by L. T. Ryan
I reached into the messenger bag and retrieved the pistol. I released the magazine, verified it was full, slid it back in, then chambered a round. I held the gun close to my side and lowered my head as I stepped into the opening.
The man was waiting there.
I wasn’t surprised by the sight of him, but he had the drop on me. He was positioned like a receiver on the line, knees bent, arms dangling, ready to explode. He slammed into me like I was an undersized cornerback. I absorbed the hit and whipped my left arm around, driving a fist into his upper spine. Somehow he managed to get his left leg around my right knee. His right arm slipped down and grabbed hold of my left thigh. He was a trained grappler, wrestling or jiu-jitsu.
I pushed my mid-section forward, but it was too little too late. He drove me to the ground, landing with his shoulder square in my gut. The combination of my back slamming on the asphalt and all of his bodyweight coming down on my diaphragm knocked the wind out of me. My mouth filled with blood. I’d clamped down on my tongue when I hit the ground. He had me in a perfect position to take me out. And then he reached for my bag and tried to yank it off me. I managed to hang onto the bag despite feeling as though I was drowning, my oxygen-starved lungs burning for air.
The guy was there for the information I had. Was he a Fed? Someone working for my undisclosed target?
“C’mon man, let it go.” He’d reared back on his heels and tugged hard enough to lift my torso off the ground. The bag’s strap was bound to rip at the stitching.
I desperately choked on the air rushing into my lungs. I caught my breath after a series of heavy gasps and coughs. A moment later adrenaline-fueled strength flooded my body. I tightened my grasp on the bag, wrapping the strap around my wrist, and felt along the ground for my pistol.
“Not worth dying over, dude.” The guy delivered a weak kick to my shin.
“Who are you?” I said.
He jerked forward and threw a punch to my gut. I tightened my abdominals a second ahead and absorbed the blow. He grabbed the bag with one hand and my wrist with the other. With every passing second he wrenched it further from my possession.
I gave up on my search for the pistol and focused all my attention on my assailant. I knew one thing for certain. He was an amateur. The only reason to get that close was in an effort to gain control over me. He’d gone all or nothing for the bag, leaving himself vulnerable.
I flung my right arm around and came crashing down on the side of his face. One hit to his jaw was all it took. His head snapped back, body went limp. His grasp on me and the bag relinquished as his body slumped over.
I got to my feet, spotted my pistol and snatched it off the ground. My hands and arms shook from the adrenaline coursing through my body. I dragged the guy into the shadows and searched him. I found his cell phone, a knife, and a money clip that contained two twenties, a five, and an expired driver’s license. But he didn’t have a firearm on him. I held his ID up and angled it to catch the light.
Nathaniel Spencer.
Spencer groaned as he rejoined the land of the conscious.
I slapped him across the face, aiming for the red mark where I’d decked him a minute ago. “Who the hell are you?”
His eyes fluttered before honing his gaze in on me, then at his license. “Looks like you already know.”
“Who do you work for?” I paused a beat, waiting for him to reply. “I have the means to find out.”
He looked at me like I was crazy.
“Are you FBI? DEA? You work for that bastard?” Sure, the last part was vague, but all underlings would at some point refer to their boss with the phrase.
“The hell are you talking about, dude?” He propped himself up on his elbows. Blood trickled down his chin from the corner of his mouth. “I spotted you getting out of your boyfriend’s Mercedes. You looked like an easy mark.”
“What?”
He jutted his chin toward the bag dangling from my left hand. “I was trying to rip you off, asshole.”
I aimed the pistol at his chest. “You really think this is the best time to play the tough guy?”
He averted his eyes while shaking his head.
“You’re a thief?” I said. “Nothing more?”
“I’m tellin’ you, dude. I figured you had some cash and decent credit cards in your purse.”
I lifted the bag. “It’s not a purse. And if you had gained possession of it, you’d be in some serious trouble.”
He scooted back until he reached the wall. I kept the pistol trained on him as he rose.
“Who are you?” he said.
“Not who you thought I was.” I tossed his money clip to the end of the alley. “And I know who you are, Spencer. If I see your face again, you’re dead.”
4
A cab offered the best chance of getting out of the area as fast as possible. I had the driver zig-zag through a network of streets until I was sure no one was following. Under no circumstances could anyone discover the location of the apartment, which meant I had to play it safe with the driver. The cabbie could be on the Old Man’s payroll, with instructions to always be on the lookout for certain individuals, taking note of pick-up and drop-off locations. So far the guy had paid little attention to me, but that meant nothing. I had to assume he was keeping track.
I had him drop me off a few streets over from the apartment. After paying my fare with cash, I hustled the two blocks through the cold. The building’s foyer was only a few degrees warmer than outside. I peeled off my gloves and rubbed my hands together before unlocking my mailbox and pulling out a stack of envelopes and adverts. It was all for previous tenants. Once inside the apartment, I dropped the mail and the bag on the small square kitchen table and pulled a bottle from the freezer. The first swig of whiskey stung where I’d cut my tongue during the fight. The second swallow numbed the pain. The third warmed my frozen core.
I sat down at the table, shoved the mail to the side, pulled the files from the bag and had my first look at the target.
His name was Marcus Hamilton Thanos. Six-three, two hundred eighty pounds. He looked soft now, but I was sure at one time he was a tough bastard. Had to be with that name. It was the kind of name that led to endless bullying while growing up. Aside from the personal details, there was little additional information. I wanted to know more, and help was a mere phone call away. Curiosity could be a bitch, and often had unintended consequences attached to it. I had to resist the urge to find out more about the guy, as it had little bearing on the job I’d been tasked with. Thanos had been marked for death. The part of executioner was to be played by me, after I’d gleaned whatever info I could from him.
Find out what he’s planning on saying. Make him hurt.
Thanos had done something to piss off the Old Man. Was it betrayal? Or was he planning on testifying against the Old Man, or maybe revealing something about their dealings that could land the old crime lord in jail?
I considered calling in a favor to Brandon. The former analyst was the best I’d ever been paired with. He’d never failed me, no matter what task I set him on. Since striking out on his own, he’d been an invaluable resource. But I’d used him less after an incident that left him and Bear for dead.
I decided against bringing him in. At least at this stage of the game. There was no need to raise red flags by having a few top secret databases searched for any intelligence they contained on Thanos.
The next folder contained my destination. Chicago. Thanos had an office by the lake. His house was in the suburb of Naperville. Satellite imagery of the surrounding neighborhood told me I wouldn’t have to worry too much about meddling neighbors. The lots were large and sprawling. A long driveway cut through a manicured wooded area. It’d be hard for anyone to see me. On the other hand, it’d be hard for me to surveil the place and get an idea of what I was up against. And considering what had happened earlier in the alley, I wasn’t entirely positive that this job was on the up and up.
At least as far
as assassinations went.
I sorted the papers into a single folder and then locked the dossier in a safe under the kitchen sink before making my way to the master bedroom. I got out of the clothes I’d brawled in earlier, grabbed a hot shower, and changed into a pair of boxers after shaving off my beard.
I wasn’t done, though. Inside the closet were three additional safes, one biometric, one electronic, and one old fashioned. I kept enough cash to survive for three months, two full-sized pistols and one subcompact, and plenty of ammunition. I was traveling by air, so they were all staying behind. I also kept four false identities in a safe, complete with driver’s licenses, credit and debit cards, and even AAA memberships. I grabbed the packet for Jonah Lamb, an identity I hadn’t used in over three years. Jonah Lamb was a claims adjuster from Albuquerque, New Mexico who was divorced with no children. He lived on the road forty-four weeks a year. Poor guy didn’t even have time for a pet.
I put on a pair of khakis, a button up checkered shirt, brown oxfords, and grabbed a pair of black-rimmed glasses to complete the look.
Back in the kitchen I retrieved an unused burner phone from underneath a drawer. I used the phone to call to an associate in Chicago, someone who went all the way back to my days in the Marines. We’d travelled in different directions during the years since. I wasn’t reaching out to involve him in my assignment. In fact, the less he knew the better. But what he could provide was weapons, and I would need a few.
We chatted for a couple of minutes, the kind of bullshit two old associates might throw at each other when they hadn’t spoken in three years. When I told him I’d be out his way sometime tomorrow morning, he carefully told me he’d have a solid selection for me to choose from.
After the call, I booked my flight for five am, then managed a few hours of shuteye. Things were looking up. For me, that was. For poor Mr. Thanos, the end of the road was quickly drawing near.
5
I rented a silver Camry at the airport and wove through downtown Chicago until I reached Thanos’s office. The dark concrete and mirrored-glass building stood ten stories tall not too far from Printer’s Row. A parking spot opened up on the curb in a location that gave me a great view of the main entrance, which offered the only area to catch a glimpse inside as people came and went.
I settled into my seat as a steady stream of warm air blew from every vent, leaving me feeling as though I might slip into unconsciousness at any moment. I’d managed four hours of sleep the night before. Not a big deal, I thought at the time. After all, I had an hour-and-a-half long flight I could doze through. Turned out to be wishful thinking. Relentless turbulence left the 757 in a state of constant flux as it tumbled through pockets of choppy air.
The rising sun burned off a thick layer of morning fog. Sunlight reflected off a nearby building, directing an intense beam in my direction. The glare made it impossible to see in front of the building. I lowered the visor and sat up to shield my eyes. Within a few minutes, the car felt overly warm and sweat formed on my brow. I cracked the windows and prepared for an arctic assault. It had been cold in New York, but on this morning Chicago might as well be Moscow. The sounds of the city slipped in through the open windows. What had been a soft murmur tempered by glass morphed into the urban jungle I’d grown accustomed to.
I hadn’t spent much time in Chicago, and was unfamiliar with the intricacies of the city. Figured it’d be a good idea to familiarize myself with my immediate surroundings, so I trekked the four blocks surrounding the office building during morning rush hour, the perfect time to assimilate with the crowds hurrying to work. They were sparser than I’d imagine them being when the temperature reached springtime levels. Still, people had to get to work, and there were enough of them to offer ample cover.
The scouting mission revealed a few possible vantage points should the job require a long-range attempt on Thanos as he left the building. I noted two egress points in addition to the building’s main entrance. There was little information on Thanos, and for all I knew, he travelled with a security detail, which he might if he had caught wind of the attempt on his life. I couldn’t shake the thought that he had an idea what was coming. The fight in the alley the previous day still had me off my game a bit. The encounter was too random to actually be random. I couldn’t silence the nagging voice in my head that told me Nathaniel Spencer had something to do with this job.
The mob thinned out, signaling that it was time to return to the rental car. I grabbed a hot cup of coffee from a cafe a block away. By the time I reached the car, it barely passed for luke warm. Back behind the wheel again, I settled in for a stakeout. The urge to get the job over with nagged at me, but I was unarmed, and this wasn’t the right setting. I needed to know more about Thanos. I had to get a visual on him, really get a feel for who I was dealing with. There was only so much that could be gleaned from a photograph. But seeing a man in person, watching how he carries himself, holds his head, juts his chin, that was how I’d get a read on him. How I’d determine my approach to the job.
The chatter in my head subsided after a few minutes. I settled into the zone, keeping my thoughts to a minimum. Going down the rabbit hole of people and past events never led to a positive outcome. Especially with my history.
I finally caught a break an hour later when three men emerged from the covered entryway. None were my guy. Two of them were too young, and the third guy had the look of a soldier. They were all of similar build, big and thick and about six feet tall. The older guy had red hair and fair features. The two younger men had brown hair and pasty winter skin, and the only thing that differentiated them was that one had a beard. They were dressed the same, black suits, no ties, sunglasses. None of them wore a coat, which indicated they planned on only being outside for a few minutes. Not a one of them bothered to conceal the fact they were carrying a weapon.
The jumpiest of the three, the bearded guy, glanced in my direction. They must’ve made me when I’d returned to the car with the coffee and stayed put.
The bearded guy remained at the corner while the other two crossed the street diagonally. The guy with red hair raised his hand to slow oncoming traffic, never taking his gaze off me.
There was plenty of time for me to leave. I didn’t, though. I wanted to hear what they had to say. After all, they’d come out into the cold to talk with me, and there was little chance of them making a big scene in public. There were cameras at every corner, and in most of the shops along the road.
The redhead came around to my window while his associate stood in front of the car. I glanced in the rearview. A minivan had pulled up a few moments ago. One of theirs? I figured if I wanted to get out, I had to go through the guy, and he was banking that I wouldn’t. Too bad he didn’t know me.
The redhead rapped his knuckles on my window, pulled back his unbuttoned coat, revealing his sidearm. I hesitated a beat, then pressed the button, rolling the window down a couple of inches.
He leaned forward so his eyes were level with the opening. His nose and cheeks were bright red from the cold. “Need some help?”
I shrugged him off, said nothing.
He knocked on the glass with the barrel of his pistol. “Maybe it’s time you move along, fella.”
“Why’s that?” I said. “Guy can’t sit in the sun and enjoy his coffee?”
“Gonna be straight with you, buddy. We don’t like the way you look. We don’t like that you’ve been here over two hours. And we don’t like that you took a walk around our building, making sure to do it during rush hour so you blended in with the surroundings. Fact of the matter is, you only see three of us. What you don’t see is a building full of guys just like me and him.”
I kept my gaze fixed on his. He was starting to impress me. I’d taken them for hired goons, nothing more. But it sounded as though he had a background similar to mine.
“Now, here’s how it’s gonna go,” Ginger said. “You’re gonna start this piece of junk tin can, put it in gear, and get the hel
l away from our building. If you’re not gone by the time I get to the other side of the street, you’ll be tailed. And before you think I’m kidding, realize that we employ one of the best drivers in the business. You won’t even know he’s there, especially if you try that grade school level evasive technique you used to scout the building.” He straightened up and reholstered his sidearm, then bent forward again. “You might think you know me, but let me assure you that following your instinct is gonna lead to a really bad day for you. So do the smart thing and get the hell out of here.”
I pressed the button and the window squeaked all the way down. Ginger backed up a couple feet, out of striking distance.
“We gonna have a problem, buddy?” he said.
“No problem,” I said. “Just want you to realize you don’t scare me. And while I may not see all of your guys, I can assure you, you don’t see all of mine.” I tapped the steering wheel, then pointed across the street. “We’re onto what’s going on inside your office. So here’s my advice. When I pull away, don’t give me a reason to send my men in.”
His blue eyes narrowed to slits and he stared at me as though he was trying to decide whether to take me seriously. I didn’t look like your everyday schmuck. At least I didn’t think so.
“All right, buddy,” he said, smiling. “Get the hell out of here.”
I turned the engine over, shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb, making sure to come close to the other guy’s knee. He hopped out of the way and flicked me off.
It was a risk going in hard like I had, but I wanted to gauge Ginger’s reaction. He didn’t back down, which told me something was going on in there. Question was, did these guys work for Thanos? Or someone else?
My finger itched to call Brandon for some answers. I resisted.
I stared into the rearview. The three men huddled together, walking toward the building’s entrance. They glared in my direction. Ginger was on his cell phone. Figured he was either talking with the boss, or another of his guys stationed further down the road. I shifted my focus to the upcoming intersections and alleys, looking out for an incoming tail.