by Mark Allen
“The neighbor in 4C,” Andy answered. “I heard a dog growl once, then this hot little honey sticks her head out and asks if there was something wrong, because she thought she heard some strange noises.”
“She say what kind of noises?”
“Yeah, she said it sounded like someone coughing.”
Shit! Kain thought. She heard the shots. It was impossible to completely silence a gun. Even through a suppressor, a shot made a significant coughing noise. But few people, hearing that cough, would know what it actually was. Kain looked at Andy. “What’d you say?”
“Told her we were visiting a sick friend who has lung cancer, which would explain the coughing she heard.”
“That’s pretty lame. She buy it?”
“She seemed to. She even apologized for bothering me.” Andy looked at Pierre and winked. “Trust me, she was definitely not a bother. Prime, grade-A woman, I’m telling you.”
Pierre looked amused. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow and see if she wants to go out on a date.”
Kain gave him a hard look. “Pull your brain out of your dick and let’s get out of here before I give you a forty-five caliber castration just for the fun of it.”
Pierre grinned wickedly. “You’ll need a bigger gun.”
Jean-Luc returned with the street gang in tow. Under his supervision, they filed into the apartment like a string of worker ants and emerged carrying crates of stolen firepower which they lugged down the stairs and into the back of the van.
Kain’s nerves were scraped raw by the time they were back on the highway. He leaned his head back against the rest and thought about the three mercs they had left behind in the apartment, dead as dead can be. In so many ways, they were just like him, men who lived by the gun, and their lives had ended in the blink of an eye. It forced him to consider his own mortality. How long before it was his turn to dance with the Reaper? How many days or weeks or years did he have left? And did he want to spend them all in the killing game?
The thoughts were sobering and Kain tried to push them from his mind. Andy flipped the radio dial to a classic rock station and “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” blasted from the speakers. After having his ears violated by the street punks’ gangsta rap, AC/DC was a welcome relief. The van rattled with rock and roll thunder as they headed back to the Giadello estate.
CHAPTER 10
Kain and his team got back to the Giadello estate a little after midnight. Pierre, Jean-Luc, and Andy disappeared in different directions in search of late-night snacks, alcohol, sleep, nocturnal companionship, or all of the above. Kain and Silas reported to Frank’s office.
Silas quickly relayed the events of the evening. Frank listened, hands folded in front of him, face expressionless, until Silas finished his report. He then stood up, walked out from behind the desk, and without warning slapped Silas across the face. The vicious crack of flesh striking flesh filled the room. It was a savage blow, a real head-knocker, but Silas didn’t even flinch. He took the insult without wincing, his eyes staring straight ahead, a red welt blossoming on his cheek.
“Are you a fool?” Frank demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he strolled over to the bar and mixed himself a screwdriver. For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were the clink of ice cubes and the gurgle of vodka and orange juice being added to the glass. In the tense silence, Kain for some reason found himself thinking of Karen. He needed to visit her grave soon, add some fresh flowers. Maybe he would do that later, after he got some sleep.
Frank took his drink over to his desk and sat down. His gaze flicked from Kain to Silas like a tiger selecting his prey before finally coming to rest on Silas. “You never answered me, Silas. Are you a fool?”
The palm-print on Silas’ cheek glowed a fiery red. “No, I’m not a fool,” he said. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Because you left a witness alive. Only a fool would do something that stupid.”
Kain figured it was time to cut into the conversation. “I made that decision,” he said. It felt strange, coming to Silas’ defense, considering that he wouldn’t have pissed on Silas if the man was burning alive, but Frank was tearing into him because of decisions Kain had made. He would gladly stand by and watch Silas take a beating, but not on his behalf. “I called the shots,” Kain said. “The witnesses were a bunch of gutter rats. You don’t have to like it, but I am not going to gun down a bunch of kids whose only crime is being born in a bad part of town.”
“And what about the woman?”
“She didn’t see anything. No reason to kill her.”
Frank’s eyes pierced Kain like fishhooks, digging out the truth. “I know what’s really going on here. This is about you and your code. You won’t kill a woman.”
“I won’t kill an innocent,” Kain said. “Man or woman.”
“But you’ve got a soft spot for women,” Frank countered. “You have ever since your wife checked herself out of the game.”
You bastard. Hearing Karen’s suicide so casually and callously referenced made Kain’s blood boil. He wanted to launch himself across the desk and tear out Frank’s trachea. But it was a reactionary, lizard-brain impulse and he controlled it with ease.
Frank shook his head. “You’re a slave to the past, Kain. Your wife scribbles some mumbo-jumbo on a piece of paper one night and you act like it’s the greatest discovery since the Dead Sea scrolls. Unbelievable.”
Kain said nothing. He wasn’t going to debate this issue. What Frank mockingly called mumbo-jumbo, Kain called sacred. Frank could beg, plead, cajole, bribe, threaten, or whatever, but Kain would not willingly shed innocent blood. To him, there was no greater evil.
With a final shake of his head, Frank said, “All right, Kain, I won’t ask you to violate your precious code, but this woman is a loose end that I need tied up for my own peace of mind.” He looked at Silas. “Take Pierre, go back to the apartment, and eliminate her.”
Kain’s scarred conscience crawled. Could he actually sit back and do nothing while an innocent woman fell under the gun? Yes, he decided, he could. Because he would not be the one pulling the trigger. Semantics? Splitting hairs? Hell, yeah. But it let him walk out of Frank’s office feeling that he had stayed true to the code he lived by. Sure, the woman would die … but not by his bullet. He could live with that. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.
Outside, the night air was muggier than it had any right to be this late in the season. A faint breeze tried to ease the humidity but only managed to send a few dead leaves scuttling across the driveway where they came to rest against the stone wall encircling the gargoyle-guarded rose garden.
Kain leaned against one of the porch columns and wished for a shot—or three or four—of whisky. But even as he wished for it, he knew alcohol would do nothing to ease the discomfort he felt when he thought about that innocent woman dying. He saw Silas and Pierre roll down the driveway, taillights glowing in the dark, off to complete their assignment. The woman would be dead before the morning news. She might even be dead in time to make the morning news.
Weariness seeped into Kain’s bones like lead weights. Maybe it really was time to put this life of blood and death behind him. Just hang up his guns, go home, pour himself a big old glass of Jack Daniels, draw a bath so hot it was just shy of boiling, and try to soak away a lifetime of sins.
His mental imagery did a smash-cut to Karen, her lifeless body lying in a tub full of crimsoned water. Had she been an innocent? Not exactly. She had broken his heart, destroyed his life, and betrayed him in the worst possible way. But she had not deserved to die, not even by her own hand.
Kain pushed the thoughts away. Overhead, the stars seemed to be staring down at him with accusing eyes. He pushed away from the pillar, climbed into his Jeep, and headed for home.
He had just crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge when he realized he wasn’t really heading home.
Not yet, anyway.
CHAPTER 11
Larissa Peterson was
one of those early to bed, early to rise kind of people. Head on the pillow by 9:00 p.m., awake by 5:00 a.m. Which explained why she was finished washing her breakfast dishes by 5:30 a.m. Not that it took long to wash dishes for one person and it had been a long time since she shared breakfast with anyone. Of course, part of that was her own fault; after Todd’s death, she had erected invisible walls around herself and hung up a sign that said THIS HEART NOT OPEN FOR BUSINESS. But even with her prickly defenses in place, there should have been men hitting on her, asking her out, if only in attempts at one-night stands. Instead, they seemed to shy away from her. It was her blindness, she knew. Men seemed to think it was some sort of communicable disease like leprosy rather than a mere handicap.
She didn’t waste her days pining for a man. Yes, she got lonely at times, but she had Sirius and the German Shepherd was far more loyal than any man she had ever known except Todd. Sirius took her wherever she wanted to go, would give his life to defend her, and never made false promises just to get her into bed. With a friend like that, who needed a man?
She dried her hands on a threadbare towel and smiled to herself. Who was she trying to kid? Despite everything Sirius gave her, there were other things the dog could never offer. She would never hear the words “I love you” from Sirius’ lips (though he let her know in countless other ways). Sirius couldn’t wrap his body around her in the dark and hold her close, whisper sweet nothings into her ear. Nor could he make beautiful, passionate love to her.
Larissa felt no shame at craving sex. Sometimes she considered going to the nearest bar and picking someone up. No names, no numbers, no commitments … just raw lust, somebody to touch her, caress her skin, kiss every inch of her naked body. But while she felt no shame in her desire, she knew she would never yield to the temptation. There might be fleeting pleasure in a few hours of unemotional sexuality, but what she really missed was lovemaking. To her, sex and love were inextricable. She just couldn’t see spreading her legs for a stranger.
She threw the towel into a drawer by the sink, then went into the living room, winding her way through the few articles of furniture she owned without hitting a single thing, the path etched into her brain through years of repetition. When she first rented the apartment, she had constantly barked her shins, but those days were long gone. Like a lot of other things in her life. Things like her eyesight and husband, for instance.
She heard the rustle of fur as Sirius moved out of her way. Whenever she worked in the kitchen, he liked to lie in the doorway between that room and the living room. It was his way of protecting her, of keeping himself between her and the door, through which untold dangers could enter, and she loved him for his thoughtfulness.
She sat down on the sofa, purchased for a pittance from the local Salvation Army, careful to avoid the butt-poking spring jutting through a tear in the fabric. Her multiple attempts to cram the offending coil back down into the sofa’s innards had thus far failed and she couldn’t afford to buy a new one, especially now that she had spent most of her savings buying the Firestar .40. The insurance money she had received after Todd’s death had been far less than she had expected and the majority of it had been devoured by hospital bills as high-priced surgeons tried in vain to restore her vision, taken from her by a madman named Macklin.
No longer able to afford the mortgage on the dream house she and Todd had bought in Virginia, Larissa had migrated north to Albany and found this dirt-cheap apartment in the slums. Yeah, it was in a bad part of town, but for some reason her neighbors left her alone. Being blind, she couldn’t bother them, so they didn’t bother her. Sure, she heard the occasional wolf-whistle or lewd remark when she walked down the street, horny teenage punks playing it cool in front of their friends, but no one ever molested her with Sirius by her side, and her apartment was the only one in the building that had not been burglarized. Maybe the hoodlums only left her alone out of pity, but whatever the reason, she had somehow managed to eke out a semblance of peace and independence here.
Not that she wanted to live here forever. Heck, no. But job opportunities for the vision-impaired were quite scarce and those that were available didn’t pay much. Larissa had made out better than the average handicapped person, landing a job answering phones at a health club for eight bucks an hour plus mediocre benefits. As long as she stayed where she was, she could survive on that. But as for leaving town, seeking a better life? Eight bucks an hour just wasn’t going to cut it.
She found the TV remote and turned on the early morning news. Though she would never again see the images on the screen, Larissa still “watched” television. It made her feel normal, part of everyday society; as long as she could hear the dialogue, her imagination could supply the pictures. It wasn’t the life she had wished for, but it was the life she had learned to accept. Unconsciously, she rubbed the thin white scars on her wrists.
Sirius suddenly let out a growl, a low, rumbling sound that raised the hairs on the back of Larissa’s neck. She fumbled with the remote, finally managing to mash down the MUTE button. She listened, but didn’t hear anything, which surprised her. Her hearing had grown more acute after the loss of her sight, one sense compensating for the absence of another, a phenomenon she had heard of but never really believed until experiencing it firsthand. But now she heard only silence. “What is it, Sirius?” she asked, turning her head toward the German Shepherd. “Did you hear something?”
When Sirius didn’t respond, Larissa turned the TV back on. Sometimes the dog was a bit too possessive, growling if so much as a roach scuttled across the floor. Like last night, when she heard those coughing noises in 4D, the adjacent apartment. Sirius had growled his fool head off until she had been compelled to open the door and ask the man in the hall what was going on. She had listened to his story of a friend with lung cancer and then withdrawn back into her apartment, telling Sirius to hush. The guy had not been a very good liar, but she really didn’t care. Whatever was going on next door was none of her business. In this part of the city there were more devils than angels and you learned how to live and let live if you wanted to survive.
She shifted on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position while also trying to avoid an unwelcome probe by the exposed spring. She tried to concentrate on the news, but her mind didn’t want to focus on the latest round of saber-rattling from North Korea or the downward plunge of the DOW or the seemingly ceaseless upheaval in the Middle East. No, the only thing her mind wanted to think about was Kain.
She kept reliving their disastrous lunch date, a sorrowful blooper reel playing on an endless loop in her head. God, she had been such a fool. She had spent the last five years unable to forget him and then when she finally found him again she promptly ripped open old wounds. Way to go, stupid, she chided herself. Meeting him again had left her shaken. Up until that moment, she had not been fully aware of just how deep her feelings for him ran. And to have him walk away from her so easily cut her to the core.
Sirius growled again, pulling Larissa back from the pain of the past. Then the growl erupted into a full-blown snarl. Larissa heard a crash as someone kicked in her door. Fear raced through her and she instantly thought of the Firestar. It was in her bedroom, lying on the night stand. It might as well have been on the moon.
The unmistakable sound of suppressed gunshots reached her ears. Sirius yelped and Larissa’s heart turned to ice. “Sirius!” she cried, leaping to her feet, forgetting about the coffee table in front of her. The edge bit into her shins. She stumbled and fell, scattering knickknacks everywhere as she slid to the floor. The worn carpeting felt like sandpaper on her palms. She heard footsteps coming towards her. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but a hard voice cut her off.
“Scream and you’re dead. Not easy dead, either. Hard dead. I think you know the difference.”
Larissa bit back the cry. “Who are you?” she asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice but failing miserably. “What do you want?”
“My n
ame is Pierre.” His voice was thick and heavy with a French accent. “I am here to kill you.”
He said it with disconcerting pleasantry. Larissa imagined a smile on his face, as if he had said nothing more menacing than Would you like to buy a vacuum cleaner? Terror twisted her guts into nauseous knots. There was no way out. Pierre stood between her and the door. Blind and unarmed, she was completely at his mercy. Right about now all she could do was pray, and something deep down inside told her that would be a waste of time. Her mind raced, searching for something to say, keep him talking, delay the inevitable. “What did you do to my dog?” she asked.
“Check for yourself. He’s about four feet to your right.”
Larissa followed his directions, crawling across the floor until her hands felt familiar fur. “Sirius?” she whispered, clinging to a faint shred of hope. But the dog didn’t stir. She tried again. “Sirius?” Then her hands slid into the bloody ruin of the dog’s breast and her hope turned to ashes. Sirius, her faithful companion, would never stir again. Tears stung her blinded eyes as the full impact of her loss razored through her. Sirius would never again guide her steps or lick her face. He had died defending her. Grief and loneliness and fear ripped at her as she cradled the dog’s head in her lap. He still felt warm, the chill of death not yet having settled. She scratched him behind his furry, oversized ears the way he liked, half-expecting his right hind leg to go spastic in response, thumping the floor with pleasure the way it always did. But of course, that would never happen again. “No,” she moaned, rocking back and forth. “No, please, Sirius, don’t leave me.”
Rough fingers closed around her upper arm like a steel band. Sirius’ head fell from her lap and hit the floor with a hollow thunk as Pierre dragged her to her feet. “Save the tears,” he growled as he hauled her across the room. “They won’t work.”