by Jonas Saul
Just be careful. A dead Sarah doesn’t help anyone.
Parkman, can you look into an investigative reporter working in Italy called The Cowboy?
Of course. When do you want this?
I’ll try to contact you at the same time tomorrow.
In the middle of the night? It may be almost one in the afternoon where you are, but it’s four in the morning here.
Sorry, I’ll wait until the evening. Tomorrow night then?
A car pulled up out front. It stopped too fast. Four men jumped out. The clerk didn’t pay any attention. Ponytail man beside her had his head down as he studied his screen.
The four men acted wrong to her. They examined the street with their backs to the Internet spot, watching for something.
Parkman, gotta run. Chat soon. Sarah signed off and erased her history.
At the window, one of the men lifted his hands to the sides of his face and pressed up against the glass to look in. When he did, his jacket opened enough to expose the gun resting on his ribcage.
Shit!
Sarah ripped the headphones off her head and rose from her chair.
Frank was reeling at the luck of not only finding her, but being able to sit beside her. When he entered the Internet spot, he spoke Italian to the clerk, using rare Italian words to tell him that he needed this specific booth. The clerk didn’t even bat an eye.
As Frank sat, he caught the briefest glance of Skype on Sarah’s computer. It was perfect. He needed to call in, too.
After logging in, he dialed his employer. Once on the phone, he typed.
I’ve got the subject. I’m ready to move forward.
His employer typed back. You’re too late.
How’s that? Our arrangement allows until tonight.
You went offline. It worried me. You went rogue. The gambler is no longer your target. Nor is the subject you refer to. I’m sticking to the original plan.
The original plan?
The gambler went rogue, doing his own thing. That was the reason for hiring you. But he’s back and assured me that he’s on the same agenda.
You’re not in a position to cancel my contract. It is non-negotiable.
Consider it cancelled. This is our last communication. I will not take calls from you, nor am I associated with you.
The screen changed as his employer clicked off.
Frank hadn’t expected that. He should have seen it coming. Since Sarah had been his main focus, he must have lost touch with the reality of the job. There would be consequences. His employer had to be held accountable.
He had never been fired before. He never wanted to be fired again. It angered him in ways he couldn’t imagine and led him to the only logical conclusion.
His employer couldn’t be allowed to live. The cost involved with having someone out there who felt he had failed in his task would have the potential to hurt his twelve-year reputation. He hadn’t failed, though. Nothing had changed. The employer got cold feet, that was all. Cold feet killed men. Cold feet was a weakness, and lack of strength was what Charles Darwin spoke of when he said survival of the fittest.
Frank was mentally and physically fit. The job would continue as planned, but now there was an addendum. His employer just got added to the list of executions.
It began on Frank’s terms and it ended on Frank’s terms. That’s the way it had always been and would always be.
Sarah’s head rose beside him. He clicked out of Skype, erased his history on the browser and closed it down.
It was time to talk to Sarah. Time to get her to trust him. Then he would invite her to dinner and enjoy her company, possibly her young body.
When he turned toward her, she stood up so fast, her headphones ripped from her head and the chair smacked against the wall.
She had a small black gun in her hand.
What the fuck?
Then the front panes of the Internet spot shattered into a million pieces, covering them in glass.
The man outside Infomatica peered through the glass at Sarah as she got up and then at the man with the ponytail beside her. Like a dark curtain, recognition draped across his face. He either knew her or the man with the ponytail.
Or both of us.
Through the glass, she barely caught his Italian commands, but the rest of the men heard him perfectly.
They drew their weapons in unison and turned to the windows.
Sarah yanked out her Sig. The man with the ponytail turned to look at her.
Then the windows shattered, showering her in tiny shards of glass.
She ducked and covered her head, shouting as the weapons outside the store burst out a scary staccato. She raised the Sig to shoot blind, but there was no recoil. It didn’t fire.
The safety.
She dove for the tile floor behind Ponytail’s chair and landed hard, already rolling behind the large counter where the smart clerk had dropped.
More gunfire shattered the afternoon calm. Lights in the ceiling shattered, roof tiles shredded, and the glass display cabinet behind the counter showered them with more tiny pieces of glass.
“Fuck!” Sarah shouted.
Ponytail man landed hard by the edge of the counter. Sarah raised her weapon, flicked off the safety and almost put a round through his face. He dragged himself to safety behind the counter using his arms.
“Bloody hell!” he shouted. “Don’t shoot me.” He studied the gun in her hand as bits of glass fell on his stomach. “Do you know how to use that thing?”
She nodded.
“Then help.” He got up on one knee and raised his gun over the top of the counter, firing indiscriminately.
Sarah did the same. She fired at the now retreating men. Two were sprawled on the floor, bleeding from wounds created by Ponytail.
Good shot.
The other two headed for the parked car. She saved her bullets as the men weren’t a threat anymore.
Ponytail took careful aim. As the man getting into the passenger seat was about to shut the door, Ponytail fired once more.
The man’s head rocked back, one of his eyes disappearing in a dark orb of blood. He dropped forward, slumped against the dash and stopped moving. The driver turned the car on, shoved his dead passenger out the door and hit the gas. The car door slammed shut with the forward motion.
“What the hell was that?” Sarah asked as she got to her feet. “Were they after you or someone else?” She kept her weapon in her hand, safety off in case Ponytail was a problem.
He slipped his weapon away and stood up.
“We need to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Sarah shouted. She looked him up and down. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the cowboy you were supposed to meet in Rome. I’m the investigative reporter and those men were trying to silence me. They don’t want me talking to you.”
Chapter 29
Two blocks away, at the train station, a pedestrian tunnel led under the tracks.
Inside the tunnel, Sarah stood on one side, her back pressed against the graffiti-laden wall, the Sig firmly in her hand. The Cowboy tried to explain his presence at the Internet spot from the other wall.
“I watched you and the FBI man from the moment you got to Termini,” Cowboy said. “I was supposed to make contact, but I was waiting until I was absolutely sure the coast was clear. When I saw that other man dressed as a cowboy, I knew I had to be careful.”
“Who is the other man dressed as a cowboy?” Sarah asked.
He shrugged. “I have no idea, but I think he killed your FBI friend.”
“First, he wasn’t FBI, nor was he my friend. Second, I can’t tell if you’re lying. Until I’m sure, I want your gun.”
The man extended his arms away from his sides in an exaggerated gesture of compliance. “I have it for protection. The articles I’ve written about GMOs have garnered death threats.” He eased the gun out. “I want this back as soon as you can learn to trust me.”
She gestured for him to drop it with the tip of her Sauer.
“I’ll kick it over. But you’ll take care of it, right?”
She nodded.
“When will I get it back?”
She raised the Sig and stepped closer. “Drop it and kick it over or you’ll never need to worry about it again.”
“Please, you have to trust me.” He set the gun on the cement and kicked it hard enough to bump the wall beside Sarah.
She lowered her gun but didn’t put it away. “Do you have any other weapons on you?”
He shook his head.
“Are you aware of the penalty of lying to me?”
He looked confused.
“Then I’ll tell you.” She pointed at his crotch. “An entire magazine emptied in there to make you a woman. Would you like that?”
“Why are you being so mean? I’m on your side.”
“First, I’m not being mean. I do what I do to stay alive. Second, I’ll determine if you’re on my side.”
“You don’t call what you said mean?”
“You’re still alive. I’m being nice.” She knelt down to pick up his weapon. “I trust no one. I was told that my colleague and I were supposed to meet an investigative reporter. Since then, I can’t trust anyone, which includes you. Convince me otherwise. Why shouldn’t I kill you right now? Give me something juicy so I can spare your life because I’m really sick and tired of people lying to me.”
The Cowboy looked both ways and cleared his throat. He wiped his face with his hand. “I’ll tell you what I know.” He paused as a train rumbled overhead. “Your name is Sarah Roberts. You’re in Italy to meet with me. I was expecting to meet with the FBI as well, but you’re saying he wasn’t FBI.”
She nodded and rolled her hand in a circle a few times. “Anybody could read an online newspaper and know who I am. Talk faster. I want meat with my dinner.”
“I’ve written many articles against GMOs and been fired from my job a couple of times. I want Italy to remain the strong agricultural country we’re known for, not the puppet of some bio-tech company with their team of white-coated scientists. There’s a man named Sam Marconi that has been known to run in Mafia circles. Every reporter knows his name. I believe he murdered the Agricultural Minister and I believe he wants to kill two more ministers before he’s done.”
“How would you know this?”
“I’m an investigative reporter. It’s what I do. There’s a conference coming up in Umbertide at the end of the week. These three ministers have signed a decree to ban GMOs. Once it comes out at the conference, it’ll be published and become legal. But if they’re dead during or before the conference, not much will happen with the decree. I think someone high up is orchestrating everything.”
“Pull out your cell phone.”
“I don’t have one on me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t lie. I’ve warned you about lying.”
“Seriously, I don’t.”
“How do you stay in contact with anyone? How could you call for help?”
“Yell?”
“You’re not a comedian. Something isn’t right about this. You’re hiding something.”
“I swear, I’m not.”
The Cowboy had broken out in a sweat.
“Wedding ring?” Sarah asked. “You married?”
He shook his head.
“Let me see your hands.”
He held them up. On the index finger of his right hand sat a gold ring. She moved closer and took the finger in her hand.
“What’s this ring?” she asked, studying it.
“I got it from my mother when I first took the job at the—”
Sarah flipped his hand around and twisted his wrist back. Then she pulled his wrist at a ninety-degree angle into her body and bore weight down on it until he screamed and dropped to one knee in front of her.
“What the fuck?” he yelled at her, his voice cracking.
Sarah bent close to his ear. “Tell me the truth. You’re lying to me about something.”
“No. I’m not. You have to believe me.”
“I don’t. You fired that weapon too good to be a reporter.”
“Father was in the military. Taught me at ranges.” He moaned and tried to get closer to the ground. “Ahhh, you’re going to break my wrist.”
She slapped his back pockets and felt along his belt line. Upon quick inspection, she found no other weapon or cell phone.
She released his wrist and stood back, the Sig still ready.
He rolled on his side and caressed his wounded wrist. “I came to help you,” he said. “And this is how I get treated?”
“Who were those men after? You or me or both of us?”
“Me. I’m sure of it.”
“Why?”
“Because Marconi is in town tonight. He wants me dead, as does his employer.”
“Who’s his employer?”
Cowboy started to get up. “You know, I don’t think I want to talk to you anymore.”
She stepped inside his space again and placed the weapon on his crotch. “You don’t get options. We do it my way or I’ll save Marconi the trouble.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I’m the closest thing to a friend you’ve got.”
“That so?” he asked. “I’d hate to see my enemy.”
“You’re not funny. Stop trying to be.”
“Neither are you.”
“The difference is I’m not trying to be. Now move.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’ll continue this in a quiet corner of a cafe somewhere. If those men come back and find us down here, we’ll have bought a one-way pass out of this train station to shit knows where.”
He nodded and started walking, still massaging his wrist.
“You walk ahead. Funny stuff gets you a bullet in the ass. You’ll remember how funny you were every time you have to sit on the toilet. Stupid stuff gets a bullet in the crotch. I don’t have to tell you how bad it’ll be when you’re about to have sex and remember that you’re dickless.” She pushed his shoulder. “Walk faster.”
As Frank brilliantly spewed details to Sarah, an idea formed. He could finger his employer and when Sarah made contact with whoever she was working with, an investigation would start. Maybe the best revenge wasn’t killing his weak-ass employer. Maybe the best revenge was watching as he was indicted on conspiracy to commit murder charges.
But Sarah had ruined the idea of seducing her. As soon as she let her guard down, he would kill her. There would be no waiting until the dinner meeting tonight. No waiting on anything. She had nearly broken his wrist and she would pay dearly for that.
He walked ahead, sizing up each turn they made, each block they walked, waiting to surprise her.
He was done playing by the rules. She should have been executed in Rome. It wasn’t his fault that she wasn’t in the room when he got there and saw that FBI man dead.
What the hell was going on anyway? Why did he come all the way to Italy only to kill himself on the balcony of his own hotel room? And now Sarah said he wasn’t even FBI.
Who the hell is Sarah working for? If Marconi was hired to kill the ministers and added two Mafia dons to the list on his own, and Frank was hired to finish the job Marconi started by killing Marconi first, then who hired Sarah?
Now that Marconi was hunting him and almost got him at the Internet spot, he had to watch his back diligently. Walking out in the open like this was risky. They had to get inside somewhere.
He looked back. Sarah was far enough away that he couldn’t grab her but close enough to pull her weapon and shoot him if he tried to run.
But he wouldn’t run. He had her right where he wanted her. They were together and he would use whatever charm he still possessed to woo her into trusting him.
But any time he got the chance, he would take her out.
For hurting his wrist the way she did, he would stomp on her head with his boots. For h
umiliating him and hurting his pride, he would stomp on her chest.
For threatening his manhood, he would stomp on her crotch until that hole was double the size. Then he would fuck her with a grenade and pull the pin when he was done.