Killing Freedom

by Ryan Casey

  Jared’s head buzzed as the words rattled around his head.

  ‘What if I don’t?’

  Raymond grinned. ‘You see, I’m a man of leverage. Boys—come on.’

  One of the guards grabbed Faith and pulled her over towards Raymond. Jared tried to shoot to his feet but the other guard pinned him down, pulling the gun out of his pocket in the process.

  ‘You do the job and she lives. You fail to do the job, she dies. Is it really worth her life? Is your little freedom conquest really worth your sister’s life?’

  Jared’s heart raced. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t find the words, Faith’s eyes looked back at him as a line of sweat grew on her forehead. She’d done him wrong, but he couldn’t let her die. Raymond had backed her into a corner, forced her hand. She was all he had left. She was all he had left, and they couldn’t take her away from him.

  Raymond winked at Faith and walked up ahead of the bodyguard holding her. ‘People are watching, Jared. We could so easily cut you loose, but we choose not to. I warned you. I warned you that if you walked out the door, the rules changed. Don’t let us down, and don’t do anything stupid.’

  The bodyguard continued to pin Jared down as Raymond, Faith, and the other man grew further and further away.

  ‘Twelve PM tomorrow, Jared, Central Square,’ Raymond shouted. ‘His life or hers. It’s your call.’

  They disappeared out of the gates as Jared felt a rushing sensation engulf his arm.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When Jared blinked his eyes open again, the bodyguard that had been pinning him down had gone. The park was empty. He looked down at his watch—5:35. Shit. On the back of his hand, he saw a little scab forming. InstaHit, capable of knocking a healthy human out for hours with a single prick to the skin. He must have got him when he was taking Faith away.

  Faith.

  He stepped up from the park bench and walked over towards the gates. This is what it had come to. He had no choice anymore. If he didn’t do it, he’d be arrested anyway, and Faith would die. If he did do it, he’d be arrested, and Faith would live. He was right about going back to Raymond—it was the only option.

  Jared walked out onto the sidewalk, much quieter and cooler now that the sun was hiding behind the trees. He saw that the car was still there up ahead. There was nothing else to do now—just go back and wait, perhaps even sleep in the car, get accustomed to confined spaces.

  He stepped into the car and leaned against the dashboard, rubbing his forehead with his hands. His eyelid had just about stopped stinging now, and he had grown more and more used to it as the days went on. But what was it for? What was any of it for? Cindy’s life—all of their lives. What had he gotten out of it?

  ‘Stop moping around, you dramatic fucker.’

  Jared jumped in his seat and swung around as a voice spoke out from the back of the car. He instinctively reached for his gun, but it wasn’t there. When he registered who it was, it didn’t matter anyway.

  Mustapha leaned forward from the darkness of the back of the car. He slipped a cigarette in his mouth and lit up. ‘Three fucking hours I’ve gone without one of these things thanks to you.’

  Jared’s heart raced. ‘How did you—’

  ‘The back door of the car. You should learn to lock these things. Drive, we need to talk.’

  Jared sighed and turned towards the steering wheel. How had he found him, and what did he want? ‘Just go, Uncle.’

  ‘Now don’t give me any of that shit,’ Mustapha snapped, the smoke working its way through the into the front of the car. ‘I came here for you and I’m not going anywhere until I’ve finished with you. Drive.’

  Jared squeezed the steering wheel and took a look at his watch: quarter to six. He had all night to talk to Mustapha, but he’d rather spend it alone, psyching himself up for tomorrow. But why was he here? There had to be a reason.

  ‘Are you going to sit on your arse all day, or are you gonna make me come through and drive that fucking thing?’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Jared said, pulling off the kerb and onto the road. ‘Where to?’

  Mustapha blew another cloud of smoke through to the front of the car, engulfing Jared’s head in fog. ‘Anywhere that isn’t here. I can’t fucking stand the sight of this park.’

  Jared ended up driving to a nearby motel. Mustapha was silent in the back of the car, exhaling smoke through to the front every now and then.

  The pair of them checked into a motel just off the main highway near town. It was a quiet, sleepy place, with rarely any customers outside of the regulars. Jared had relied on it many times in the past when he needed a safe place to hide, so it would serve its purpose once again.

  After collecting the keys, they walked up the steps of the motel and towards a door on the front balcony, looking out over the barren car park. There were only three cars in sight, with the nearby hum of the main road for company. It was safer than a café. Somebody could be watching in a café.

  Mustapha unlocked the door to the room and sarcastically held his arm out, gesturing for Jared to enter first. Jared shoved past him—it wasn’t a time for messing around. Did he even know what had happened?

  They shut the door and entered the dingy room. The bedsheets didn’t look like they’d been changed for years, probably still drenched in Jared’s sweat from the last time he’d stayed here. Mustapha opened the fridge and pulled out a can of coke, knocking it back and exhaling with refreshment.

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’ Jared said.

  Mustapha took another sip from the can of coke. ‘Tell you what?’

  Jared scratched the back of his neck. ‘Why we’re here. What this is all about.’

  ‘Oh,’ Mustapha said, nodding his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money, throwing it down on the bed: the two thousand dollars Jared left for him. ‘I think you left this lying around at my place. I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything as pig-headed stupid as that, because, y’know, that would be really fucking dangerous, wouldn’t it?’ His wide eyes burned into Jared.

  ‘Uncle, Faith’s gone.’

  Mustapha rolled his eyes and reached into his top pocket for a cigarette. ‘Gone? She called me earlier. Said to get to the park in case anything happened. I told her to fuck off, but she was worried about—’

  ‘Wait, she told you to get to the park?’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ Mustapha said. ‘Seemed in a real odd state, too.’

  She’d told him to get to the park. She was trying to help him after all. Despite everything that had happened, she was still just looking out for her brother.

  ‘Where’s the girl?’ Mustapha asked.

  ‘Cindy’s dead.’

  The cigarette drooped from Mustapha’s lips, and his eyes narrowed before he grunted and lit up. ‘I told you it was a risk. I told you you were going to start a shit-storm with that. You can’t look out for everyone Jared, you ju—’

  ‘I killed her.’

  The room was silent as Mustapha watched Jared, the ash at the end of his cigarette curling, begging to be tapped. After a few seconds, Mustapha took a sharp breath through his nostrils and stubbed out the barely-smoked cigarette before perching on the end of the bed with his head in his hands. ‘Y’see, this is it. This is just it.’

  ‘What?’ Jared asked.

  ‘You. This is just what you do. You’ve got so used to killing and doing all this dark fucking shit over the years that you barely know what’s right or wrong for you. I look at the news every day and I see the report on that family, and you’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about turning you in. No idea.’

  Jared rubbed his hands up his arm. He couldn’t sit down next to Mustapha, not now. He just had to focus, prepare for tomorrow. ‘I thought I could make it work.’

  ‘Jared,’ Mustapha said, half-smiling. ‘This can’t work. You chose your path, and you’ve got to stay on that path otherwise this sort of thing happens. You’re a killer, Jared. You’re a killer,
and you’re indebted to a corrupt fucker who’s had you spiralled round his little finger for God knows how long. You can’t just turn away from that.’

  Jared slumped against the chest of drawers opposite Mustapha. ‘He has Faith. He wants me to take out the opposing mayorial candidate, and go to prison.’

  Mustapha looked up at Jared, pity in his eyes. ‘Then you do it, and you serve your time.’

  A sickly sensation worked its way up through Jared’s body. He couldn’t quite place it, but he sensed the final rope of attachment to his family severing.

  Jared nodded at Mustapha, his eyes stinging. ‘I just wanted to do the right thing. Just once.’

  Mustapha sucked on the end of another fresh cigarette, staring into space. ‘I know, I know.’ His eyes dropped to the floor. ‘Jared, do you ever feel any…’ He coughed and stopped talking.

  ‘Any what?’

  Mustapha shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. Listen, I’d better go. I, er—are you… are you okay here?’

  Jared nodded reluctantly. He knew what Mustapha was trying to ask him: Did he feel any guilt? Any remorse? Any sorrow for what he had to do, or what he had done? A part of him did, a part of him underneath all the killings and the lies and everything he’d seen. It was a part of him that he so desperately clung to, but he felt that part slipping away from him more and more as time progressed. Did he feel anything? If he felt everything, and still did what he did, he’d be a much more dangerous man.

  Mustapha pulled the door open. His expression was distant. ‘I can get here in the morning, call it eight-ish. Oh, and er, the money. Do you mind if I…?’

  ‘Course,’ Jared said. ‘It’s yours. Take it.’

  Mustapha shuffled over to the bed and picked up the cash. ‘I’ll see what I can do with it. Sleep well.’ He walked back to the door.

  ‘Uncle, I’m sorry. For everything, I really am.’

  Mustapha shook his head and shut the door.

  Jared was alone again.

  He stepped into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. His stubble was growing out, gingering at the ends. There were dark rings under his eyes, his missing eyelid crusting with freshly dried blood in the corner. He kept on staring, looking into his grey eyes as they followed his gaze. He might not get another chance to see himself for years, not if they locked him up in maximum security.

  Brian, Carl, Cindy.

  Why couldn’t he cry? He was disappointed deep down, of course he was, but not for them. Not for them as individuals. They had just been a means of understanding, and had finally shown Jared that there was such a thing as a normal life.

  Weren’t they? He’d killed so many people he wasn’t even sure anymore.

  Walking back into the dimly-lit and grubbily-decorated bedsit area, he noticed a leaflet on the desk at the side of the bed. ‘RE-ELECT STABILITY. RE-ELECT IAIN.’ On the mayor’s grey head of hair, someone had doodled a bulging, ejaculating penis, the words ‘BURN IN HELL’ scrawled underneath. They didn’t want him—nobody wanted him—but tomorrow, they’d get him, because that was just Jared’s job. He threw the leaflet to one side and pulled his head under the sheets.

  As Jared tried to sleep, he tried to picture the man who had drawn the doodled penis. He imagined him working in his cushy day job, returning home to his family, but still having the determination to draw that cock.

  He pictured a woman, returning home from her day of teaching at the school to her normal family home, and scribbling ‘BURN IN HELL’.

  Nobody was free, not how things were in the city.

  Jared clenched his jaw together, his body beginning to shake. He wasn’t totally sure what he was going to do yet, but for the first time in his life, he knew what his purpose was—what everything had been building towards. For the first time, he knew what freedom was.

  When the cub rises, the lion king will fall. Chapter Eleven, page 329. He couldn’t remember the title of the book it was from.

  The rattling of the door awoke Jared from his deep sleep.

  ‘You’d better be fucking awake in there.’

  Mustapha. Shit—how late had he left it? He was supposed to get up earlier to psyche himself up. He always psyched himself up before a big job. He threw the sheets from over him and rushed towards the door, still fully clothed. He could see the sun peeking in through the pinky-brown curtains, dust dancing in the glow.

  Jared opened the door and let Mustapha in. Mustapha was grunting. Something seemed different about him—yes, the lack of a cigarette in his mouth.

  ‘Quit smoking?’ Jared asked.

  Mustapha growled. ‘Don’t you dare mention the fucking “s” word to me. Dropped my last packet when I was bending over backwards to find you.’

  Jared grinned as Mustapha stuffed a green bag into his hand.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Call it a parting gift,’ Mustapha said. ‘Decided to take that money you left for me and spend it on you, because I’m just such a brilliant uncle.’

  The money. Jared unwrapped the bag and found a pistol in there, Swift scope pre-attached to the top. ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘Oh don’t go giving me any of that sentimental shit, I’ve had enough of that over the years.’

  ‘No, seriously, you shouldn’t have. Swift scopes are way below par these days.’ He tried to hold a serious stare at Mustapha as his face dropped.

  ‘Unappreciative bastard. Are you ready?’

  Jared slipped the gun into his coat pocket and smiled. ‘I think I am.’

  Mustapha frowned. ‘What’s got into you this morning?’

  Jared stared out at the sun as it burned against the empty car-park. It looked brighter out there than he’d ever noticed. It might just have been the brightest day he’d seen in years. He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just look after yourself, won’t you?’ He reached out for his uncle’s shoulder and patted him.

  Mustapha’s eyes looked down at the ground as Jared rested his hand on his shoulder. After a few seconds, he brushed it off and cleared his throat. ‘Get out there and do whatever you’ve got to do. Now’s not the time to go soft. Don’t want that prison type having too much of a free ride.’

  Jared nodded and stepped out into the warmth outside. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Ah, it’s nothing. It’s your money anyway, and you’d probably end up spend—’

  ‘No, not for the gun. Just thanks for making me realise.’

  Mustapha backed away from Jared. ‘Realise what?’

  Jared walked down the balcony and the steps.

  Despite everything, he couldn’t stop himself smiling.

  Chapter Thirty

  He dialed Raymond’s number and waited.

  One ring, two rings.

  ‘Hello?’

  Jared expected it to take three rings at the very least. He must have been sat there, waiting.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Jared,’ Raymond said. ‘It’s good to hear from you.’ There was a sincerity to his voice. ‘How… have you made your mind up?’

  ‘I’ll do it on one condition.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘What’s that condition?’

  ‘That I can see my sister… and see you, before I do it.’

  Another pause.

  ‘I mean, it shouldn’t be you setting the conditions, but I suppose we could arrange something.’

  ‘I’m sat outside the offices now. I want your word that you won’t do anything.’

  Raymond laughed uneasily on the other end of the line. ‘Jared, what’s got into you? I know things have happened, I realise that, but I wouldn’t hurt you. You’re doing a great thing for me—for the city—and all that. Come up when you’re ready. But make it quick: the election rally is in an hour.’

  Jared pulled the phone from his ear and hit the red button. He felt the weight of the gun in his pocket and stared up at the reflective glass windows of the towering office block. Banners and posters for the mayor and his opposition painted the entr
ance area, and a carnivalesque atmosphere loomed in the distance.

  He took a deep breath and walked over towards the entrance. When he reached the bin, he looked over his shoulder to check nobody was watching and dropped the green bag with the scoped gun inside. He wouldn’t need it right now.

  Then, he straightened his jacket and stepped through the door. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he knew what he had to do.

  The reception area was buzzing with chatter and the ring of phones, no doubt preparing for the election excitement.

  Pity it was pointless.

  Jared stepped inside the lift and hit the button to go to floor fifty. It was a strange sensation, being back here again, nobody paying much attention to him. Raymond had made it pretty clear that the police would find out about him one way or another. He’d made his choice.

  The lift moved upwards towards his destination. Jared twiddled his fingers together. Faith. He should have asked to speak to her, but a part of him didn’t want to know what sort of condition she was in.

  No. Raymond wouldn’t do anything to her. He was sick, but he was a man of his word.

  If Jared let him down, Raymond would put her through hours of pain and degradation before coming close to putting her out of her misery, and then he’d proceed to subject her to another few hours or days or weeks of humiliation. Then, when she finally became an inconvenience, he’d get rid of her.

  The lift pinged. He had arrived.

  Jared brushed his suit down and stepped towards Raymond’s door. The rest of the corridor was completely empty, as it usually was. He reached his hand up to the oak door and held his breath.

  He knocked.

  ‘Come in,’ Raymond called.

  Jared grabbed the door handle with his shaking hand and opened the door.