Sins of the Assassin

by Robert Ferrigno

  The Rangers killed the headlights, left the blue flasher blinking. They took their time getting out, enjoying the moment, the same black and white team that he had seen at Mount Carmel. They were even bigger close up, hitching up their gear, meaty, wide-shouldered hombres who looked like they wrestled steers when they weren’t molesting tourists. Big men, big smiles, their teeth flat and white, almost fluorescent in the blue light as they ambled closer, flanking Rakkim.

  They might have been wholesome once, dedicated lawmen risking their lives to keep the peace, but that was a long time ago, and missing a few paychecks didn’t have anything to do with it. It was power that had rotted them out, too many years of people paying deference to the badge, lowering their eyes, taking care not to let their shadow fall on them. Every brave man needed a mean streak, a willingness to mix it up, a slight sadism to make the wolves slink away. The Rangers’ mean streak had grown year by year, fed by the fear of the citizens who depended on them, fed by the excuses good people made for them. The Rangers were bad clean through now, more dangerous than any other predator loose among the sheep.

  “Problem, Officers?” said Rakkim. “I know I was speeding—” He saw it coming, saw it in the white Ranger’s eyes before the man reached for the shock stick on his belt. Rakkim relaxed, pretended surprise as the stick jabbed him in the chest. He didn’t have to fake his cry of pain as he was jolted backward, thrown against the car. Ears ringing, he slid down the front fender of the car, lay crumpled against the wheel well.

  Leo didn’t move. Just stood there with his head bowed, mumbling softly to himself. Rakkim was impressed. The kid remembered what he had been taught. Kept his cool.

  “You think the speed limit doesn’t apply to you, sir?” said the white Ranger, looking down at Rakkim. “You think you’re some special case?”

  “No…no,” said Rakkim, tasting blood where he had bitten the inside of his cheek. The tips of the Ranger’s boots were so shiny that Rakkim could see the stars reflected in them. “Sorry…I’m sorry.”

  “A sorry son of a bitch is exactly what you are,” said the Ranger. “What’s the other one’s story, Daryl?”

  The black Ranger jerked Leo’s Ident collar, pulled him close.

  Leo mumbled louder but didn’t raise his head.

  “Some kind of indentured idiot,” said the black Ranger, reading the collar. He released Leo. “Got a three-year tag.”

  Rakkim pushed his way up against the side of the car, got unsteadily to his feet. He smelled burned electricity when he breathed through his nose. “I…I didn’t know—”

  “Ignorance of the law is no excuse, sir,” said the white Ranger.

  “In fact, sir, we count on that,” said the black Ranger.

  Rakkim listened to them laugh.

  “Three-year term of service,” said the white Ranger. “Seems to me we could use us an idiot for the scut work around the barracks.” He twirled the shock stick, eyeing Rakkim. “You might be able to get yourself out of trouble by signing the idiot over.”

  “He…he’s already bought and paid for, Officer,” stammered Rakkim. “There’s a farmer in Greensboro counting on him for this year’s harvest.”

  The black Ranger felt Leo’s arms, and Leo giggled. Rakkim was more impressed with Leo than ever. The black Ranger sidled over to Rakkim. “Boy hasn’t got any muscle to him at all. He’s not right for fieldwork. Seems to me, sir, you might have cheated that poor farmer in Greensboro.”

  “Is that what you did, sir?” said the white Ranger. “You cheat that farmer? You promise him a good strong back and instead plan to deliver this tub a guts?”

  “Ten years on the job, Jerry Lee, and I’m still surprised at the duplicity of the human heart.” The black Ranger rested one hand on the butt of his pistol as he watched Rakkim. “It’s enough to turn even a strong man to violence and drink.”

  “Do you see what you’ve done, sir?” The white Ranger kneed Rakkim, doubled him over. “You’ve gone and upset my partner, and he’s a sensitive soul.”

  “You best turn this boy over to us, sir,” said the black Ranger. “We can use someone to scour the floors and swab the toilets. We used to have a beaner for that but he ran off.” He flicked Leo’s collar. “No problem of that with an Ident.”

  “How much is the contract on the boy?” said the white Ranger.

  “Fifteen thousand dollars,” said Rakkim, “but I can’t—”

  “Fifteen thousand?” The white Ranger shook his head. “That’s grand larceny last time I checked. Tell you what, sir, we’ll pay you five hundred dollars for the contract. Just submit a bill to the State Bureau of Law Enforcement.”

  “I can’t…”

  “What’s the security code for the collar?” asked the white Ranger.

  “Officer, please…” said Rakkim.

  The white Ranger cuffed him.

  Rakkim stayed on his feet. It was probably a mistake, better to hit the dirt, but his patience was about at an end.

  The white Ranger cocked his head at Rakkim. He had good instincts, but he wasn’t listening to them. The blue light from the cruiser strobed away behind him, his face in partial shadow. “I want the code. Now.”

  Rakkim swallowed. “Code…code’s 78455.”

  The white Ranger tugged at his Stetson. “Thank you kindly.”

  The black Ranger remote-popped the trunk of their patrol car. Jerked a thumb at Leo. “Climb on in, idiot.”

  Leo looked at Rakkim.

  “Go on.” Rakkim flexed a muscle in his wrist, felt the Fedayeen knife slide into his hand. “It’s going to be all right. These nice men will take good care of you.”

  “I don’t want to get inside the trunk,” wailed Leo. “I’m afraid of the dark.”

  The black Ranger grabbed Leo by the scruff of the neck, dragged him to the back of the patrol car, and tossed him into the trunk.

  “Please…” said Leo.

  The black Ranger slammed the trunk lid down.

  “Almost forgot.” The white Ranger snapped his fingers at Rakkim. “I need the tracker. Wouldn’t want the idiot to run off.” He quick-drew his pistol. Fast too. Probably practiced for hours at the barracks. “Hard keeping good help. Don’t know why.”

  Rakkim raised his hands. “Please…I’ll do what you want.”

  “Anything?” The white Ranger centered the barrel of the pistol on Rakkim’s forehead. “You’re a right certain accommodating fella, aren’t you?”

  “What…what else can I do?” said Rakkim.

  The white Ranger showed those big flat teeth of his again. The cruiser’s blue light seemed to be flashing faster and faster. “Yeah, what else can you do?”

  “Quit toying with that man, Jerry Lee,” said the black Ranger, getting behind the wheel of the cruiser. “Blow his shit away and let’s get out of here. Faye’s stops serving the buffalo steak special at three a.m.”

  Rakkim watched the vein along the side of the white Ranger’s neck pulse. Looked like about eighty-five, ninety beats a minute. He still had time.

  The white Ranger held the pistol steady. “How about you pass over the tracker and I promise to say a few words over you when the deed is done. I’ll give you a real sweet send-off. I’m a church deacon.” He grinned again, his teeth like chalk in the blue light. “’Course, I’m not saying all my prayers been said over consecrated ground.”

  Rakkim slowly reached toward the white Ranger, holding the tracker out with two fingers, just as he had been told. His other fingers curled around the Fedayeen knife, its blade resting invisibly against the inside of his forearm.

  The black Ranger beeped the horn.

  “Daryl’s impatient,” said the white Ranger. “Me, I’m not all that fond of buffalo steak,” he added, reaching for the tracker with his free hand.

  Rakkim bumped the white Ranger’s gun hand as the man fired, slashed his throat in the same motion, and ran toward the cruiser. The black Ranger fumbled for his pistol, started to raise it when Rakkim drove the blade
through the bulletproof window, glass shattering as he slid the knife deep into the Ranger’s windpipe.

  The black Ranger sighed, the sound filling the stillness. His eyelids fluttered like moths.

  Rakkim eased the knife free. The black Ranger’s blood splashed across Rakkim’s wrist. Warm, but already cooling in the night air. People died so quickly, the heat fleeing from them…Rakkim reached in, turned off the light bar. The darkness was soothing. He listened to the rush of the river and the sound of Leo beating against the trunk lid, then walked over and checked on the white Ranger.

  The trooper lay facedown in the dirt. Jerry Lee, that’s what his partner had called him. Jerry Lee’s blood puddled black in the moonlight. A mirror reflecting the stars. Jerry Lee and Daryl. Good to know the names of the dead. Rakkim shuddered. Where did that come from? He never needed to know their names before. Killing wasn’t counting coup, wasn’t keeping score. It was a last resort. Always had been, anyway. He wiped his hands on the grass, washed himself with dirt, still turning things over in his mind. He looked toward the river, his eyes already adjusting to the dim light. Caught in the mangrove roots that bordered the river…something…a tailfin of a car, only the very tip visible. Rakkim wondered how many other vehicles were piled up under the water, how many others had been carried downstream. He looked back at Jerry Lee and spit.

  Leo cried out from inside the trunk.

  Rakkim had started toward the rear of the cruiser when the trunk lid popped open. Leo rolled out onto the ground, gasping for air. Wires protruded from one hand. He had bypassed the trunk security lock somehow.

  Leo saw the body of the white Ranger. Saw the mess inside the cruiser. His knees buckled. “Rikki…what…what did you do?”

  Chapter 16

  “I can’t believe…can’t believe what you did,” said Leo, teeth chattering in the rush of humid air. He rested his head in his hands. “How did I let my dad talk me into this?”

  What a crybaby. Rakkim tilted the seat back a little more, steering with one hand. Top down. The Caddy’s beams the only headlights on the road. Clear skies, more stars than anyone could count. Acres of alfalfa and sugar beets sweetening the sultry night. Crickets sawing away their desperate love songs, the sound undulating, and Rakkim hummed along with them, part of them now. No limits. No boundaries. He loved the South.

  Leo looked up at Rakkim. “You killed those men.”

  Rakkim glanced at him. “You’re fucking welcome.”

  “I didn’t ask for help. Besides, it was your fault it came to that. You were supposed to take the long way out of town.”

  “I missed the turnoff.”

  “You think this is funny?” Leo’s lower lip quivered. “What’s funny about two dead lawmen?”

  “Those two weren’t lawmen, they were just thugs wearing badges.” Rakkim drove on, the big twelve-cylinder engine roaring, steady as a freight train. Easy to ignore Leo’s questions, but not his own. Why had he done it? Even worse…why had he enjoyed it? A peeling sign by the side of the road announced PIGGLY WIGGLY DINER—HOT FOOD, COLD BEER, TEN MILES. “You hungry?”

  “Hungry?” Leo’s voice cracked. “I may never eat again.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to miss a few meals,” said Rakkim, “but you’ll eat. You’ll be surprised how hungry you are the first time you sit down. After seeing what I did, you’ll feel like there’s a hole inside you and all the food in the world will barely fill it. You’ll be shoveling it in with both hands.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Rakkim hummed along to the song in his head. He knew the melody but didn’t know the words. He wished he could remember where he had heard it before.

  “What you did…it doesn’t bother you, does it?” said Leo.

  “I guess I’ve got a moral deficiency. Maybe I should eat more green leafy vegetables.”

  “Why do you keep making jokes about it?” said Leo. “Dad said you weren’t like that. He said I could trust you.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “Trust you to do what? Kill people?”

  “Yeah, that’s right, when it’s needed.”

  “It wasn’t needed.” Leo sounded like he was about to cry. “You went out of your way to kill those men. You jeopardized our mission.”

  “Our mission? You little shit, this whole thing is on me. You’re only here because Sarah said to bring you.”

  “Murder is a sin. It’s a sin in Judaism, it’s a sin in Christianity, it’s a sin in Islam and every other—”

  “I’ll decide what’s a sin.”

  “You’ll decide?” Leo stared at him, mouth open. “You’re going to get me killed.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Rakkim. “Guys like you always die in bed. Clean sheets and a cup of warm cocoa in your hand, that’s how you’ll go out.”

  Leo wiped his eyes. “Liar.”

  Rakkim turned off onto a still smaller road, unlit and unmarked. Country and western drifted from the radio, love songs even sadder and more plaintive than the crickets. A huge wooden cross tilted by the side of the road. He raced on, pebbles kicking up in their wake. Disturbed by their passing, an owl flapped off from atop a tall pine, wings fluttering briefly across the moon. An omen, that’s what most Southerners would call that, a bad omen. Rakkim didn’t need an owl to tell him that they were fucked forever. He smiled to himself. Everything seemed amusing lately. It wasn’t that his sensations were muted, the fear and pain blurred. Exactly the opposite. The world never seemed more clear, an awful clarity frozen in his heart. I’ll decide what’s a sin. So now Rakkim had added blasphemy to his long list of transgressions.

  Leo cleared his throat, afraid to disturb Rakkim’s thoughts. “Shouldn’t we…I mean, after we put some space between us and…what you did back there, shouldn’t we find someplace to sleep?”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Right. That shadow warrior thing.”

  “Why don’t you go to sleep? Give your mind and your mouth a rest.”

  Leo yawned. “I’m not tired either.”

  Rakkim kept watch for movement in the darkness ahead as he drove down the road, looking for a light, a signal, anything that would indicate an ambush. Leo didn’t know anything about death, but he was right about at least one thing: Rakkim had gone out of his way to kill the two Rangers. No real explanation for it either. Sure, they were murderous bastards, but the world was full of murderous bastards with and without badges. Yeah, the Rangers had groped the young nun back at Mount Carmel, but that was no capital crime, and besides, the nun would have been horrified at their deaths, preferring to pray for their forgiveness. No, the killing had been for Rakkim’s satisfaction and no one else’s, and that bothered him more than anything else.

  “I thought shadow warriors avoided confrontation,” blurted Leo.

  “You just can’t let it go, can you?”

  “I’m just trying to understand.” Leo balled his chubby fists. “Shadow warriors are supposed to be invisible, that’s what Dad told me. Unnoticed and under the radar. They don’t look for trouble. They don’t kill without cause.”

  “I’m not a shadow warrior anymore,” Rakkim said.

  “Then what are you?”

  Rakkim didn’t answer. Didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that he had told Leo the truth—he had changed. Transformation was an occupational hazard for a shadow warrior. And for assassins. Given time, shadow warriors always went native and assassins always went mad dog, but Rakkim was neither.

  Like shadow warriors, assassins worked alone, beyond any boundary or authority. No such thing as an old assassin…but Darwin had proven them all wrong. He was in his forties when Rakkim tracked him to the abandoned church in New Fallujah, Darwin at the height of his powers, a devout atheist, welcoming Rakkim to his private sanctuary. The two of them cut and bleeding, knives dancing as they gasped for breath.

  I recognized you the moment I saw you, taunted Darwin. I knew what you were.

  Rakkim lunged. Drew blood. I know who
you are too. I know how you think.

  I feel sorry for you then, Rikki. Darwin slipped slightly, but Rakkim wasn’t fooled. Knowing how I think…Darwin’s expression sagged—he looked in pain. Rikki, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

  Even now, Rakkim wasn’t sure if the sadness on Darwin’s face at that moment was genuine or another ploy. Ultimately it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Darwin had died, and Rakkim had lived. Last laugh, motherfucker.

  Rakkim followed a curve in the road, still thinking of Darwin, and the sudden silence in the church as the assassin’s mouth had worked around Rakkim’s blade, pinning him in place. No last words. Rakkim had stood there watching Darwin’s eyes grow wider and wider. He almost missed the man’s soft, mocking voice, the way it insinuated itself into their parry and thrust, wrapped itself around him…Rakkim slammed on the brakes, skidding.

  “What’s wrong?” shouted Leo.

  Up ahead a mass of vegetation had engulfed the surrounding fields and rolled on, a thicket thirty or forty feet tall now covering most of the narrow road. Rakkim hit the high beams. The light gleamed off the glossy leaves and thick vines, the interior of the undergrowth too dense to see into.

  “What is that?” said Leo. “Some kind of jungle?

  “Kudzu.”

  Leo whistled. “I…I thought it was just a fast-growing weed.”

  “Used to be. Before the big warm.” Rakkim turned off the headlights, kept the engine idling. “Kudzu was always a problem, but since the weather changed it seems like all our natural enemies got stronger. More tenacious.” He stared into the darkness. “Fire ants nesting in the cities, killer bees so bad in Savannah and Birmingham that kids don’t play outside in summer. Farmers in the delta calling in napalm strikes to keep the kudzu from taking over the best bottomland, hundreds of people dying every year from poison ivy…it’s like Mother Nature knows we’re on the ropes.”