Assassins the Florist Book One Part One

by Haley Langwood

  Chapter Eight

  “I made you a sandwich,” Keith softly said. Bailey shook his head; he wasn’t hungry. How could he eat when his brother was murdered? Anger rose inside Bailey when he glared at Keith. “Can you eat? Well, I can’t. My brother was murdered, and you start about food? You’re calling yourself my friend?” Bailey was yelling now, tears streaming down his face. Keith just sat there and let Bailey throw out all the anger that he felt right now. Keith knew that it was important that Bailey expressed his emotions and not bottled them up inside him.

  Right now, Bailey was angry; that was the second stage of grieve. The first was denial, and Bailey had denied it when Doctor Michael had told him that Brendan had died. Bailey had gone ballistic and had told the doctor that he must be wrong because Brendan would never leave him, never. Doctor Michael had no other option than to sedate Bailey to keep the man from harming himself.

  Bailey was angry, furious, but whatever happened, Keith would be there to pick up the pieces. He would not abandon his friend; he couldn’t. So now Bailey was home, and Keith had packed the things he would need in the coming days because he stayed at Bailey’s apartment as well. Bailey had protested at first, but then he had given in. Keith suspected that Bailey didn’t have the strength to go against him, which suited him perfectly.

  Keith knew that he had to talk to Bailey about making the funeral arrangements, but he didn’t have a clue of how to start that conversation. It didn’t matter from what angle he looked at it; Keith didn’t know how to bring up the conversation about Brendan’s funeral.

  Keith was startled when Bailey suddenly said, “I need to make the arrangements for Brendan’s funeral. I want to give him a decent burial,” he looked up at Keith, “Will you help me? Because I don’t know if I have the strength to make all the arrangements.”

  “Of course I’ll help you, Bailey. Just let me know what you want me to do, and I will do it,” Keith was relieved that Bailey had started to talk about Brendan’s funeral. Bailey stared in front of him again. Then, after a few minutes had passed, he handed Keith a piece of paper. Keith frowned but took the offered piece of paper.

  After reading it, he looked at Bailey and asked, “When did he write this?” “A while ago. Just so you know, I have one too. It’s in the sock draw in my bedroom,” Bailey answered without making eye contact. It worried Keith that Bailey kept staring into space; this wasn’t good. For a minute, he considered calling Doctor Michael but then dismissed the idea just as fast as it had come. Bailey didn’t need more doctors right now. Bailey stood, swayed, and then he went down, hard. Keith was not fast enough to prevent Bailey from hitting the floor. He cursed as he called Doctor Michael.

  “Thank God. Thank you for coming,” Keith said as he stepped aside to let the doctor enter Bailey’s apartment. Doctor Michael nodded and followed Keith to the bedroom, where Bailey still was lying unconscious on the floor. “Why didn’t you call the hospital?” the doctor questioned as he opened his medical bag and began examining Bailey. “Bailey doesn’t need another hospital admittance. I had to promise him that I would call you if something happened, and he would need a doctor,” Keith explained.

  When Doctor Michael finished examining Bailey, he and Keith lifted the still unconscious man onto the bed. “What’s wrong with him?” a worried Keith questioned. Doctor Michael sighed. “It looks like Bailey is overwhelmed with grieve and that he isn’t handling it well. He needs to be watched around the clock. I will prescribe something that will keep him calm.” Doctor Michael held up his hand when Keith opened his mouth to protest. “I know how Bailey feels about this kind of medication, but please, try to persuade him to take the medication,” Doctor Michael urged.

  Now it was Keith’s turn to sigh, which he did. “I will do my best, but you know him maybe even better than I do. I won’t force him or hide it in his food. He needs to take them voluntarily,” Keith insisted. “That’s all I can ask for,” Doctor Michael said. “Now, I could use some coffee because I will wait until Bailey opens his eyes again,” Doctor Michael smiled. Keith smiled back; how could he not?

  ******

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Bailey whispered as he looked at himself in the mirror. Keith had bought him a black suit with a crisp white shirt and shiny, new black shoes. He had helped Bailey get dressed because Bailey hadn’t cared; the man looked like he was on drugs. It looked like the man had closed himself off from each and every one. Keith was worried because Bailey hadn’t shown any emotion after passing out the previous day.

  Bailey should cry and scream his grieve and sorrow to the heavens, but the man just sat in his favorite chair and stared into nothing. Brendan had been dead for three days now, and it seemed that Bailey couldn’t cope with the loss. Keith thought he knew how close the brothers had been, but now he knew that he had underestimated the bond between them. He only hoped that Brendan’s death wouldn’t destroy Bailey. Keith felt at a loss of how to help his friend, he felt powerless, and it was a feeling that he didn’t like.

  ******

  “Someone was murdered a few days ago. Poor guy,” Byron said as he placed the newspaper back on the table. Marc frowned. “Let me see the article,” he said. Byron handed his brother the newspaper, and Marc started to read the news article; it was front-page news. “Brendan Hudson, the owner of Vintage Treasures, was killed when the car in which he drove exploded. The car in which Brendan drove belonged to his younger brother, Bailey Hudson.” Marc forgot to breathe. Had someone placed a bomb under Bailey’s car? Why? Instead of Bailey, it had been Brendan who had driven the car when the damn thing went off?

  What was it with that guy? Did he have nine lives, or what? Marc was sure that he had killed this child molesting bastard, but apparently, he had survived. Marc wanted to dismiss that thought, but he couldn’t. What if he had missed and just wounded the man? Marc pressed his lips together; he had to know who Bailey was. Even though he didn’t trust his little brother entirely yet, he knew that he needed to involve him in his investigation. Byron was a whiz with computers, and he was the best hacker Marc knew.

  Marc was in doubt. Should he go and see how Bailey was doing? Should he go to the funeral that would take place this afternoon? Marc was indecisive, and that wasn’t like him, and he didn’t like it. “Is something wrong?” Byron questioned as he put his e-reader aside.

  Marc hesitated for a second; then, he decided that he had to trust his little brother. So, Marc told Byron about his meeting with Bailey and that he liked the man. He didn’t say anything about the fact that Bailey should have been dead because he had killed him with a bullet right between the eyes. Marc was sure that he had shot and killed Fabian Copely; still, he needed to know all there was to know about Bailey and Brendan Hudson. So, he decided to be straight-to-the-point with Byron and asked him to do a thorough background check on the Hudson brothers.

  “So, you’ll do it? Look into the backgrounds of Bailey and Brendan?” Marc asked. “It would be my pleasure,” Byron grinned. “What do you need to get started?” Marc asked because he would buy Byron what he needed to do a background check on the Hudson Brothers. “I have all that I need right here. Well, right there,” Byron pointed his finger to the ceiling. Marc smiled; he should have known that his little brother had taken his laptops and other stuff with him when they left the Blake Estate.

  Byron rose from his chair and strode out of the room. Marc didn’t need to ask where Byron was heading because he knew that his baby brother immediately started the background check on Bailey and Brendan.

  Chapter Nine

  Today was Brendan’s funeral, and Marc had decided to attend because he was curious who would be there. However, he knew that Bailey wouldn’t understand him being there. Marc had decided, for himself, that he needed to see everyone who attended the funeral because the one who had placed the bomb would be there as well, of that he was sure. Those thugs often attended the funeral of their victims. Marc didn’t know many of the residents, but he could re
member faces like no other. So, he would attend but keep his distance during the burial and memorize every face. Byron would take pictures of all those at the funeral, just in case they needed them.

  Marc slowly drove past the flower shop, but it was closed, as he had expected. He got out of the car and searched for a note that let customers know when the shop would re-open again. The assassin was surprised to see no indication when the flower shop would open its doors again. That was strange; he knew that Bailey must be full of grieve because he lost his brother in the worst possible way, but still.

  Marc got back in the car again and drove to the cemetery where he knew he would find Bailey. Byron was already there, and Marc ignored his brother when he stood beside a tree and watched the people arrive. There were many residents; most he didn’t know. Then, he spotted Bailey; in the company of another man. Could he be the boyfriend? Marc knew that Bailey was gay the minute he had seen the young man.

  Marc observed Keith because his gut feeling told him that something was off that something just was not right. The way he behaved, the man could have been Bailey’s bodyguard. He shielded Bailey from some people, and others got his permission to be around Bailey. That was odd, very odd indeed.

  Bailey himself didn’t seem to notice his surroundings and how his friend, or whoever he was, protected him. Bailey was pale, and Marc thought that the man even had lost weight. There were several speakers, but Marc was too far away to hear them.

  When the coffin was finally lowered, Marc saw Bailey going down, but the friend was in time to catch him. He lifted Bailey in his arms and strode away; they were followed by another man, who talked rapidly to the one who had Bailey in his arms.

  Marc was confused; who were these people? And why was this one man so protective of Bailey? However, Marc was there to observe the people who attended the funeral. How he knew, Marc didn’t know, but he turned his head and saw two men standing behind another tree. They, too, were observing the people who had come to pay their respects.

  That was weird; Marc looked intently at the two men so he wouldn’t forget their faces. Both men had dark hair, were around 6 feet, maybe 6 feet two, but no taller. He didn’t know them; could they be residents, as well? If so, then why not mingle with the others? But, no, those two weren’t residents of that Marc was almost sure.

  Marc had seen enough, turned, and walked toward his car. Byron was already waiting for him. When he had reached his car, he turned his head and gazed straight into the eyes of the man who had carried Bailey away from Brendan’s grave. The man’s eyes were cold, and there was something else, something that Marc couldn’t put his finger on. The assassin was on high alert when he saw cold, flat eyes look back at him. Marc nodded in greeting, but the man didn’t react; he didn’t even blink. Who the hell was that guy? That was so not good, Marc thought.

  Marc had memorized the man’s face, and he would see if he could get a name by that face. He smiled because that was a job for his baby brother. Byron had taken pictures of the attendees and even of the two men who had hidden behind the tree. Marc wasn’t only a hitman; he was, as many called it, a ghost. He could blend in perfectly; people wouldn’t remember him. That’s why Marc was sure that the two men behind the tree hadn’t seen him.

  Marc climbed into the car and drove away from the cemetery. Byron was with his own vehicle. Marc hadn’t seen Bailey after he was carried away. The more Marc thought about Brendan’s death, the more questions arose, and he didn’t like it. Who were the two men that had hidden behind the tree? And, who was that person who had carried Bailey to the car? And the man that had followed them, who was he? Questions, questions, questions.

  Then, Marc remembered that he needed to buy groceries if he wanted a home-cooked meal tonight. So he drove to the mall and parked the vehicle near the flower shop because the grocery store was right around the corner from Bailey’s flower shop.

  Marc was carrying two paper bags with groceries and was happy to find everything on Byron’s list. Carrying the two bags, he stopped dead when he saw the car from the cemetery stop next to his vehicle. The man with the cold eyes opened the door and got out; a moment later, the other door opened, and a pale-looking Bailey climbed slowly out of the car.

  Marc could tell that the man was broken, and he felt his anger rise. Marc felt angry on Bailey’s behalf, and he didn’t like it because he still was investigating the man. He had to be sure if Bailey was indeed the child molester that he supposedly had killed. If so, then he would finish the job right then and there.

  Neither of the two men seemed to notice Marc, which was precisely how he liked it. When Bailey and his companion disappeared inside the building, Marc continued his way to the car. He put the groceries on the backseat and slid behind the wheel. He glanced up to where he knew Bailey’s apartment was, and when he didn’t see movement, Marc started the engine and backed out of the parking lot.

  “Honey, I’m home,” Marc joked when he entered the house. “Did you get everything on the list, baby?” Byron giggled. “I did,” Marc proudly replied as he put the two bags on the kitchen countertop. “Alright, then I will cook us a nice meal tonight,” Byron promised. Marc had asked what was on the menu for dinner, but Byron hadn’t told him. So, he didn’t need to ask again because Marc knew that he wouldn’t get an answer.

  “Did you find out anything about Bailey Hudson?” Marc inquired when they both sat down in the living room after unpacking the groceries. Byron grinned. “I was afraid that you forgot about that. Yes, I have.” Byron held up his hand to stop Marc from interrupting him. “But, it’s not much,” he added hastily. “What do you mean by that?” “Come, and I’ll show you,” Byron stood and motioned for Marc to follow him.

  Byron sat in front of his computer and typed rapidly on the keyboard, opening several windows. Marc blinked because what the hell was this? He was familiar with the internet, but this was chaos. “What am I looking at?” Marc softly questioned.

  Byron began to explain. “Bailey moved to Madison Valley three years ago. For two and a half years, he worked at Vintage Treasures, a local antique shop owned by Brendan Hudson, Bailey’s brother. Bailey opened the Flower Hut about six months ago. His best friend is, was his brother, Brendan. Then there is a person called Keith Aldridge; he seems always to be there. Especially if Bailey needs help with whatever.” Byron glanced up at his brother.

  “Where did Bailey live before he moved here?” Marc inquired because this wasn’t a coincidence. Three years ago, Marc had killed Fabian Copely, the man that looked exactly like Bailey Hudson.

  “You see, that’s strange because I can’t find anything else about the man. It seems that Bailey Hudson was born three years ago; it doesn’t go any further than that.” Byron eyed his brother. “What’s going on? Why are you interested in this Bailey person?” Byron questioned. Marc could see that his baby brother was serious and expected an answer from him.

  “You didn’t tell me what you do for a living. How do you earn your money? You must have an excellent paying job to afford a mansion like this,” Byron said suddenly. Marc now knew that he had underestimated his little brother big-time, shit. “I can’t tell you what I do for a living, not right now.” Marc paused because he didn’t want to tell Byron that he didn’t trust him just yet.

  “You don’t trust me yet,” Byron softly said. Marc nodded. “I wish I could because you are my brother, but.” “Even though we are brothers, we don’t know each other that well. We’re not close because we didn’t grow up together, and for years I was under the control of our father. So, you question my loyalty. Believe it not, but I understand, and I’m not angry,” Byron said, and to Marc, it seemed that the man was sincere.

  “I’m sorry, Byron,” Marc said as he lightly squeezed his younger brother’s shoulder. Byron smiled, and it was a real one. The man wasn’t angry, Marc could tell, but that didn’t change the fact that Byron was practically a stranger. Trust was earned and not given; Byron knew that.

  “I need mo
re time, but whatever Bailey is hiding, I will unravel his secrets. I’m curious now, too,” Byron grinned. Marc smiled; Byron had always been curious; he always wanted to investigate things, like Sherlock Holmes. Now he was a computer whiz, which could come in very handy, but first, Marc had to know if he could trust his little brother.