by Jack Porter
The wall was eight feet tall, more than enough to keep out intruders with only a casual interest, but my interest was more than just casual. There were no handy trees or large boulders positioned close enough to use as a ladder, nor had I thought to bring anything with me to use as such.
But then, I was a lot stronger than I ought to have been, and more coordinated as well. I focused on the top of the wall, crouched for a moment, then leapt high enough to catch hold. From there, I hauled myself up, sat for a moment on top with a leg dangling on each side, and checked again to make sure I wasn’t being observed.
Satisfied, I shifted my other leg to the right side of the wall and dropped to the ground.
It was easier than it should have been, and I marveled at the additional strength I now had. Perhaps there were people who were stronger than me, but I doubted that there would many of them. Athletes, bodybuilders, strongmen. But not the average guy on the street.
As much as I would have liked to do so, there was no time to revel in my physical prowess. I hadn’t chosen the part of the wall I’d climbed by accident. It was the section backing on to Steve Daniels’ house. I waited in the darkness for a few moments to make sure all was as it should be, and then made a mental note to see if Azrael could improve my sense of sight and hearing when he next leveled up.
Then I took a deep breath to steady myself, aware that I was starting to feel my usual excitement, and crossed to Steve Daniels’ home.
I used the same technique I had tried at Big Bob’s place, sauntering up to the front door as if I had every right to do so and ringing the doorbell.
I didn’t think the same line of bullshit would work with Steve Daniels, especially since it was after hours and I was no longer dressed the part of a lawyer. Instead, I intended to use the dead cell phone trick I’d seen in a movie. My greatest asset was still that I didn’t look like a killer. I’d ask to use Steve Daniels’ phone, and as soon as he opened the door, that would be that.
Except, just like with Big Bob, Steve Daniels’ didn’t answer his door.
I tried the bell again, then knocked, and called out a hello as well. But again, there was nothing.
I was starting to think that the god of doorbells had something against me. I stepped back and frowned. Surely, Steve Daniels must have reached home by now.
In my mind, Azrael agreed. “The lights are on inside,” he said.
He was right. Unless Daniels had them on an automatic timer, surely that meant he was home.
When I’d knocked on Big Bob’s door, the huge man had been down in his basement, doing who knows what. Did Steve Daniels have some secret pastime that kept him from answering his door as well?
It seemed like too big a coincidence for that to be the case.
I tried the bell one last time, and when it generated the same lack of response as all my other attempts, I reached out and tried the handle.
To my great surprise, the door wasn’t locked. It swung open as if in invitation.
“Hello?” I said, hesitantly.
“What are you waiting for?” Azrael said. “Go in, find your target, and slip one of your blades between his ribs.”
“This doesn’t feel right,” I replied.
Nevertheless, I did as he suggested, closing the door behind me and listening for all I was worth. But Daniels’ house was unnaturally quiet.
“Hello?” I said again. The last thing I wanted was for him to react as if I was an intruder. I wanted to have any element of surprise on my side, which meant acting innocent until the last possible moment. “Is anyone home?” I called into the silence.
I found him in what in most houses would have been a living room, but in Daniels’ place it was more like a library. The walls were covered in bookshelves, mostly hardback editions of serious literature, the type of thing that wins international awards. There was no TV, and only a couple of armchairs. Steve Daniels’ sat in one of these.
A tumbler half-filled with what appeared to be whiskey waited next to him on a low side table, beside an open book that had been laid face down. For Whom the Bell Tolls, by Hemingway. Not that it mattered, because Daniels would never finish either it or the drink.
He was dead. Still sitting upright, but with his head sagging forward. I couldn’t see where the bullet had entered, but I could see where it left. The whole top of Daniels’ head was gone, and there were flecks of blood and bone in all directions.
The weapon that killed him lay in his lap, with his own hand resting on the grip.
At first glance, it looked like a suicide. But the note pinned to his chest suggested otherwise.
Despite my revulsion at the sight, I couldn’t help but see that the note was addressed to me.
“SimonSaysDie, this is the third time you have taken a job meant from me. There will not be a fourth.”
Beneath that ominous message was something even more scary. It was my address.
Chapter 32
“Fuck,” I said, looking at the note. The implications were clear, and the threat was very real. I knew who had written the note even though it wasn’t signed. It could only have been Megadeath#4.
The Syndicate’s number one killer. The man who had trained for the job all his life and who would probably laugh at my best efforts. I read the note again, and my hand began to tremble. Somehow, even though the contract app was supposed to be anonymous, Megadeath had found out where I lived. He knew who I was and had taken offense to what I was doing.
His first message to me had been ambiguous, and could have been no more than a greeting between peers. His second had been briefer, but more ominous.
This one left no doubt about his intentions.
They say you learn a lot about yourself when your life is in danger, but I’m not so sure. My first and only instinct upon reading the note was to get out of there. There was a voice in my head telling me to run, and this time I was pretty sure it was not Azrael.
Someone much braver than me might have found a way to respond that was more heroic, but I’ve never been particularly brave. Nor did I need the threat to figure this out. I’d always known it. While others might have had a flight or fight response, mine was flight all by itself. I had an instinct for survival that included one option, and that was to run.
As fast as I could, I left the lawyer’s comfortable home and retraced my steps to the wall, my senses straining in every direction for any hint of danger. Megadeath had been there before me. He had even helped Steve Daniels’ eat a bullet who knew how many minutes or hours earlier. He’d left a note that contained a threat to my life as well as my address, a note which I’d jammed into my pocket as I fled.
It was a challenge, an overt display of strength, but for all I knew it could have been a distraction as well. Megadeath may have called the police to Daniels’ house, hoping to catch me standing there with a dumb look on my face.
Even then, he may have been watching from some hidden lookout point, laughing his ass off as I anxiously turned all about, looking for hidden dangers.
Finding none, I threw myself back over the wall and into Big Bob’s car.
With my only thought being to get away, I started her up, listened for just a moment to the beast’s willing, throaty roar, jammed her in gear and stomped on the gas. Steve Daniels’ neighborhood was quiet, a place of consideration and mature habits. I treated one and all to the sound of tires squealing as I peeled out of my parking spot, and I’m sure the thunder of Big Bob’s heavy pistons shook every window along the street as I took off with no regard for all normal speed limits.
With nothing but fear for my life governing my actions, I kept my foot pressed to the floor and tore through the streets, my palms sweating in my gloves and my heart pounding in a terrified rhythm.
My demonic partner in crime seemed to have little to say. I doubt if he was proud of my panicked desire to flee, but he didn’t suggest it wasn’t the prudent thing to do.
Within a few minutes, I had put enough distance between
myself and Daniels’ place that I began to calm down. I eased up on the gas and wondered how many speed cameras I’d blown past, then all but chuckled as I remembered the car wasn’t registered to me, but to Big Bob, and I was still wearing my mask as well. No chance of a camera getting a clean look at my face.
I figured the dead man could take care of any tickets I had racked up, at least for a little while, then started to think about my next steps.
In my mind, I was done in El Diablo. If Megadeath could find out who I was through my login, there wasn’t a place I could hide where I would be safe.
I would have to set up somewhere completely new. Somewhere Megadeath wouldn’t even bother to look. It would mean leaving everything behind and starting from scratch, but at least I had Azrael with me. With the demon at my side, I ought to be able to set myself up again much more easily than otherwise.
And with Rachel and Sandy for company–
I hit the brake and wrenched the car off the road, coming to a messy stop with the Mustang’s heavy cylinders barely panting and eager to run some more.
But I wasn’t going anywhere. I stared in horror through the windscreen at the thought of leaving Rachel and Sandy behind. But it was more than that as well. Both women had formed a habit of heading over to my place after work. It was ordinarily great that they did so, and not just because of the sex. Rachel and Sandy had both shown an interest in helping me with my quest for status, and they had both demonstrated useful skills in helping me realize it as well.
Either one of them could be at my apartment already. Or both.
So could Megadeath#4…
My mouth became dry at the same time as a hard ball of fear formed in the pit of my stomach. I felt like my face was burning up and realized the ski mask was trapping the heat from my breath. With an impatient move, I wrenched it off and tossed it aside.
Then I reached for my phone on the seat beside me.
When I started this freelance hitman gig, I had formed a bunch of habits designed to help keep me safe. One of those habits was to remove the battery from my phone whenever it seemed prudent to do so, for fear of the authorities tracking my movements.
With fumbling fingers, I clipped the phone and battery back together. I could barely wait for the thing to boot up and locate the network. As soon as it did, I fumbled at it again, ripped my glove off with my teeth, and finally managed to call Rachel’s number, spitting the glove out of my mouth as I did.
With my heart pounding loudly in my ears, I listened to Rachel’s phone ring once, twice, and again. Then, with a sense of pure, premature relief, I heard her pick up.
“Hello, Simon,” said a voice, and I knew that my greatest fears had come true.
It wasn’t Rachel’s voice. The person who had answered was Megadeath#4.
Chapter 33
Fuck. He knew my name.
“I’ve been waiting for you to call,” the voice continued. It was gruff and masculine, and I could hear the condescension within it. “Truth to tell, I was starting to get bored. If you’d waited much longer, I might have started to play with your Rachel and Sandy to pass the time.”
Fuck, I thought again. He had Sandy, too.
“Who are you and what the fuck do you want?” I demanded.
He laughed. “You know who I am,” he said. “For the sake of convenience, call me Tim. It will do as well as any other name. As for what I want, you can’t guess?”
I really didn’t want to play this man’s games, but it wasn’t as if I had any real choice. “You want all of the Syndicate’s contract work for yourself, you greedy shit,” I said. “You’re afraid of a little healthy competition.”
“I am not afraid!” Tim barked back. “Especially not of a nobody like you!”
Interesting, I thought. It seemed as if Tim had a temper.
Yet in the next breath, he sounded much calmer. “But you’re partly right. You have stolen three contracts from under my nose in the past few days. You will not take any more.”
The way he said it, it wasn’t a question. It was simply a statement.
“I’m not the only one,” I said. “There are others who accept contracts as well. Ladykiller. Deadshot124. MurderByNumbers. Why pick on me? Why am I more of a threat than anyone else?”
“You are not a threat!” Tim replied, angry again. It seemed he didn’t like any hint of disrespect. “And neither are those others you named. They all work for me. So you see, when someone like you turns up and starts taking contracts, I tend to notice. You’re taking money from my bank account, and you are going to stop.”
I imagined him in my apartment, perhaps relaxing on the couch with the two women tied up, perhaps on the floor, perhaps tied to the kitchen chairs. The thought made me angry. It made my blood boil in my veins. I wanted to dive through the phone and throttle Tim where he stood.
At the same time, I knew he could kill me without raising a sweat.
“What do you want?” I asked.
I could almost hear the sneer in his voice as the man answered. “You have two options,” he said, not answering my question directly. “In the first option, you get to live. In the second option, you don’t. Would you like to hear what your options are?”
I sat in the driver’s seat of Big Bob’s car with my phone to my ear. All my life, I’d had people like him try to define what I could or couldn’t do. Once again, it came down to status. Tim had more than me, and he knew it. And, just like everyone else who saw someone try to improve their own, he was trying to put me back in my place.
He didn’t know it, but I was done taking that sort of shit from people like him.
“I’ll hazard a guess,” I said. “Option one, the one where I get to live. It’s where I find you, stick my knife in your guts, and have you bleed out all over my floor. How did I do? Did I get it right?”
I put as much hate into my words as I could, but it did little good. Tim laughed at me through the phone. He actually sounded as if he was enjoying himself.
“Ha! That’s really funny! Your guess at option one is closer to option two! How about I just tell you–” he began.
But I’d had enough.
I was done playing games. “How about you just prove to me that Rachel and Sandy are still alive,” I said. “Then you can stop wasting my time, and we can get on with this.”
“Now, now,” he said, reminding me of my roommate Chad. You know, before I stuck a knife into his heart. “Don’t be like that. They’re still alive–”
“Good,” I said. “Make sure they stay that way. I’ll be seeing you.”
With that, I hung up and sat staring at the phone for long seconds. My heart was still pounding in my chest, and I could feel the blood running through the veins at my temple. It felt like my head had become a few degrees warmer due to the hate I was feeling. For long moments, I sat there, doing nothing at all. Then I pounded the side of my fists against the steering wheel and shouted at the top of my lungs.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I didn’t know what Tim’s options for me might have been, only that they didn’t matter. I was drawn to the dark side of life. I had a demon within me and thought little of murdering my way up the illegal status lists.
But I wasn’t a total bad guy. I had just enough latent heroism in my soul that I didn’t have any choice. Rachel and Sandy were bound to me. If they hadn’t been, then they wouldn’t have been caught by Tim as they were.
It was my fault they were in danger.
Azrael hadn’t said anything, but I would have expected him to counsel me to forget the girls completely. He was a demon. That was his nature.
But I liked having Rachel and Sandy in my life.
I had to try to save them.
Chapter 34
I forced myself to calm down, then called Rachel’s number again.
This time, Tim answered on the first ring. “Do not hang up on me again or I’ll–”
“You’ll do nothing! If you touch Rachel or Sandy,
you’ll lose your bargaining position completely. So quit with the threats and tell me what you think my options are. And be quick about it. I’m a hair’s breadth away from telling you to go fuck yourself anyway!”
I could sense Tim’s anger through the phone. This wasn’t how he’d expected the conversation to go. Despite what I’d said, I knew there was a lot he could do to Rachel and Sandy without losing all of his bargaining power. But I didn’t want to think about that, and my words had weakened his position regardless.
In addition, the hateful sneer of superiority had vanished from his voice. “You know, you’re much more of a shit than I expected from what I saw in your file,” he began.
“Yes, yes,” I said. “I’m sure there are all sorts of things you don’t know about me. Who gives a shit? Get to the fucking point!”
A part of me knew I shouldn’t bait this cold, ruthless killer, but at the same time, I was doing my best to keep him unbalanced. And Azrael seemed to approve. He didn’t say anything, but I felt a sense of satisfaction that didn’t seem to be coming from me.
Surprisingly, after a pause, Tim did as I said. “Option one,” he said, his tone murderous. “You leave town and don’t come back. You get to live your life as you wish, but you no longer take contracts that belong to me.”
“That’s it? That’s your best offer?”
“It is. Of course, I could just kill you and be done with it. Call it a professional courtesy that I’m even giving you the chance.”
Professional courtesy my ass. “What about the girls?” I asked.
“I’ll keep them alive, at least for a few hours. But their lives were forfeit the moment Rachel messed with the code to give you time to choose your contracts.”
It was like a punch to the heart. How the flying fuck did Tim know about that?
Yet I kept the disbelief out of my voice. “And option two?”
