Ultraviolent: Book Six in The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

Ricardo fell in alongside Conor. "So is this how you live all the time, old friend? All this excitement?"

  "It's not usually this spicy,” Conor replied, “but yeah, kind of."

  "We need to compare notes. I'm anxious to hear about everything that took place on your last mission. I've heard nothing but rumors."

  "That last mission didn't end until today, Ricardo. It ended when I put a bullet in Browning's head."

  "Well, I'm sorry that I didn't get to pull the trigger, but I'm glad someone did. He deserved it."

  Conor met his friend's eye. "That he did."

  58

  Jewell Ridge, Virginia

  It was indeed a long day on Jewell Ridge. They started Valeria on antibiotics and set her up with a cot beneath a stretched tarp. While the mine was cooler, it felt dark and depressing most of the time. It made good storage but lousy living quarters. Shannon was tasked with caring for Valeria. Conor thought she might be more comfortable with the assistance of a girl around her own age.

  After breakfast, Conor, Wayne, and Ricardo dealt with the bodies. There was no easy digging on the rocky ridge so they took advantage of the natural terrain, finding a sinkhole they could toss the bodies in. Once they were all in there, they worked as a group to shovel dirt on top of them.

  They checked the pockets of the dead before they buried them. Each man was relieved of his gear and anything useful he carried. Conor insisted on sparing Ragus and Barb from the grim task of disposing of bodies, though both insisted they'd be willing to help. Instead, they were tasked with hauling the dead men's gear back to camp. While Conor already had an extensive arsenal, he'd never turn down more ammo, weapons, or gear.

  When everything else had been dealt with, they used the horses to tow Conor's dead horse to the edge of the road. Not knowing what else to do with it, they rolled it off the shoulder of the road, turning away as it tumbled down the steep, wooded slope. Except for the bloodstained pavement, they'd now erased all public traces of what had taken place on the mountain that day. That didn't include anything within the walls of Conor's compound. That would be a task for another day. The fires needed to cool down before it would be safe to work there.

  It was early afternoon before their work was done and everyone reconvened at the mine. The calories taken in from their big breakfast had been burned away long ago and everyone was starving. Fortunately, Shannon had made good use of her time at camp, putting on a large pot of soup. It was something people could eat at their convenience. She also used the Dutch oven to make some biscuits to go along with it.

  It was a somber meal. While they were all pleased to be back in the company of their friends again, it had been a grim day and more depressing work still lay ahead of them. Everyone found it hard to make light conversation, so they mostly ate in silence.

  In an effort to break the oppressive mood, Conor was just getting ready to compare Shannon's biscuits to those of the fecking Bojangles’ when the satellite phone in his pocket began ringing.

  Conor's face went pale. Barb stared at Conor, eyes wide.

  Ricardo looked at Conor with surprise. "Is that a phone?"

  "It's the phone Browning gave me when he decided he was my new boss. I forgot to turn it off in all the excitement." Conor fished it from his pocket and studied the display. "It's the same number Browning always called from."

  "Better answer it," Barb said. "If it's bad news, we might as well get it over with."

  Ricardo stared on with a grim expression.

  Conor pushed the “answer” button. "Hello?"

  Everyone in the group stared at him expectantly.

  "Hello, is this Conor Maguire?"

  "It is. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" Despite the cordial words, he asked with the utmost of caution and dread.

  "My name is Riddle. I'm the Director of Operations for Catalyst Security."

  Conor’s heart sank. Maybe this wasn't over. Perhaps Browning had made arrangements that someone was to follow up if he didn't return. Was this when the threatened missile strike came? "What can I do for you, Mr. Riddle?"

  "Are you familiar with that expression 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'?"

  "Indeed I am," Conor replied warily.

  "Well, my friend, you and I had a common enemy. I'm hoping that you can confirm for me that this common enemy has been put out of our misery."

  Conor was taken aback. Was this a trap? "To which enemy would you be referring, friend?"

  "That asshole Browning. Can I be frank with you, Mr. Maguire?"

  "Please do."

  "Browning caused nothing but trouble for me from the minute Catalyst got the contract to aid with the national recovery effort. Let's just say that I did everything in my power to make his visit to your neighborhood his last visit."

  Conor recalled the shredded wreckage of the burning chopper, the evidence of an explosion. "If I'm interpreting your question correctly, Mr. Riddle, it wasn't exactly a clean operation, but I can confirm that no one is coming home from this mission."

  "Excellent," Riddle said, a genuine spark of pleasure in his voice. "Now there's only one piece of business remaining and that's between you and me, sir."

  "What would that be?"

  "With Browning out of the picture, I'm going to tell his superiors at Homeland Security that he was stealing drugs from major dealers around the country to sell through his own people. I'm going to tell them that he procured a team of my men and went on an unsanctioned mission that he didn't return from. I suspect they'll want a story like that to stay buried. The reason I'm calling you is because I'd like your cooperation in making sure the truth never sees the light of day."

  Conor let out a long breath. "You have my attention. How can I assist with that?"

  "When we end this call, I'm going to destroy this phone and any information Browning had on you. Whatever relationship you two had is terminated. What I need is your assurance that the truth goes no further. When order is finally restored, I don't need you showing up at some congressional hearing saying that Browning and Catalyst Security conspired to force you to kill civilians."

  Conor raised an eyebrow at that. This man clearly didn't know him. People like the Mad Mick weren't invited to speak at congressional hearings. He was a shadow dweller. "And in exchange for my silence, our score is settled? No one is going to come looking for him?"

  "I'm making the call as soon as I get off the phone with you. I'll inform the Director of Homeland Security that Browning was killed on a rogue drug-trafficking operation. I'll send them a picture of some charred wreckage from another crash and I suspect that will be the end of it."

  "Then, sir, I think we have the basis for a gentleman's agreement."

  "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Maguire. This conversation never happened and this concludes our business. Enjoy your day."

  "Very well. Have a good day, sir."

  Conor ended the call and stared at the phone. He gave a shake of his head, powered it off, and tucked it away.

  "What the hell just happened?" Ricardo asked, leaning forward in his chair.

  "I'm bloody flabbergasted." Conor shoved his biscuit in his mouth, tearing off a chunk before resuming his story. "That was the Director of Operations at Catalyst Security."

  Ricardo looked surprised. "Riddle? I thought I heard you use his name."

  "Yep, Riddle. Apparently, Browning has been a thorn in his side too. I suspect Riddle is the reason that chopper blew up before it even touched down. I think Riddle planned to blow up the entire team."

  "Which would have worked if Browning hadn't spotted us on the road," said Barb.

  "Exactly. Anyway, Riddle says he's going to tell Browning's boss at DHS that Riddle was running drugs on the side and crashed the chopper on a rogue operation. He just wanted to make sure I was in the loop so I didn't pop up and contradict his story in the future."

  "Browning has that history with drug trafficking," Ricardo said. "I doubt Riddle will have any trouble convincing people th
e story is true."

  "And, of course, I gladly accepted Riddle's offer. Now I shouldn't have to worry that someone will show up here looking for Browning. As soon as it cools off, I'll shove the wreckage of that chopper in a hole and bury it."

  After dinner, several folks decided to stretch out in the shade for a nap, but Conor was unable to calm his mind. He wanted to see his compound and get a better look at the damage. He was uncertain if the place would even be livable after the fire was out. Ricardo borrowed a horse and the two of them rode up the mountain alone.

  "So what's your plan, Ricardo? You're welcome to stay with us as long as you want. I'm just curious if you had any plans beyond killing Browning. Now that he's dealt with, where do you go from here?"

  "I'm glad you asked, Conor. I'm going to rebuild the company from scratch, but obviously, there will be some limits on how publicly I can operate. The acting government wants me dead and it's probably best to let them believe they succeeded."

  Conor looked confused. "How's that going to work? That sounds a little risky."

  "No more public sector contracts," Ricardo said. "I'm taking my toys and going to another sandbox."

  "Which sandbox is that?"

  Ricardo smiled. "The corporate sandbox. Corporate intelligence and problem-solving."

  "So instead of governments paying you to kill people, corporate clients will pay you to kill people?"

  "One hundred percent."

  "Interesting," Conor replied. "And Valeria is in on the ground floor. Employee number one."

  "Yes, unfortunately I lost everyone else. I don't even have phone numbers with me for all of my former contractors. I'm going to have to track them down one by one and reestablish communications. Hopefully, some of them will be interested in the new business venture."

  "I'm sure most of them will eagerly take the work."

  "Agreed," Ricardo said. "So how do you feel about being employee number two?"

  Conor sighed and listened to the sounds around him. The deep breathing of his horse; the breeze in the tall poplars and oaks; the flat clop of his horse's hooves on the dirty pavement; the creak of the saddle beneath him. He knew the answer to Ricardo's question. He just had to force the words out of his mouth. "No, Ricardo. I'm done. I'll do anything I can to help, but I'm out of the business."

  "My friend," Ricardo said, "you've had these feelings before but you always come back. Are you certain?"

  "I am," Conor said. "This time it's real. This time it's final. I'm out. It's enough work just staying alive these days. I don't need to leave home to look for trouble."

  "What will you do with yourself?"

  "First on my list is getting Abela and Shani to America. I'm hoping they'll come. Beyond that, I have a lot of rebuilding ahead of me. I'm also going to help keep my friends and neighbors safe. The Mad Mick is going to help his community and I can't do that if I'm running around the world doing jobs. "

  Ricardo stuck out his hand and Conor shook it. "Nothing but respect, Conor. You have my full support in anything you do. I'll gladly pull any strings I can to help get Shani and Abela back here."

  "Only if you can do so safely, Ricardo. Don't get your head shot off by sticking it up too soon."

  "Do you mind if I put the same question to Barb?" Ricardo asked. "She has a knack for the business, but I wouldn’t extend the opportunity to her without your blessing."

  Conor turned the question over in his head before replying. "Go ahead and ask her. I'd not deprive her of the opportunity if she's interested. I'm not sure what she'll say. I guess I'll be as interested as you to hear her decision."

  At the compound, much of the fire had burned itself out by this point. Fuel from the chopper had been the primary accelerant. Most of Conor's buildings were metal framing with metal siding. Only a few cabins, sheds, and one of the open garages had wood in their construction. The water tank was empty, having drained over the house to help save it. Conor closed the valve so the tank could begin the slow process of refilling.

  He ran a hose from the spring to direct a low-pressure stream of water into the piles of coals that still glowed within the burned-out structures. They hissed and steamed. Ricardo used a shovel to extinguish small fires around the property. It was silent, contemplative work.

  Around dusk, Conor went inside his living quarters. With the windows gone from the blast, smoke had filled the building and it would take weeks to air it out properly. Blowing embers had burned holes in the carpet and furniture of the living room. Conor felt lucky that no fires had ignited from them.

  In better times he might not have chosen to rebuild, but there were fewer options now. When he was able to repair the windows and air the building out, they'd move back in because they had nowhere else to go. They'd prioritize their needs and rebuild the things they had to have. Rather than slitting throats and pulling triggers, this would be how Conor spent his days. It was where he was needed. It was where he would put the old life behind him.

  59

  Jewell Ridge, Virginia

  Restoring order at the compound took a while. Conor insisted on doing some clean-up before making any extensive repairs to the place. As part of the cleanup, the hull of Browning's chopper was shoved over the hill and covered with debris from the burned-out structures. Conor was uncertain about his radio antenna, suspecting that getting the tower back in place would require a monumental effort. It would have to wait.

  He'd paid to have the original installed by a professional tower erecting crew. They'd used a crane and lots of equipment that Conor didn't have. He'd be able to figure out something eventually but it might not be anything like the monolith he had before. At least not until he could bring in a tower contractor again.

  An unexpected consequence of the radio silence was that Jim Powell and Hugh showed up at Conor's compound a few weeks after the showdown with Browning. The arrival of strange riders at the gate brought Conor's dogs barking, followed by Barb and Ragus. Barb introduced the guests.

  Jim took a look around the place. "Appears you had the party without us. Your dad promised me an invite. I'm kind of hurt."

  Barb waved them through the gate and showed them where to water their horses. While they tied them off, Barb called to her dad on the radio.

  "It wasn't our choice," Barb assured Jim when she was done. "The party was waiting on us when we got home from your place. We walked right in on it."

  Conor waved heartily when he saw the new arrivals. "This is a surprise." He shook hands with each of the men.

  "We got a little worried," Hugh said. "Wanted to make sure you didn't lose your scalp."

  Conor lifted his hat. "It's still there, stylish as ever."

  Jim sniffed the air. "From the smell of things I'm guessing there was a fire. How bad was it?"

  Conor sighed. "We lost a few things. Browning's chopper blew up before it touched down. He'd already dropped men along the road, including himself, but there was a team headed for my landing pad. When the chopper blew, it burned up a few buildings and took out my radio antenna."

  "Ouch!" Hugh said, noticing the stack of twisted tower sections stacked against the chain-link fence. "Guess that explains the radio silence."

  "I'll get one back up soon, I'm just not sure I'll have the range I previously had. I won't be chatting with Nigerian pirates and Serbian taxi drivers like I did in the old days."

  "You said he dropped men along the road," said Jim. "You guys do okay? You didn't lose anyone, did you?"

  "Not a soul. We had one injury from the chopper explosion, a young girl, but she's healed up well."

  Jim noticed Conor's dirty hands. They appeared to be coated with a mixture of soot, grease, and dirt. "Listen, we just came over to check on you but I can give you a day or two of labor before heading back. Give me something to do and I'll help out."

  By dinner that evening, even Barb was impressed. Jim's talk of joining the fight with Browning hadn't meant much to her. Any man could talk about how he wanted to be part
of a fight. It didn't mean he was skilled in fighting or even that he'd show up. It didn't mean that he was brave or that he'd contribute anything useful to the effort. What impressed her were men who jumped in on the hottest of days to do the toughest of jobs. Men who weren't scared of getting dirty, sore, and banged around. Those were men you could depend on. Men you could trust.

  Though Conor was staying at the compound full-time, the group was split between the camp at Ragus's place, which was convenient to the cached supplies, and the compound, which had some power and water restored. That evening they had a big dinner at the dog-hole mine to welcome their guests. With the garden burned to the ground, they were limited to preserved foods, but the arrival of new faces rejuvenated the group. There was lively discussion and a more relaxed atmosphere than they'd experienced when they'd first met at Jim's farm.

  Jim stayed for one more day of work before leaving. Hugh announced that he wouldn’t be leaving with Jim, but sticking around for a few more days to see if he could get a functioning antenna up for Conor's radio system.

  "I've been building antennas for twenty-five years," Hugh said. "I've got some ideas."

  His offer was warmly received, and Hugh assured Jim he'd be staying no more than a week before he returned to the valley. Conor and Jim exchanged a glance over the announcement, neither of them believing that Hugh's offer was motivated purely by radio signals. He and Barb had been doing a lot of work together and there seemed to be something there.

  The age difference was significant, perhaps twenty years or so. Conor didn't question it though. It wasn't his place to do so. Every person had to find their own way through the world. They had to explore the things that spoke to them, find their own peace and their own happiness.

  When Jim set off toward home, Conor had a new understanding of the man he'd been ordered to kill. They were indeed alike in many ways, though different in just as many others. Conor hoped there was an opportunity to get to know him better. Barb had said as much, telling Conor that the two of them needed to hang out together, that they'd both come out of the deal as better men.