“We better go there now while Quinn’s still baking,” Rachel said. “Once he’s out of the oven, we’ll have to wait years to get in there.”
“First off,” Jean said, her face crinkling into distasteful disapproval, “yuck! How dare you speak of my unborn brother as a bun in the oven! We should never go to a place where they discriminate against kids.”
“That makes it unanimous,” Rachel replied, yanking Jean toward the door, “the ‘Grotto’ it is. Besides, it’s a clear night with no ocean fog. It’ll be beautiful on the Wharf.”
“I protest this,” Jean called out as she was dragged through the door.
“You’ll get over it,” Nick replied, setting their security system. “They have great desserts there too. I’ll get you something special.”
“No way do you get the dessert tray anywhere near the Momster.” Jean ran for the car.
* * *
“That was so good. Jean won’t have to browbeat me into staying away from the dessert tray tonight. I’m stuffed.”
“You did very well, Hon,” Nick complimented her. “You ate small sized portions, and drank plenty of ice water with lemon.”
Jean made gagging noises. “Quit sucking up, Dad.”
“You’re really cruisin’ tonight, Dagger. What the heck’s gotten into you today,” Nick asked. “You’ve been trying out every sarcastic remark you can think of on your Mom. Is something going on I don’t know about?”
“She won’t let me go to the school dance.”
“You’re only nine years old for God’s sake,” Rachel said.
“I didn’t even know they had dances for kids under thirteen,” Nick replied. “Man… I’m old. When does this dance take place and what time do they have something like that?”
“It’s next Friday right after school,” Jean answered, Nick’s questions giving her hope, because Rachel’s mouth was tightening. “My whole class is going. There will only be kids there from nine years old to twelve. It will be in the gym. It’s not like we’ll be getting motel rooms afterward.”
“Jean!”
Nick turned away, his face betraying the humor threatening to break free. He faced the music finally as Jean was giggling, accompanied by glaring laser beams of anger from Rachel’s eyes. “Look, would it help if I volunteered to chaperone this event. They do have chaperones, right? I could make sure there’s nothing dangerous going on – no slow dancing gropes, no exchanging room keys, no sneaking behind the bleachers.”
“I thought we agreed we were not giving in to this nine year old terrorist,” Rachel said. “Where’s my backup?”
“Woe there. I didn’t know this was decided. This is the first I’ve heard of it, so naturally, I thought we were discussing the event. If you say no, I’m backing your call on it.”
Nick could tell Rachel was having second thoughts.
“I may have jumped the gun in not talking to you about it,” Rachel admitted. “I figured you’d think it was cute, and no big deal. I’m having trouble thinking of nine year old girls at dances. My Mom used to say they had square dances, and promenades with kids in the younger grades when she went to school. Nowadays, all I can picture is wild assed bands, drugs, and child predators.”
“I can’t disagree with your perception,” Nick replied. “Although the music may be loud, and a lot different than a square dance or promenade, it’ll probably be the girls dancing with each other. The boys will all be lined along the wall, watching. That’s where I spent my first dance, huddled against a wall with other boys too afraid to ask a girl to dance.”
“You did?” Jean, instantly interested in this new Nick story, forgot all about the dance. “I bet you were cute. Why didn’t you ask a girl to dance? Didn’t you like any of them?”
Nick shrugged. “I was thirteen, living in a Foster Home with a bunch of other kids. I couldn’t dance, and I didn’t want to learn with what I figured would be all my class laughing at me. I wasn’t alone. I had plenty of company on the wall. Yes, I had crushes on a couple of the girls. If one of them would have said hi, I would probably have fainted.”
“You were a wallflower. That is so cool. I bet you got really popular later in school. You probably had all kinds of girls hanging around you.”
“We didn’t have girls where they sent me. Shortly after those early dance times, I hurt some boys real bad. When I did my time, I quit school after I reached sixteen before I did something that landed me in prison for the rest of my life. I joined the Army. They liked me. After finding out I was good with languages, I did receive a lot of schooling. You two already know I eventually made it into Delta Force, but alas, no childhood sweethearts. That’s the scoop on my high school love life. The picture of a sandy haired freckle faced Rachel reminded me so much of a girl I knew in high school, I went to meet your Mom, and then I drove East to take care of the guy who wanted her dead.”
Nick’s telling of his earlier days in such bleak terms caught both Rachel and Jean by surprise. “Hey… it happened long ago, and now I’m here with you two, living the dream.”
Rachel turned to Jean. She clutched Jean’s hand in hers. “As long as Nick chaperones, you can go to the dance. After that story, I’d probably let you hitch hike to Cleveland.”
That statement earned some laughs, and a hug from Jean. “Thanks, Mom. I feel like finding something special on the dessert tray now.”
Nick motioned for their waitress to inquire about dessert. She left Jean with a dessert menu with more choices, promising to return in a few moments. Jean settled on cherry cheesecake. With it in front of her, Jean ate tiny bites, rolling her eyes, and making over the top noises of enjoyment until she broke Rachel.
“Curse you, Daughter of Darkness!” Rachel signaled the waitress for a serving of the cherry cheesecake too.
Two men in suits, Nick saw enter the restaurant, caught sight of him. They spoke together, and then walked toward Nick’s table. Always positioning himself to see the entrance to any place he frequented, Nick knew his quirky precautions amused Rachel and Jean. Nick leaned back in his chair while smiling at Rachel’s irritation ordering the cheesecake. He also shifted a hand to his .45 Colt under the back of his light jacket.
“We have company, girls. No matter what, do not leave this restaurant until I find out what’s going on. If I leave with these guys, you and Jean head for home.”
“Understood,” Rachel acknowledged.
The waitress brought Rachel’s cheesecake as Nick’s visitors arrived, the short haired, beefy blond one in a black suit leading. His partner looked to be a few inches over six feet tall, and a couple inches taller than the blonde. The taller one’s lean featured face, and nearly black hair trimmed to an even stubble, made the smile he was gracing Nick with a menacing sight.
“Mr. McCarty,” the blonde one began, “I am Mr. Smith, and this is my associate, Mr. Jones. My employer would like to speak with you. He has a limousine waiting in the parking lot. We would like you all to come with us, I will of course pay your tab.”
“My wife just now ordered cheesecake, and my little girl, isn’t finished with hers. I think we’ll stay. Have your employer call me. I’m sure if he found where I was dining tonight, he can find my phone number.”
Mr. Smith smiled, leaning forward with his hands on the table. “I’m afraid we’ll have to insist, Mr. McCarty.”
It was then the barrel of Nick’s .45 Colt barrel end peeked out from under the napkin Nick held over it loosely. “I don’t think so, Mr. Smith. I’m going to stand, and you two will walk out of the restaurant in front of me. Walk with your hands holding the bottoms of your suitcoats at your sides. If you let go of the suitcoat with either hand for any reason, I will blow the backs of both your heads off. In case you don’t know your weapons, this is a .45 Colt loaded with hollow points. Do you understand what I just said, Smith and Jones. I’ll need an actual affirmative answer now or I commit murder right here in this lovely restaurant.”
Mr. Smith looked into the T
erminator’s eyes without any doubt he would be the first to die. He straightened slowly, his hands gripping the bottom of his suitcoat. “I understand.”
“What is wrong with you, Carl? He cannot get us both, even if this was not a bluff,” Mr. Jones said, beginning to inch his hand toward the inside of his coat. His hand froze when Rachel laughed. She had shifted nearer to Jean, giving Nick more room.
“Nick won’t warn you again, but I’ll do you a favor. I will,” Rachel said. “He will put a bullet in your brain before you can get your fingers inside the suitcoat. I’ll get our daughter out of the way, because there will be blood, but it won’t be ours. Sorry, Mr. Smith, but when Mr. Jones reaches, you’ll get a new hole too.”
Nick grinned, but never took his eyes away from Smith and Jones. He planned on killing them. He preferred it didn’t happen in the restaurant, but he would not hesitate for a split second. Both men would die faster than they considered humanly possible. Nick knew one thing for sure, Rachel and Jean would be just fine. Jones gripped the bottom of his suitcoat, his mouth tightening into a slash of promised retribution.
Nick stood slowly. “Lead the way, gentlemen. Let’s go meet your employer. I’m sure he can explain all this to me. See you in a little while, girls. Only one piece of cheesecake, Dear.”
“Brat!” Rachel called after him as he followed Smith and Jones.
Outside the restaurant, Nick followed the men through the crowded Fisherman’s Wharf walkway with absolute concentration. When they reached the outskirts of the parking area, Nick halted the men. He looked around at the thinning numbers of people. “Hand me your weapons. Do it oh so very slowly. One twitch I don’t like, you both die. You first, Mr. Jones. That’s it… you don’t need two hands. Stretch it out to me, big boy.”
Nick took the Glock 9mm from Jones, quickly sticking it inside his belt. “You’re next, Smith. A Taurus, huh? Nice. Okay, guys, one last thing, did one of you drive the limo, or does your boss have a driver?”
“I drove,” Jones answered. “You had better pray to God our boss loves you, or I will make you pray for death along with your girls.”
“Oh good, a mook who likes to threaten. Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. I will be very loveable for your boss. You’ll see.”
Jones smiled. “I hope he hates your guts.”
“Anyway, when we get to the limo, you go ahead and get in the driver’s seat, Mr. Jones. Keep your hands on the wheel, and I’ll have you drive us a little ways down Del Monte Avenue. I know a short turnoff there where we won’t be interrupted or overheard. The damn FBI has ears on me half the time. They have those gizmos they can listen right through a parked car with.”
They resumed the walk to the waiting limousine, but Smith glanced back. “Why is the FBI listening in on your conversations?”
“You probably know already, Mr. Smith. I kill people for a living.”
“But… you write novels.”
“It’s a cover. I figured maybe your boss needed a job done.” Nick kept fishing for background. “I have to keep my cover alive, or my base here won’t be safe. You two really don’t know what I do in reality?”
“We know you were in Delta Force,” Smith answered. “I saw in your face you would have killed us both in the restaurant. We didn’t know you were a professional. Our employer didn’t say anything about it.
“That wasn’t very considerate.” Nick kept following the men to a limousine parked at the outer edge of the parking lot, nearest the walkway. “Go ahead and get behind the wheel, Mr. Jones, but remember to grip the steering wheel after you get in. I’ll enter carefully in the back with Mr. Smith. Let me get the door, Carl, and then you slide in first. I’ll follow.”
Carl nodded his assent, Nick opened the limousine door after Jones entered the driver’s side, and gripped the steering wheel. Nick saw a glimpse of a smiling paunchy man with dark, well-groomed hair in an immaculate light gray suit. Nick could tell within seconds this guy knew who he was and what he did. Nick entered the vehicle with his Colt pointed at the boss’s head.
“Hello, Mr. McCarty. There’s no need for you to point a gun at me. I’m here to make you a very rich man.”
“Gee… that sounds wonderful. Head down Del Monte Avenue as we discussed, Mr. Jones. I’ll tell you when to turn right.”
Jones looked back at the man smiling at Nick. “Boss?”
“Do as he says. I wish you would have accepted my invitation for your whole family. I only meant to take you to my estate in Carmel Valley. I came down from San Francisco to meet with you, and discuss a highly lucrative business proposition.”
“As I explained to Carl, the FBI has been bugging my house, and following me around. We’re going to a spot only a mile down the way, where I know they won’t be able to stop. It would be best not to speak until we get there.”
“I like your thinking. May I call you, Nick?”
“Sure.” Nick watched Jones pay the parking fee. He turned the limousine onto Del Monte Avenue. Nearly three quarters of a mile down the way, Nick knew they were close. “Next one on the right, Mr. Jones. There it is.”
Jones turned right into the turnoff. It led to a park that was closed. The streets running adjacent to the stop sign were empty and dark.
“Perfect. We can talk here. Go ahead and shut it down, Mr. Jones,” Nick told him.
Jones shut off the engine. Nick shot Smith in the head, and then Jones through the head twice, the second shot after his head pitched between the steering wheel and window. Nick then shot Smith again in the head, while watching his host go into cringing shock, his hands trying to work the door handle.
Nick turned the .45 Colt in his host’s direction again. “Put your hands on your knees. That’s it. Now, tell me who the hell you are and why I should care.”
“There…there wasn’t any reason for this. I…I merely wanted to hire you.”
“Skip the lectures. What’s your name? You know mine, and where you could find me and my family at dinner, so I’m guessing you had someone watching my house. Since I didn’t notice, it means they were doing it from somewhere nearby with a remote viewing. I always notice, because I check anyone strange milling around, or any vehicle that I’ve never seen. Did you put a cam somewhere across from my house?”
“Yes, but it was only because I do know what you do besides that writing career. My name is Milton Formsby. I had ties to Tanus Import/Export through Jason Bidwell, and through Max Stoddard at Fletcher Exports. I found out through great expense who killed Hayden Tanus, Jason, and Max. Those were the most incredible hits I had ever heard of. You and I have done business before. I put out the hit on Paulo Cortesa.”
“That was you, huh? Then you’re really playing this the wrong way. I have an Internet drop you’re familiar with. Anything done in the way of a sanction is done anonymously through the drop. If I handled Cortesa for you, then what the hell did you front me in my own backyard for?”
“I…I have a special job for you. I need a very well placed man taken out in the CIA. He’s starting a task force to shut down my overseas interests in collusion with the DOJ and IRS. My sources tell me if he died, we have a man in place who will get appointed easily. The task force, and court cases will be dropped.”
“Again, why come here in person? Secondly, who did you share my whereabouts with after you found me? That’s a deal breaker.” This is getting more interesting by the second, Nick thought, but this is major bad if everyone and his brother knows who I am and what I do.
Formsby shook his head vehemently. “No one knows… no one. I need a killer like you on staff. Someone without hesitation or conscience. You would be rich beyond your wildest dreams. Anything you want would be yours.”
“I already have more money than I know what to do with, Milty. After what I did to Hayden, Jase, and old Max to protect those two girls you sent your cheap thugs to collect, I’m shocked at your thought processes.” Nick looked around comically. “I’m being punked. Where’s the hidden cameras?”
“Paul Gilbrech… the new CIA Director?” Nick began chuckling, not because of the reason Formsby figured, but because he could picture Gilbrech’s face when he told him later. “You are nuts, Milty. He must be close to really frying your nuts for you to try and hire a sanction on the sitting CIA Director. Where the hell did you ever get the idea someone could simply pop into the CIA Director’s chair just because the old one dies. It’s a political gig, and Congress has some say in it.”
Formsby leaned toward Nick excitedly. “The fix is in. I have a very highly placed contact inside the CIA. He guarantees the replacement will be a sympathetic guy I can do business with.”
Nick smirked, rolling his eyes, to continue playing Formsby. I need proof about some guy that’s so in the know at CIA. “Baloney, Milty. What is he some 9th level clerk?”
“Way above that, Nick. He’s Lee Collister, The National Security Advisor. He has the President’s ear on security measures and appointments as you probably know.”
Nick kept fishing. “Why not wait until Gilbrech gets the boot? Let your man Lee undermine him behind his back. Your legal teams can keep the government forces tied in red tape for a decade.”
“That bastard Gilbrech wants me labeled a terrorist, subject to exposure, and instant seizure of my holdings. If he follows through on this task force overseas, I’ll lose everything. I can run, and stay in hiding for the rest of my life. I’ll still have plenty of assets to survive very well, but I am building a dynasty! You sanctioned Bidwell and Stoddard on their own boat, making it look like a leaking gas line or something – sheer genius. I know you could take out Gilbrech.”
“You’ve touched me, Milty. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life on the run either.” Nick shot Formsby between the eyes. He had a few moments to spare so he waited until his last victim convulsed for the final moment on the brink of eternity instead of shooting him again. Nick looked around the inside of the limousine with disgust. He smiled while getting out his cell-phone – I get messier every year, Nick thought with a sigh.
Bloody Shadows Page 6