The Birth of Death

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “Don’t. I’m a big girl and The Cartel was getting boring. They weren’t going to let you freelance anyway. This was inevitable.”

  The tail entered the Starbucks.

  “I’m going to need help,” I said, using the window next to me to glance at the operator. He looked nervous and tried hard not to look in my direction. If he were any greener, he’d sprout leaves. “Call Seq.”

  “He’s a loose cannon,” Lucy said. “Don’t you want to survive this?”

  “Sequoyah is solid, besides with Sam running point, a loose cannon is the best cannon.”

  Sequoyah Redwood was a master marksman, skilled in sniper rifles, as well as hand-to-hand combat. Built like his namesake, if you were headed into battle and needed a compact one-man army to obliterate everything and everyone against you, Wood was the operator to have on your side.

  “Why do I even suggest anything? It’s not like you’re going to start listening to me now.”

  “Good point,” I said. “Gotta go. Tail is going to try and reach out and touch us.”

  “Don’t get dead.”

  “I’m just going to have a conversation,” I said. “Explain the error of his ways.”

  “Your conversations usually end up being fatal.”

  “That’ll depend on him,” I said. “I’m just going to deliver some life-saving advice.”

  “Of course,” Lucy replied. “Just make sure this advice isn’t delivered by your blade.”

  EIGHT

  “Grande white mocha, no whip,” I said to the barista, keeping the tail a few people behind me. I stepped off to the side and made sure Ren was on my blind side, away from the operator.

  Trying to erase someone in a crowded Starbucks was a stupid move and was the furthest thing away from a professional I could imagine. It was exactly the kind of thing Sam was known for. He’d promise a new operator a bonus or a place of prestige if they assisted in a contract, and use him as bait or worse, a decoy.

  Frankly, I was insulted.

  This shifted quickly to concern. If Sam was using this tactic, the NYPD would get involved. If The Cartel didn’t stop us, local law enforcement would.

  Shit, last thing I needed was a shootout with the police.

  “Go to the bathroom,” I said to Ren under my breath. “Stay there until I come get you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to drink my coffee and deal with our tail.”

  “Skinny guy, new suit, with the beady eyes by the door?”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I said impressed. “Anyone that’s not me comes for you, shoot first and don’t bother with questions. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing at the tail. “He doesn’t look so dangerous.”

  “He’s not,” I said nudging her to the bathroom. “The one who sent him is. Now, tell me the instructions.”

  “If anyone besides you comes for me, shoot them first.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Get going.”

  “How will I know it’s you and not one of them?” Ren asked. “What if they are forcing you to get me?”

  She was sharp and quick on her feet. Maybe there was hope for her.

  “What’s your favorite insect?”

  “Dragonflies.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll knock on the door. If you hear anything different than that, you shoot and keep the door locked.”

  “Won’t I shoot you?”

  “Not today,” I said, motioning with my head. “Go.”

  She entered the bathroom. I bladed my body to get a better look at the tail. Ren had assessed him accurately. He was thin, closer to wiry, with nervous eyes. This had to be his first major contract. Sam was going to get this greenhorn killed.

  By following us in, he committed himself to looking like a customer. If he acted out of the norm, I’d tag him. He didn’t know that everything about him practically screamed ‘operator’ to anyone who knew what to look for.

  The quick glances, nervous movements, and stiff body language all gave him away. Seasoned operators perfected the art of looking bored and uninterested, right up to the moment they slid a blade between your ribs and into your heart, or fired a round into your forehead.

  Ending a life was harder than most people imagined. A number of factors had to be in place. Either the attacker was a psychopath, in which case, not so hard, seriously enraged, or highly conditioned and trained. This operator was none of the above, which meant his life expectancy dropped considerably the moment he stepped inside the coffee shop.

  Sam was using him to beat the bushes in an effort to get us to slip up. It was a dirty move. I waited until Ren locked the bathroom door, and then sidled over next to Clueless as he placed his order of an extra whip, triple espresso, mocha frappuccino, soy nightmare, no one in their right mind would consume.

  “Jeffrey?” I said a little louder than the ambient conversation around us. “Is that you? It’s been forever!”

  “Hey,” he said, making to turn and face me. I put my arm around his shoulder and stopped his rotation. I let him feel the barrel of my gun and he froze. “Just getting my morning fix. You know how it is.”

  “Sounds heavy on the calories,” I said, chuckling. “You sure you want to take that risk?”

  He didn’t startle, which earned him some points. The fact that I was behind him, pointing a gun at his kidney, removed all those points.

  “Don’t have much of a choice,” he answered without turning around. “Risk is what I get paid to do.”

  I kept an eye on the door to the back office. Most of these places had a service entrance which led to the rear of the building and allowed the employees to remove the trash, or accept deliveries without interrupting the customer’s blissful moments of coffee consumption. We stepped away from the counter.

  “What did Sam promise you?”

  “An extra twenty,” Clueless replied. “And I get named if I take you out.”

  “Twenty thousand and a named position?” I asked. “Degas must be pissed.”

  “You’ve been declared borrado—erased.”

  “You have a few options here,” I said, keeping my voice even. “You want to hear them, or try blasting me in Starbucks in the middle of the morning?”

  “Go ahead,” Clueless answered. “You aren’t leaving here alive.”

  “If you say ‘we have the place surrounded’ I’ll shoot you right now. Just on principle.”

  “We do,” Clueless said with a smug smile. “Back exit is covered, front has at least two more operators on it. You’re dead, you just don’t know it yet.”

  NINE

  This was going to get messy. If I didn’t get out of here and downtown to the Nurse, Sam was capable of having one of these operators open the door, and toss an explosive into the place. I stepped back, still keeping close, and made sure I broke line of sight with the two large windows at the front of the shop. Last thing I needed was a sniper getting a bead on my head as I was trying to sound menacing.

  “The only name Samael is going to give you is ‘victim’ if you keep listening to him,” I growled, moving us to the bathrooms and keeping him in front of me. “Do you really think he cares about you?”

  “Extra twenty K and a name? Sounds like a win-win to me.”

  “Don’t be dense,” I snapped. “You’re expendable to him. A means to an end.”

  I knocked on the bathroom door. For a split second, I felt the tension coming from the other side. I really hoped Ren didn’t just decide to start shooting.

  “Dragonflies,” I said and heard the door unlock. “Let’s go, Ren.”

  She peeked out and took in the scene.

  “Put that away,” I said, noticing she held the gun by her head. “Before you shoot yourself.”

  “What about him?” Ren said, stuffing the gun in a pocket. “Can I shoot him?”

  “He’s going to escort us outside,” I said, pressing the gun against his side. “Right?”

  “Fuck no,” Clue
less said. “I’m not suicidal.”

  “You were dead the moment you stepped in here, you just didn’t know it,” I answered. “Choose. I could put two in you now, and dump you in the bathroom with sudden gastrointestinal distress. Or you take your chances outside. I’m sure they’ll find your body, eventually.”

  Clueless cursed under his breath. He was beginning to understand that he didn’t have a choice. I almost felt sorry for him. It took me all of half-a-second to let the feeling pass.

  “Get behind me,” I said to Ren. “You stay there until we’re outside.”

  “They’ll drop you the moment we get to the front,” Clueless said. “Samael has this entire area covered.”

  “Once we step outside, you run for the subway,” I said, ignoring Clueless. “You don’t stop, no matter what you hear.”

  “Extra whip, triple espresso, mocha frappuccino, soy delight?” the barista yelled out, holding up the cup. “Hello? What’s this name? Shu Tim Nau?”

  “I told you,” Clueless said. “Samael has this whole area covered. You’re getting old, and predictable, Huracan.”

  The screams and running didn’t start until a sniper introduced the barista to a high-powered round, removing the back of his head and ending his days of dispensing convolutedly-named coffee, confusing customers with sizes that had no comparison in reality.

  The barista turned to look at us with a confused expression before the signal to his knees disconnected and his legs buckled. He crumpled to the ground, his head transformed into expressionist art, heavy with the blood.

  There was no way Sam could know I’d come in here. He was hedging his bets by canvassing the most populated businesses with operators. I’d do the same if I was him.

  Still, his level of planning was impressive. He may have been a psychotic piece of shit, but he was skilled in target acquisition and psychology.

  Clueless dropped on his back, reaching for his gun. I stomped down, crushing his elbow, the crunching sound told me I had rendered his arm useless. He groaned in pain and tried a cross-body draw. Around us, I counted three operators drawing weapons.

  “You chose wrong,” I said, putting a round in his wrist and one in his leg, kicking the gun away, and ending the short career of a surprised Clueless. “Lucy, this was a setup. There’s at least one sniper, knowing Sam, probably two.”

  I backpedaled along the wall, forcing Ren to move fast and duck behind the counter. How could Sam know I was going to jump into Starbucks? Maybe I was getting old and predictable.

  Something didn’t sit right.

  “This contract,” I said, ducking behind the counter as one of the operators opened fire. “Usual channels or was it a special request?”

  “Special request,” Lucy answered. “They asked for you specifically.”

  “Who did the asking?”

  “Doesn’t say. They followed the usual Cartel protocol and it cleared contract vetting.”

  “Someone in The Cartel wants me retired.”

  “Wonder what would give you that impression,” Lucy said over the tapping of keys. “Sit tight. Help is on the way.”

  “Sit tight, really?” I asked. “I have at least three operators closing in and you want me to sit tight?’

  “Feel free to convince them to leave you alone—shoot them if you need to.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion, and here I was planning to offer them coffee.”

  “You have a call, Huracan,” Lucy said her voice tight. “You may want to take this one.”

  “Maybe I didn’t explain my situation accurately? I have—”

  “You still want to take it,” she said. “Trust me.”

  “Who is so damn important that I should take this call now?”

  “Picasso.”

  “Are you serious? Now?”

  “Do I have a sense of humor?”

  “Not a developed one,” I answered. “Fine, I need twenty seconds.”

  “I’ll buy you fifteen.”

  TEN

  Most operators are unaccustomed to working in teams. They don’t train that way and they don’t fulfill contracts as part of a unit. Bad for them. Good for me.

  The three operators approached my position as three individuals instead of a three man team.

  “Make your way to the office,” I said to Ren as I dropped the first operator who leaped over the counter. It was a bold move and monumentally lethal—for him. I shot him three times, spinning him on the way to the floor. He was wearing polykev—at least some of his braincells were firing. He groaned as I slid over and introduced my foot into his head, knocking him unconscious.

  The second operator crouched and tried to sneak around the counter, forgetting that half of it was a display case. I crouched with him and shoved the case into his face as soon as it was visible. He’d need dental work when he woke up, but he would survive. The third operator decided the extra twenty thousand wasn’t worth it and turned to leave the Starbucks in a hurry. His torso erupted in blood as the sniper convinced him it was a bad idea. His lifeless body fell back into the coffee shop.

  Shit, Sam.

  He was sending a message. They were going to kill me or die trying.

  I glanced over to the corner and saw her. Death was sitting at one of the corner tables, sipping from a black mug covered in skulls. She raised the mug and gave me a slight nod, reminding me she was never far away. She vanished a second later.

  In the chaos, I managed to make my way to the back and joined Ren, who sat next to the entrance of the office. I kicked in the managers’ door and ducked back as several rounds perforated the door where my head would’ve been. The manager sat lifeless in an office chair staring at the ceiling. I could feel the cold grip of anger fall over me. They cut off the exits in an effort to trap me in here. I imagined several police cruisers on their way here now.

  I slid in and caught the surprised operator with his guard down. Several rounds later he writhed on the floor holding a destroyed hand. He’d have to learn how to shoot left-handed if he wanted to keep using a gun in the future.

  Ren just stared.

  “They sent in the B-team, trust me. I’m not usually this awesome.”

  “Or lucky,” she added. “Why aren’t you killing them?”

  “Someone lied to them,” I said, dropping the other operator at the back door with a chokehold. “They deserve pain, yes, but not death.”

  “You are a strange assassin,” Ren said, looking at the devastation left in our wake. “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “But they want to kill you. Kill us.”

  “Your first lesson: Just because you can kill someone, doesn’t mean you should,” I snapped. “Do you understand?”

  “No,” Ren said, “but I will.”

  “Lucy,” I started, “we’re taking the backdoor. Whomever you’re sending, have them meet up with us Downtown at the Nurse.”

  “That took too long,” Lucy said.

  I checked my internal clock.

  “Twelve seconds.”

  “It should’ve taken nine,” Lucy said. “Three seconds off is a lifetime.”

  “You could move faster?” I opened the back door slowly. “You can’t make that assessment from the Farm you know.”

  “Seven seconds,” Lucy replied. “I would’ve been in and out of there in seven seconds flat.”

  “You had a call for me?” I asked, changing the subject. I didn’t feel like getting into a pissing contest with her. “Something about it being urgent?”

  I grabbed a cab coasting down the street. I pushed Ren in and told the driver where we needed to go. Driving downtown at this or any hour of the day, was an adventure on New York City streets. Taxis were known for their ability to shave years off your life from the harrowing transportation experiences. Only the desperate or daring used them regularly—today I was a little of both.

  “You don’t want to seem too eager, taking this call.” Lucy said. “Picasso is just as b
ad as Samael in his own way.”

  “Picasso isn’t currently hunting me down to erase me,” I answered. “I’ll take that as a win.”

  “Still,” Lucy started. “You’re peers. He’s good, but you’re better.”

  “Right, I should keep one of the best Cartel assassins on hold until he gets pissed off,” I answered. “Put him through.”

  “Give me a few more seconds,” Lucy said. “I need to re-route and bounce.”

  “No, no, take your time,” I answered as the cab sped off downtown. “It’s not like I’m doing anything pressing here…like trying to stay alive.”

  “By the way, I didn’t tell you to get rid of your phone,” Lucy said. “This would’ve been much easier if I didn’t have to re-route the signal through a SCAN.”

  “Getting rid of the phone was the most prudent course of action, considering the situation.”

  “Let me see if I get this straight, breaking a Cartel contract doesn’t warrant a second thought,” Lucy said. “Getting rid of your tri-encrypted phone that makes what the NSA uses look like it just started learning codebreaking…that requires prudence?”

  “I knew you’d understand.”

  “Are you ready?” she said, letting out a long sigh. “I have the call connected.”

  “Not really,” I said. “But let’s just rip the bandaid off.”

  ELEVEN

  Picasso was one of the best operators in The Cartel.

  He was also one of the most dangerous. Aside from myself, he was one of the few operators who preferred using a blade to fulfill his contracts. I considered him a blade master, but Lucy was right. He was just as bad as Samael in his own way.

  Samael was a psychotic nut-job who didn’t care how many he took down to fulfill his contracts. We called him Collateral Damage, because that was his method of closing contracts. Cleaners hated him and dealing with the fallout he left in his wake.

  Picasso was the other extreme. Quiet, efficient, and relentless. He had earned his name from the way he left his victims. When he was done, they vaguely resembled a human and were closer to a jigsaw puzzle.