by R. B. Schow
With these sad, tragic revelations there were dark shadows under his eyes and prolonged silence. Then he started to shake all over—his shoulders, his back, and his face. He sobbed because the weight of what he’d done, of what he sacrificed, had all been for nothing.
Atlas grabbed his face again, yanking it hard this time. Leopold knew Atlas well enough to know what made him tick. But to Camden, the former SWAT commander turned homicidal maniac probably looked like something coughed up from hell.
“You can’t believe a word any of these people say,” Atlas growled. “They’ll eat their own for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You are a perfect example of that, and do you know what?”
“What?” Camden asked through a squashed mouth.
“That makes me so fucking mad,” he roared. “You just gave them away like they were trading cards or markers.”
“I know,” he said.
Atlas closed the distance between them. With his face only inches from Camden’s face, Atlas screamed with all his might. Camden could do nothing but stay there and take it.
Then Atlas took a deep breath and said, “I’ve wanted to beat you to death since I found out what you did. But killing you would only ease your pain and that’s something I won’t take from you. I hope it eats you alive. And when it does, just know it’s eating at people like me, too. I couldn’t save Callie. Do you hear that? You took her from me, too. You took her away from all of us!”
Just then, the security guard entered the room. He had his gun out, but he didn’t look nervous.
“If you’re going to shoot me,” Atlas said over his shoulder, “just do it already.”
“The chambered round was not for you, sir. It was for the secretary should one of you decide that he needed to live.”
“You don’t think he should have lived?” Leopold asked, trying to be clear on the man’s intentions.
The security guard shook his head. “Not after what you’ve told me and not after what I’ve seen. Mr. Hargrove, could you please move away from Congressman Fox.”
Atlas shoved Camden’s head away then he stood up and stepped back.
The second the security guard started shooting, Leopold thought his heart was going to explode. As shocked as he was that the man discharged his weapon in such close quarters, no one was as shocked as Camden Fox. All three bullets ended up passing through him.
Leopold stared at Camden Fox’s dead body and found he was at a loss for words. He turned and looked at the security guard, almost too afraid to ask why he did what he did.
“I heard everything, Mr. Wentworth,” the security guard explained. “I have daughters, too.”
Atlas nodded at the man, and Kiera said nothing.
“I’ll wait a few minutes until you’re gone,” he said. “I’ve already erased the cameras and started a new twenty-four-hour cycle, so you’ll be clear of what happened here. Then I’ll phone the authorities and take responsibility for killing the congressman.”
“If you need representation,” Leopold said, “please call.”
“Oh, you can bet I will.”
“Damien Stone out of Texas will put you through to me if it comes to that,” Leopold said. “And if not…thank you.”
“You bet,” the guard said. “Now you’d best be on your way.”
Chapter Forty-Six
ATLAS HARGROVE
Another plane, another car, Atlas thought. He didn’t mind the freedom, but the travel was getting a bit tiring. It was even worse when Leopold wouldn’t tell anyone where they were going. This bothered Yergha and Esty, who opted to stay on the plane and relax rather than get into another car and travel to another mystery location.
When Atlas slid into the rented car with Kiera and Leopold, he said, “This is getting old, Leopold.”
“The only reason you’re using my full name is because it rhymes,” Leopold said. “That would be tragic if it wasn’t a little funny.”
Atlas chuckled at the man’s expense but he was tired of the emotions, the physical war, all the killing. For a minute there, he actually longed to be back in solitary confinement where it was dark, quiet, and cold.
“Where are we going?” Atlas finally asked.
Leopold said, “I promised you a performance bonus.”
Now he perked up, wondering what the man was talking about. When they arrived at a gross-looking old house and Leopold handed him and Kiera black elbow-length dishwashing gloves, Atlas couldn’t take it any longer. “This has to do with Alabama, doesn’t it?”
“You haven’t asked about her, but I assume she’s been on your mind,” Leopold said.
“Of course,” he replied. “Ever since you said your detective has made some progress on the case.”
Smiling, Leopold said, “Don’t spoil your gift.”
“I’m trying like crazy, Leo,” Atlas said, “but Alabama is all I think about.”
The three of them walked through the back gate and into the house. Kiera picked up a cell phone on the counter while Atlas and Leopold walked down a dark hallway to the back of the house. In the bathroom, they found a skinny man sitting in his own urine-soaked feces, moaning. If they didn’t need to get the man free, they would have set the house on fire just to burn out the acrid smell of human sewage.
“My knees, man, my frickin’ knees!” he cried out when he saw them.
“Where’s the key to the lock?” Leopold asked when he saw the padlocked chain around his neck.
“By the sink, bro. Hurry up!”
Leopold opened the lock while Atlas took off the handcuffs and loosened the rope around his knees. When Mr. Poopy Pants was free, he just flopped over on the floor moaning about how bad his joints hurt. Leopold grabbed an ankle, dragged him out into the hallway and then into the living room. He protested loudly and with a lot of cursing, but he was so exhausted from being tied up for days that he barely even put up a fight.
Atlas followed Leopold’s lead, his head now filled with questions, concerns, and a burning curiosity. He was about to ask about this man when he saw Kiera staring at the cell phone. Something was happening to her, something very odd and unexpected. She was crying.
The bald assassin looked up and handed the phone to Atlas. He saw the photo. It was of a girl on a mattress turned on her side, her knees curled up to her elbows. He scrolled through a few more pictures then saw his daughter’s face. His eyes started to water. For a second he lost track of himself, this house, the man begging for a glass of water and some food. All he saw was his daughter. He wanted to see more of her but he couldn’t bear to look. Was she dead? Is she dead? He scrolled through a few more photos and found what looked like a recent picture of her. She was holding a very pregnant belly and looking mad. This photo, of all the others, rattled him so deeply, he felt the black tide of rage swelling inside of him.
“Who is this man?” he roared as he stared at the asshole on the floor. “Where is Alabama?!”
“We’re getting close,” Leopold said.
“Is she dead?”
“No,” the man said.
“Who is this, Leopold? No more games!”
“This is the shit bird who took your daughter,” Leopold said. “My gift to you for what you did this week.”
The man’s head shot up, fear exploding in his eyes and all over his face. Instead of speaking—because Atlas had transcended words at this point—he unsheathed his knife, the same one used to kill Russell Lumley, and then he started for the man.
But then he thought twice.
Turning around, he stalked to the back of the house, went into the garage, and turned on the overhead fluorescent lights. Alongside the wall was a standing workbench. He went through the drawers looking at the various tools. He stopped when he saw a large roofing hammer.
He picked up the hammer, spun it in his palm then started back inside. That’s when he saw something better. Standing in the corner among a bundle of rakes, shovels, and hoes was an ax. He grabbed the tool and headed back inside.
Inside, he saw the man on the floor and all he saw was death.
“Hold his arms,” Atlas growled.
The man tried to kick him, his wailing loud enough to wake the dead but not loud enough to reach Atlas.
He used the top of the ax to punch down on the man’s shins. Those legs stopped kicking. He hit him again with the top of the ax, this time shattering the man’s kneecaps.
“His name is Keegan White,” Leopold said.
With Keegan’s legs destroyed and his exhaustion taking over his ability to scream, the man who stole Atlas’s daughter descended into fits of pleading.
Atlas heard none of it.
He stood over the man with the ax at his side. Leopold had a panicked look on his face, but Kiera held his eyes, giving him the slightest nod of approval.
To Keegan, who was mewling now—literally crying and begging for his life—Atlas said, “You took my daughter and I see that you did vile things to her. You turned my wife away from me. I became a monster because of you.”
“I’m so sorry, man. I was wrong. What I did was wrong!”
“I want you to look at me the way she looked at you,” he said softly. “I want you to know that I’ve come for you, that I’m the monster standing over you the same way you were the monster that stood over her.”
In Keegan’s trousers, a wet stain blossomed and the faint smell of piss filled Atlas’s nostrils.
“Take it like a man,” Atlas said.
With that, he swung the ax back, slung it up and over his shoulder, and then with one smooth strike, he drove the blade bit deep into the man’s head.
The pulpy, cracking, splitting sound was like a wet snapping noise that had Leopold sitting back on his ass, wordless and looking unsure of how to feel. Kiera, on the other hand, went and stood over the split skull, staring down at the carnage. She then lifted a foot and stomped on the butt end of the ax, sinking the blade bit in just a little farther.
“If I would have known you were going to do that,” Leopold said to Atlas, “I would have worn sneakers.”
There was blood all over him.
“Thank you for this, Leopold,” Atlas said.
“Alabama is alive, I believe,” Leopold said, offering him words of hope. “I’m not going to stop looking for her, even when you’re back in the can. On this, I give you my word.”
Atlas nodded at him, grateful. “Bad people doing good things for the right reasons, that’s why we exist,” Atlas said in a moment of clarity. “That’s your legacy, Leopold, even if only the six of us know it.”
“I’m not a bad person,” Leopold said.
Smiling at him, nothing humorous or right in his grin, he said, “Keep on sucking that lie’s dick, Leo.”
Leopold made a face like he didn’t understand.
“When you’re in prison for three life sentences, you stop lying to yourself because, really, what’s the point? Doing what we’re doing, we’re all semi-decent people, engaging in one necessary evil after another because normal people are just too vanilla to do this sort of thing.”
Kiera nodded in agreement.
“I think I’m starting to see that, Atlas,” Leopold said, settled. “If there are no objections, I say we call it a wrap.”
“Are you ready, Kiera?” Atlas asked. She nodded. To Leopold, he said, “So I guess it’s a lot more travel.”
“You can put your feet up on the couch if you want,” Leopold said. “You’ve earned it.”
“Oh, you heard about that, did you?” Atlas grinned.
“I hear about everything.”
“Well, I appreciate that, Leopold. I honestly do.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
ATLAS HARGROVE
When they landed in El Paso, Yergha, Esty, Cira, and Atlas deplaned. When the pilot explained they were going to have a slight delay before they could take off again, Leopold and Kiera got out, to stretch their legs and say a proper goodbye.
“What about the Spark?” Esty asked Leopold.
“That turd,” Yergha said under his breath.
“You rented it using your alias, right?” Leopold asked.
“Of course.”
“I’ll make a donation or something to the rental car company for the cost of that bucket and we’ll be square.”
“Most people wouldn’t do that,” Atlas said.
“Contrary to your earlier supposition,” Leopold said, “I’m not a bad person.”
“We’re just good people doing bad things,” Esty said.
“Or bad people doing good things,” Atlas challenged. Esty smiled. “Has a better ring to it, yeah?”
She nodded and said, “I guess it does.”
When it was time to go, Atlas looked at Kiera for a long time. He hated seeing her go. There was something about her, something sad, something wanting and left unspoken. Before he could ask what she was feeling, Kiera and Leopold turned and headed back to the plane. But before the jet retracted its stairs, Kiera came back down the stairs, walked over to Atlas, and stood before him.
Smiling at her, he looked down and asked, “Did you forget something?”
She reached up, grabbed his goatee then pulled his face down. And then she tilted her head slightly and gave him a kiss. It was the sweetest, most passionate kiss he’d ever had and it lasted but a moment.
She unlocked her lips from his, pulled him down a little further, then whispered into his ear. When she was done, she watched as his eyes began to water, his head nodding almost on its own. As if this response was enough, her mouth widened into a smile that was far different from any of her other smiles. Those were practiced. This one was genuine. As beautiful and unrestrained as it was, however, it was also so unbelievably painful to witness, especially after what she just said to him.
She was right, though. He knew that.
When she turned and walked away, he couldn’t stop the surge of emotion. It bowled him over, tearing down so many of his defenses, and then the pain ripped through him like a hot tornado. When the tears began dripping from his eyes, the others didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t care. As tough as he was on the exterior, there was a softness and humanity about him he seldom let show, one that he was always trying so desperately to bring into balance.
Cira came and stood next to him. He wiped his eyes as he watched Kiera climb the stairs into the jet.
“What did she say to you?” Cira said.
“Nothing you would understand,” he replied.
“Our car is here,” Esty said. They were leaving, heading back to wherever it was from which they’d come.
Estella sauntered up to Atlas, put out a fist, and knuckle-bumped him. He saw the respect in her eyes, but he felt her appreciation when he saw the slight grin on her face. “I’d follow you into hell any day, brother,” she said. “I hope we can do it again, but with a lot less bruising to this face of mine.”
“It’s a good face,” he said, hugging her. “Probably beautiful under all that abuse.”
“Trust me, it is the most beautiful face,” Yergha said, bro-hugging Atlas when Esty was done. “What she said about going into hell with you, I’d take that trip as well.”
After saying their goodbyes, Cira looked at Atlas and said, “We have to wait for an hour before our plane arrives, so if you want to get a little shuteye before we take off, now’s the time.”
The chartered plane arrived a little early, they boarded it, and then before he knew it, they were airborne and headed back to California. It was late when they arrived but instead of going back to NorCal State Prison, Cira checked them into the Weston St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco.
“Does Leopold know about this?” Atlas asked.
“He will when we’re s
itting in a hot bath after a belly full of room service.”
“If you’re trying to make a good last impression,” he said with an easy smile, “it’s working.”
“I can’t have you going back to prison with that bald-on-bald love affair being the last thing you remember. What was that anyway?”
“Not a love affair for starters,” he laughed with regards to Kiera’s kiss. “Did you see that coming?”
“Not in a bajillion years.”
“Yeah, me neither, and yet the emotion and intensity behind it was the truest, most honest thing I think I’ve ever felt.”
“You can tell me how you feel after a backrub and a blowjob.”
He laughed and said, “I’ve been dying for a grilled cheese sandwich and some fries. But the blowie sounds good, too.”
The next morning, she received an early text, one that made her smile. “I want to take you to the Fisherman’s Wharf,” she said. “Leopold says it’s okay so long as you have a hat, glasses, and a mask.”
“I think he’s starting to like me,” Atlas said. “Maybe I should stop calling him Leo.”
“Secretly, I think he likes it.”
The two of them spent the day together, and for a while, it was like he wasn’t an ex-husband, a killer, or a lifer. He was just Atlas Hargrove, patient, kind, sensitive, and nurturing. He felt the closeness forming between him and Cira, so much so that he wanted to tell her not to fall for him, that there was no light at the end of the tunnel. She was a smart young woman, capable of making her own decisions, and brave for being who she was with him. While floating through that fantasy afternoon, he realized she needed him as much as he needed her.
“Time to go,” she said.
It was almost six o’clock and even though he wanted another day with her, maybe even another week, he always knew that when the time was up, it was up.
“It was fun while it lasted,” Atlas said. “Please be sure to thank Leopold for me, not just for this day, but for everything.”
