Silent Death (Cryptid Assassin Book 2)

by Michael Anderle

  "People keep saying that like I haven't intentionally put myself in danger for years. It's like you expect me to handle it like a normal person."

  "I guess that's fair," she acknowledged. "Look, I need to meet you. Have you had breakfast yet?"

  Taylor was reminded by a low grumble from his stomach that he had not, in fact, had breakfast yet.

  "Nope," he said simply.

  "Good, can you meet me at Il Fornaio at the New York-New York Hotel on the Strip?" she asked.

  "That's kind of rich for my blood," he pointed out.

  "Your payment for the LA job is already in your account so don't give me any of that."

  "Fine." He rolled his eyes. "I'll meet you there in…shall we say, twenty minutes?"

  "See you then."

  The traffic turned out to be a little heavier than he’d anticipated, and while the truck's GPS helped him to find the streets that were emptier and easier to navigate, he was running a few minutes late by the time he pulled into the entrance of the hotel and casino that had been built as a replica of the city it was named after.

  As Banks had said, though, he wasn't doing too badly for himself, and not only because he had received a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar-plus payday. He left the semi-new vehicle in the hands of one of the valets and headed inside.

  Casinos were built to be a maze you never got out of and in which you wanted to spend your money at every turn, but this place was somewhat unique, he had to admit that. He'd never been to New York City before, but the way it was structured with the looks of the “buildings” inside made it feel like he was actually in the famed city. Well, not really, but tremendous effort had been put in to create the effect.

  A few wrong turns made him even later before he finally found the Il Fornaio in question, and he was a little surprised. He had no real clue what he had expected, but the pristine restaurant was well yet warmly lit. Coupled with the modern but comfortable aesthetic to the marble floors and tabletops, it was not really anything like what he had imagined.

  Taylor didn't really want to say that he had looked for one of the stereotypical establishments that were shown in Martin Scorsese movies—the kind that only served a variety of pasta to the mobsters who came and stayed while they plotted heinous crimes. Truthfully, though, it leaned slightly toward what he’d envisaged, especially with how the hotel and casino around them had been built.

  He had to say it was a pleasant surprise. Since he had no nostalgic ties to times past, modernity was definitely what appealed to him about it. The kitchen was visible, which gave the patrons a full view of how their food was prepared. It was a nice touch.

  The breakfast crowd appeared to have already moved on to the rest of the hotel. A few still lingered or had arrived late so it wasn’t completely empty, which meant there were enough patrons for him to not feel overly exposed in the area.

  It wasn't difficult to locate Banks in one of the corner booths. She raised her hand and waved to him to call him over to join her.

  "Our tax dollars at work, huh?" He gestured expansively and grinned. "Are you staying in the hotel too?"

  "That's none of your business," she said. "But yes. It's actually a little surprising how low the daily rates are here."

  "It’s not really surprising since they want to draw you in and take the rest of your money at the casino."

  "Which is why I stick to the room and the amenities. I’m not sure how much of this I will actually have to pay but all things considered, I think it's worth it, especially this place."

  Taylor looked around a little warily. "Yeah, my first thought, when I came in here, was to wonder if they had a breakfast menu."

  "Take a look." Banks passed one of the menus over to him. "I've come here almost every day. Their food is fucking amazing."

  "It looks like you're not only enjoying the food." He raised an eyebrow at the champagne flute with yellow liquid inside. "Isn't it a little early to drink?"

  "I'm taking a personal day. Sue me." She lifted her glass defiantly to her lips and took a sip. "Anyway, forget that. Do you want to order something to eat? Because I'm starving."

  "Will you cover the bill?"

  "In your dreams."

  "Fair enough." He smirked. "I merely wanted to make sure this wasn't a date or anything."

  "Again, in your dreams." She flashed him a mocking look over the rim of her glass as she took another sip.

  A stout, middle-aged man with a grey goatee came over to the table and tugged a smile from her lips as she stood to greet him.

  "Welcome back, Miss Banks," he said with a grin and shook her hand firmly. Taylor stood a little awkwardly and tried not to look at them. He didn’t want to appear rude, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure what the man was doing there.

  "It’s nice to see you again, Marcelo." Banks turned to Taylor. "This is Marcelo, manager of Il Fornaio and one of the most interesting people I've ever had the pleasure to meet. Marcelo, this is Taylor, a…business associate."

  "And here I thought you would call me one of your friends," he said with a small grin.

  "The way you two were bickering, I'd say that you two were friends," Marcelo pointed out with a slightly challenging look at each of them.

  "See? I like this guy. He's very intuitive."

  Banks rolled her eyes. "Business associate."

  "Anyway," the manager said. "Niki has been one of my best customers. She always tips well and hasn’t missed a single breakfast during her time here, so any business associate of hers is a friend of mine."

  "Out of sheer curiosity, how long has she been coming here?" Taylor asked.

  "Well, every day over the past week, but she has made regular visits over the past month and a half."

  "Is that so?" He glanced slyly at the special agent.

  Her eyes widened in panic at the man's words and she quickly and somewhat desperately changed the subject. "Okay, I think it’s time we actually ordered, right Taylor?"

  "I could have a bite," he said and patted Marcelo on the shoulder. "I was actually a little surprised you had a breakfast menu, but I'll opt for something a little more basic. I'll have the…” He looked hastily the menu. “Con Panche…sunny-side eggs with the applewood-smoked bacon."

  "Con Pancetta Affumicata," the man said and pronounced the Italian words effortlessly. "Would you like anything else?"

  "Yeah, and the…uh, Tosto Francese?" He wasn’t sure if he said it right but what the hell. Food was food, whatever you called it.

  "Nice pronunciation," Marcelo said with a chuckle.

  "Thanks. I took Spanish in high school. Oh, and black coffee to go with it."

  "Might I suggest a glass of orange juice? It fits well with the rest of the meal, in my opinion."

  "Sure. Why not?"

  "And the usual for me," Banks said.

  "Of course, an Uova Salute with a Zampa d'Orso and a Latte Caldo?" the manager confirmed and he nodded before he headed back to the kitchen.

  "I didn't see him take any of that down," Taylor said and narrowed his eyes.

  "I don't think he needed to."

  "What's a…Wova…" He consulted the menu briefly. "Huh, cholesterol-free eggs, fresh basil, potatoes, and fruits. It sounds healthy. What's that zampa thing, though? All it says is that it's a pastry."

  "It literally translates to bear claw in Italian," she explained. "Well, bear's paw, technically, but it is simply a bear claw. They are very good here, though."

  "So, why don't you tell me why you had me come all the way here," he said while he somewhat absently watched Marcelo give the kitchen their orders. "And don't say it was because you wanted company."

  "I'll have to refer you back to your lonely, pathetic dreams."

  "Did you find anything on the guys who shot my truck?"

  "I’m still working on that," Banks replied.

  "So you’re checking on Vickie to make sure she's okay?" he pressed.

  "Is everything okay with her? Is she shook up over th
e shooting?"

  "She wasn't the one who was shot at, so yeah, she's as right as rain and thanks for asking." He laughed. "Maybe a little hungover. We took her out for a drink last night and she's smaller and her liver doesn't process the alcohol too quickly, so she's sleeping it off. I gave her and Bobby the morning off."

  "Then no, I'm not checking in on her," the agent said. "I actually have a job for you."

  "I'll have you know they shot my truck up, so I might be a little slower to get there."

  "That won’t be a problem, I don't think," Banks said. "This job is in Oregon, where a group of foresters claims up and down that they saw Bigfoot."

  "And we care about those crazies making up crazy stories from what they saw when drinking why, exactly?" he asked, his tone deliberately sarcastic.

  "Because they're not crazy.”

  "What do you mean?"

  She sighed. "I honestly never thought I'd say this, but Bigfoot is dropping bodies."

  His eyebrows raised and he stared at her. "Huh. No kidding?"

  "I'm afraid not. Desk is working on the details for you right now, but I wanted to check in with you first to make sure you were up for the job."

  "Why wouldn't I be?" A couple of waiters already approached with their plates. “Damn, they’re fast.”

  "I really hope I don't need to remind you about what happened yesterday." She leaned back as the plates of freshly cooked breakfast were placed on the table in front of them, followed by their drinks.

  "I wish people would stop," he protested. "It's not like you guys were the ones who were shot at."

  "So, you're good to go?" Banks asked.

  "Obviously."

  "Awesome." She smiled. "Now…” She waved at his plate with her fork. “Enjoy your meal."

  The smell alone was enough to make his mouth water, although that probably had something to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since the night before. He took a sip of coffee first, then tried the food.

  It was difficult to pinpoint what exactly it was that made it all different. It tasted amazing, of course, but there was something extra.

  For some weird reason, it was like it tugged at the nostalgia in him and called him back to a time when all he really needed to think about was getting home in time for his favorite cartoons. Back then, his worries about food were minimal since his mom did the cooking, although he needed to help with the cleaning.

  "Holy shit," he said, his mouth still full of pancake.

  "I know, right?" his companion replied and attacked her food with a gusto that he'd not seen in her before.

  Taylor swallowed and in that moment, decided to put all thoughts about shootings and hunting monsters aside for the moment and simply enjoy his meal.

  Everything else could be dealt with later, anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "So," Taylor said into his phone. "Bigfoot. What are your thoughts? Does he exist or not?"

  There was a moment of silence on the line and he could tell that Desk tried to decide if he was serious or not. He wasn't sure if he was serious or not either. It was a long drive to Portland, and while the new truck was a breeze to drive, it simply wasn't Liz.

  For one thing, there was no option to turn the AI on and sit back to watch something or nap as the miles flew by. He needed to physically drive all the way for almost sixteen gosh-damned, long-assed, annoying and boring hours.

  He could kill those fuckers for that alone.

  Of course, he wouldn’t complete the trip in one day. Banks had said that there was no time constraint like there had been on the last couple of jobs, so he would be able to find somewhere to spend the night before he started again the next day. He had already plotted most of the journey, having spent the morning after the fantastic breakfast packing what he needed and doing his research. Bobby, as always, was left in charge.

  The afternoon had been spent driving the first leg, which gave him a head start for the following day. It was a good plan. He still felt like it had been a good idea but had failed to account for the mind-numbing dullness that came from not being able to focus on anything other than the road.

  It was what everyone had done in the past and it wasn't like he hadn't ever done it before, but he had grown accustomed to certain luxuries that were now absent.

  He added yet another reason to kill the fuckers in a very long and painful way.

  His music had played to keep him company and helped to relieve some of the tedium of the trip until Desk called him. She was ready to provide the details of where he would go and what he was likely to deal with and he took the opportunity to stretch the conversation a little. Having someone to talk to really took the sting out of the miles.

  “So tell me,” he said, “do you believe the Bigfoot story?”

  A fairly long silence followed during which he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the beat still in his head from the music and tried to imagine what she must look like deep in thought. It was a stupid exercise, but hey, it filled the gap.

  "Honestly?" Desk asked finally, her tone cautious.

  "Sure."

  "I think you'll have to be a little more specific. The world is full of all kinds of crazy monsters, as I'm sure you're aware. So if the point of the question is to establish whether I am open to the existence of a Bigfoot creature, then yes, I am open to it. If the question was meant to ascertain whether or not I feel the Bigfoot creature does exist and has existed as stated in common American folklore, I have to say no. The evidence suggests that there is a possibility of similar creatures, but the creature as described is probably merely the result of people with impaired visibility who saw a bear or something of the kind."

  "Huh. Well stated."

  "I'm glad it meets with your approval," she said. "Where do you stand on the topic?"

  "Basically the same as you," he replied. "I'm not sold on the whole culture around it, and yeah, I'm sure the people who supposedly saw Bigfoot probably didn't, but there is a possibility that it exists. I can't say for certain that it doesn't, but it doesn't really matter since whether a particular creature exists or not doesn't impact our lives."

  "Well, in this case, I'd say it definitely impacts yours," she pointed out.

  "Okay, I guess that’s a fair point." A hunt for Bigfoot was obviously a high point in his work as a cryptid assassin, whatever the hell it turned out to be. He didn't actually think Bigfoot was out there, obviously, but if he had to go out there based on reports that the big guy attacked and killed people, there was no way he would keep this one quiet.

  A long drive in the afternoon culminated in a break for the night at a small hotel a few miles off the highway. Before he resumed his drive early in the morning, he made a quick call to Bobby to make sure everything was still on track and set off on the second leg of his trip.

  The truck had performed well and he felt confident about his purchase. Of course, he had done a check on the vehicle and so knew what he was getting into and even took it on a test drive before he completed the deal. But there wasn't much in the world that could test a vehicle more than a long trip and so far, this one had more than stood up to the challenge.

  Taylor hadn't been entirely sure that he would keep her after the purchase but settled more and more into the idea of it. He still didn't have a clue what to name her but so far, she had proven herself. She carried the weight of two mech suits and cruised the road at the kind of high speeds he would get calls from Desk about, and she had shown no signs of problems.

  Of course, that could change later but so far, he liked her.

  He needed to slow as he came into the city of Portland, as Desk had directed him to head into the local FBI headquarters where Banks had been able to fly in and set up shop. She had said he could fly and do the preparatory work alongside her, but he had declined.

  For him, it was best to drive and he would be comped for all his expenses anyway. He wasn't a fan of being in a flying tube with a horde of strangers, and
while he had full control of the phobia, it wasn't like he intended to constantly test it without any real cause.

  An underground parking lot provided a safe place where he could leave the nameless lady and he headed into the offices Banks had been assigned for them.

  It was odd to see her in an office situation, and while he knew he worked as a freelancer for the FBI, he still hadn't quite made the connection until there was a whole process of being searched and checked before he was allowed entry.

  A couple of other agents studied him curiously but didn't say anything.

  Banks came out to greet him with a small smile and gestured for him to follow her. "Don't mind the rest of them. They work here permanently and don't like it when outsiders come to interrupt their routine. We won't be here for long, so they won't have to worry about you too much."

  "Fun times," he quipped, unruffled by the scrutiny. "Why do we need to be in a building again?"

  "We don't need to be here," she replied. "We only need a location to look at the data that was collected to confirm that this is definitely a job for you, and I thought that having an office no one's using would be the best way to do it. Otherwise, I would have had to spend money and no one wants that."

  "Not even you?" She shut the door to the office behind him. "Not even overspending your time in a hotel while lurking over me?"

  "I'm keeping an eye on Vickie." She strode to the other side of the desk and dropped into the seat.

  "Not for the past month and a half you haven't," he said with a grin.

  "I needed to keep an eye on you too. And I don't know why we're talking about this. I don't have to explain myself to you."

  "I merely wondered why you're such a regular in the city like Giuseppe said you were." His grin widened as she rolled back on her chair to open the window behind her.

  "His name is Marcelo," Banks reminded him and opened the blinds to a limited and yet still good view of the city below them.

  "Exactly," Taylor said, but his attention was drawn to the billboard hung directly above the window. It was an ad for a TV series that would hit the waves within the next couple of weeks and displayed a good-looking man with a square jaw and bristle on his chin. He held a gun and leaned against a doorframe while something approached from the darkness behind.