and crowded to the back by the glowing Exit sign. Someone’s called the police, and the sirens hum in the distance as Troy remains seated. They won’t kill him here. This is just a warning that they’ll be looking for him, and when he’s not in the public eye they’ll strike.