by W L Knightly
Clay was just the type to try and beat the Hangman to the punch, and O’Connor wondered if he’d convinced Michael that there were some loose ends to tie up. As if the man heard his name, Clay looked up and met O’Connor’s eyes, but he didn’t give anything away as he and the girl stepped onto the elevator.
He checked his phone for the time and took another sip of the beer that felt like it was landing in a bottomless pit as he drank it. The hollow feeling in his stomach was nerves. He hadn’t ever been one to be easily rattled, but after knowing what had happened in that hotel to Nina, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to him there.
Finally, after another ten minutes of debate, he got up from the stool, threw down some cash, and made his way to the public bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and then wiped up with a hand towel from the counter. Next to those, there sat a big basket of condoms, and he remembered swiping a few the last time he’d been there. He’d only had to use one. He left the others in the hotel room next to Carla’s phone, and then he’d ran out of there like his ass was on fire. Somehow, they had remained friends, but he’d never gone back to her.
He had ended it shortly after, before things got too messy. He regretted doing it. He had never come clean to his wife, but only because he’d learned his lesson and knew he wasn’t ever going to do anything like that again, no matter how much he felt like he and Callie were fading. He would stick by his wife no matter what. He’d even tried hard to pretend it hadn’t happened, but it usually came back to haunt him when he least expected it. Guilt did that to a person. It crept in like an old ghost to haunt you and make you miserable.
But he had no time for misery. He left the bathroom and made his way to the elevator, hoping that the men would be waiting for him without a noose, gun, or knife.
He glanced at his phone, where Clay had texted the room number, and when he got to the floor, he made his way to the room and knocked on the door.
Clay answered. “Hello, Paddy.” He stepped aside. “The boss is waiting.”
“Clay. Michael. I hope you’ve called me down here for a good reason.”
Michael stood at the window with a drink in his hand. He turned around and smiled, his blond hair perfectly in place, his suit much too crisp and clean to get blood on. “Patrick O’Connor. It’s so good to see you. Allow me to thank you for that favor you did for me.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Nina. I know she meant something to you.”
“Thanks,” he said with what looked like a feigned expression of pity. “It was most unfortunate. She deserved better.”
“I also know you didn’t call me all the way down here for any of that,” said O’Connor. “You could have thanked me in a phone call.”
“You’re right, but what I have to tell you, well, let’s say it’s delicate enough I didn’t want to meet you just anywhere. You see, this is my private suite. I know there are no wires here, no bugs. Not even on your person.”
“I have just as much to lose as you. Even though my job isn’t as powerful, people still look up to me.”
Michael smiled like a smug bastard. “I know. And I know you’re worried that you’ve been marked by the Hangman. I wanted to tell you not to worry. I’m taking care of him tonight. He won’t be a problem anymore.”
“You figured it out, didn’t you?” He wondered who he’d done dealings with and just which time it had backfired.
“Yes. After Judge Mathews, we’ve been closing in. And while we’re not inclined to say who he is, because I don’t want you calling up your detective friend and putting him in my way, I will give you a hint.”
“A hint?”
“Yes. He followed you here tonight. Clay saw him downstairs.”
The chief’s pulse raced. He hadn’t seen anyone he knew following him or looking suspicious, but now the meeting made more sense. “You used me as bait!” His voice boomed, and Michael’s back stiffened.
He raised his hand. “Calm down. You were never in any danger. Besides, I wouldn’t go getting all up in arms about it. Clay knows his mark, and he’s watching him. He’ll follow the man out and wait for a proper moment to strike.”
“So, I guess you want me to lure him out too?”
“No, he doesn’t know Clay’s onto him. You’ll stay here and wait him out. Once he gives up, thinking you’re going to stay, you can go home, but until then, let’s see what he does.”
“Do you think he’d wait all night?”
“I wouldn’t,” said Clay. “Especially when he can get you at home any day of the week. He probably thinks you’re meeting a lover.”
O’Connor wondered what happened to the young woman he’d come in with, but before he could ask, Michael answered the question. “I, myself, have a date. I don’t want to keep her waiting. She’s next door. I could have her call up a friend if you’re so inclined.”
“I’m a married man,” said O’Connor. “I’m good.”
“Paddy, the faithful,” teased Clay. “Your old lady is away. No one would ever know. You’re staying here anyway. Might as well make the most of your time, right?”
“I said I’m good.” His tone was harsh, and Clay kept staring at his phone.
“He’s on the move,” said Clay. “He must not have been so eager to find you after all. He’s already leaving.”
“Be careful with him, Clay. He’s smarter than you think. Don’t underestimate him.” O’Connor could see Clay letting his guard down, only to get himself killed.
Clay walked to the door. “Relax, old man. I’ll be fine, but thanks for caring all the same.” He looked over at Michael. “I did tell you about mine and Paddy’s past, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, he’s loyal to a fault, is he not?”
“He’s one of the good ones,” said Clay, as if O’Connor wasn’t there. “He’s only got one problem. He’s always cared too much what people think of him.” With that, Clay left the room.
“You really knew his old man?”
“Yeah, I’ve known Clay since he was a boy. When his father went to prison.” He had always felt responsible for how the kid turned out, even though it was really a situation his parents had put him in.
“I see. So, are you sure you don’t want me to call you up some entertainment?”
“Nah,” said O’Connor. “I think I’ll call my wife and watch some TV. You two let me know when it’s safe to go home.”
Michael walked to the door. “Will do, but do me a favor. Don’t call your detective friend. I know you’re close to him, but getting him involved at this point isn’t a good idea. You can call him after and say you got a tip. I know you know why I don’t want him involved.”
He was surprised the man didn’t spell it out, but he’d vowed never to speak of it again the last time they spoke in detail of their arrangement. He’d even promised to deny it. “I understand.” He nodded to assure the man he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
“Good deal. I wouldn’t want anything to mess up our arrangement. I know you know how much it means to me.”
“Yeah. I know.” With one last nod, O’Connor watched Michael Young open the door to leave. When he closed it behind him, he let out a long breath and walked over to the couch where he sank into the seat. It was all too much for one evening. He looked over at the mini bar across the room but decided to call his wife instead.
Chapter 18
The Hangman
Being the Hangman had taken away all he used to be, and now as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, he didn’t recognize himself.
His eyes no longer matched, one being permanently bloodshot, making his hood even more necessary, and the thick scar around his neck, a permanent reminder of what he had almost done when he’d given up on the man he used to be, was better hidden from his victims.
It had taken nearly killing himself to realize what he had to do. Vengeance was the only way to make it right and save others from the corrupt system that had not only let him down but tarnished the
memory of his wife and daughter.
He looked up at the photo of them that he kept taped on the bathroom mirror, a reminder of his new purpose and encouragement to do what had to be done. His eyes always went to Alyssa first, only because the smile she had in the photo commanded his attention, as it had in life. She had been the most beautiful girl he’d ever met, and her blonde hair reminded him of warm sunlight, the kind that kissed your face and wrapped you in a warm embrace on a beautiful sunny day. He looked at his little girl, her freckles and pale pigtails, her bright yellow sun dress. She was a little flower, delicate and pure, so fragile and new.
But then he closed his eyes, and everything turned red.
When he walked into their house that evening, it was eerily quiet, and even though he knew they were home, he had the overwhelming sense that he was alone, which put him on edge.
“Honey, I’m home,” he had said, making his way to the back of the house. “Where are my girls?”
He could already smell the blood and piss from the hallway. The smell of death that he’d experienced in the military awakened his senses.
“Alyssa?” he called out as he pushed the door open.
They were both lying in the bed, and before he realized their positions were all wrong, before he realized the red stains were not their clothes or covers, he thought they were napping.
But then the horror set in. The memory of it still made his breath hitch. He ran over and screamed out as he saw the two of them. Alyssa’s midsection looked like someone had taken a shredder to her, while his baby girl, Emma, who lay next to her, had one single wound. The entire bed was blood soaked, Alyssa’s face in a permanent look of horror, her mouth gaped, her eyes bugged.
Little Emma looked so peaceful compared to her mom as if she never knew what was happening around her, and even though he knew that was a lie, he liked to believe it for her sake.
All he could do was call the police and hope that whoever did it was brought to justice, even though he wanted to rip them apart with his bare hands.
The sound of his perimeter alarm brought his head around, and as he opened his eyes, the photograph came back into focus, reminding him what he’d lost and sending a fresh wave of anger through his veins.
There wasn’t supposed to be anyone on his property, and the occasional large animal could occasionally trigger it, but it wasn’t likely since it was only sensitive to certain sizes of disturbance. He went to stop the noise and then walked to the back where he saw someone’s shadow moving beyond his back porch in the tree line across the lawn. He decided to let the motherfucker make his move before killing him.
Someone had found him, and judging from the stupidity and attempt at stealth, it wasn’t Detective Thomas or the spoiled bitch who had been hired to replace him.
He went around front and made his way to the back, using the trees along his property for cover. He was much better at it than the other man, but only because he knew the woods like the back of his hand.
The man stepped out into his backyard, and the Hangman knew it was time to make his move. He tiptoed stealthily around his outbuilding and then behind the flowering bushes his wife had planted in their backyard for their sweet fragrance. He never could remember the name, but she did. She had always known that kind of thing, and it was the first thing she’d done to their new home.
The man hurried over to the woodshed, using it for cover as the outdoor light shined on something in his hand. The Hangman decided it was the perfect time to strike. He ran up on the man and made a move to disarm him, but once the gun was knocked from his hand, the fight was on.
“You son of a bitch,” said the other man as he swung out, connecting with the Hangman’s face. He hadn’t had time for a hood, but if the man was there, he already knew who he was. He might as well get a good look at what had been done to him since the murder of his family.
He growled as the man’s fist connected, determined that he wouldn’t get the best of him. He had plenty of training to assure that wouldn’t happen, and with a series of moves, he had the man down on the ground, his face planted in the grass.
“Nice try, asshole.” He choked him out, putting him to sleep so he could drag his body into the house. He took him down to the cellar of the old ranch house which he and Alyssa had planned to turn into their dream home. He’d had to move in all alone, but the rooms had been renovated to his needs, including the basement.
He didn’t mind the man’s body as he dragged him down the stairs and hoped each step he came in contact with left a nice bruise.
The fucker was getting heavier with each step, and by the time the Hangman got him to the chair he would tie him in, the same chair he had tried to stand on to hang himself, he was out of breath and had broken a sweat. He stepped back and wiped his brow. It was hard work being a murderer, but if you can’t beat them, join them. At least he had a real purpose.
He went for the restraints and secured the man’s feet and hands. This would put a hitch in his plans, but he was okay with it. He would simply kill two birds with one stone if needed.
The man roused minutes later as the Hangman went across the room to fetch his knife. He had recently replaced a few of his favorites that were stolen when Alyssa and Emma were taken from him.
The man fought against his restraints. “Untie me, you bastard.” The man’s voice was strained with pain and frustration.
The Hangman was unfazed by him. He had no emotion or sympathy left for terrible humans. “Fuck you.”
The man spat at his feet. “Fuck you! Untie me and let me go, or your entire plan is going to go to shit.”
“Do you think I’d just let you walk out of here? I don’t think so. I know who you work for. Do you think you could come here and take me out? I have alarms all over the place. I knew the minute you stepped out of those woods.”
“My boss is a very powerful man. If he doesn’t hear from me, he knows to rain hell down on you. You will not get away with shit.”
The only way his boss could rain hell and not out his own involvement was to use his ace in the hole. “You mean the chief?”
Clay gave a smug laugh. “My boss is not the chief.”
The Hangman knew exactly who he was dealing with now that he had the asshole in the lighted basement. “Oh, I know all about your boss. His power. His connections. But you see, I also know that he likes to work behind the scenes. It would be hard to keep his place in the Senate if he outed himself as a criminal. That’s why he uses you, Clay White. That’s why he uses Chief O’Connor. I’m well aware how the game is played.”
“You know all about games. I guess you’re going to draw a stick figure in my blood and then hang me from the beam.” He looked up at the beam overhead. “Damn, looks like that beam has already broken. This is an old house. I guess you should have thought about that before you tried to hang yourself.”
The Hangman didn’t dignify that with a response.
“That’s what that’s from, right? I can see the scar around your neck and what it did to your eye. Hey, I don’t blame you. Your family gets hacked up, and you want to off yourself, but you don’t succeed, so you want revenge. It’s understandable, but you and me? We both know where this ends up, and that’s why I can’t let it happen.”
“You’re not going to stop anything. And as for your friends, I don’t think they’ll be able to stop me either.” He wasn’t going down easily, and anyone who thought he would had grossly underestimated him.
“You can’t get to the chief even if you wanted.” Clay laughed, and the Hangman hated his stupid grin. He was so cocky and full of himself that he didn’t even know when to give up.
“Why? Because you and Michael have him locked away at the Rockford?” Clay’s face fell as he spoke. “Don’t count on it.”
He was sick of hearing Clay talk and walked over to the table where he kept some of his tools and found a dirty rag he had used for cleaning. It would do to keep him quiet. He didn’t even bother shaking it out be
fore stuffing the filthy rag into Clay’s face. He fought against him at first, but the Hangman grabbed both sides of his mouth and pried his jaw open. Then he crammed the rag in, minding his teeth as not to get bitten.
Clay’s eyes were wild and full of hate for him as he stepped back. “It must suck to be helpless. I think I’ll let you sit there a while before I kill you and let you experience just what that feels like the moment you realize that your world is fucked.” He walked over to the work table where he kept his box of syringes. He couldn’t leave him too awake and miserable. He didn’t want to take a chance of him getting away before he could make his next move.
Even though Clay fought it, he managed to stick him with the needle and pushed the drugs into his veins. “On second thought, sweet fucking dreams, asshole.”
He walked away, knowing that he had to get to his next target before he could get the detectives involved. Surely, O’Connor hadn’t shown all of his cards yet. He would want to keep his secrets as long as he could, especially from his pet Thomas. He had to act sooner than he wanted. And before he did anything else, he’d have to leave the house and find another location. Somewhere that no one knew about. He had just the spot.
Chapter 19
Jake
The vibration of his phone rattled his head, and he opened his eyes to find himself on Jo’s couch with one of the throw pillows under his head, along with half of his phone. He rolled over and answered it, to find Jo at the other end of the couch where she’d been sitting since the night before. Only now, she had her legs curled up beside her and her feet tucked with his.
“Yeah,” he said with a low, raspy voice.
“Hey,” said Chief O’Connor. “What was it you wanted to tell me last night?”