by P. W. Davies
Well, there goes that, he thought. Time for the next phase of the plan.
Samuel opened the door, letting Victor in and immediately asking what he wanted to drink. “I’ll just have water for now,” Victor said, looking around at the home’s interior, as much to appraise what he found as to look for places where Christian might be hiding. The vestibule boasted high ceilings, with a staircase nearby which led up to the second floor. From his vantage point, he could see several doors. One, he guessed, which belonged to the bathroom. One, to a master bedroom. A third one, he couldn’t figure out. Study, maybe?
“Here you go,” Samuel said, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of water in hand. “You sure I can’t get you anything else?”
“You know, come to think of it, I could use some coffee,” Victor said. While he looked down at Samuel and accepted the glass of water, his mind had already begun to formulate the next stage of the plan. He couldn’t be sure that Christian was there yet, but somehow, he knew he was. Christian would hear him in a moment, if he hadn’t already, and the two of them needed a place to meet. His glance at the second floor had already provided the perfect spot for their meeting.
I just need to make sure he’s heard me.
“This is a lovely house,” Victor said, a decibel louder than he normally might have. “It almost has me tempted to look into something more spacious than my condo.”
“Yeah, I don’t miss living in a building,” Samuel said. While Victor crept closer to the stairs, he heard Samuel navigating the kitchen. Water poured from the tap. A refrigerator door opened. “You know, you can come in. There’s places to sit in the kitchen.”
“That’s alright. Actually, I think I might use the bathroom first.”
“There’s one down here and there’s one up the stairs.”
“I’ll use the one upstairs. Be right back.”
Victor settled a hand on the banister and took a deep breath. Ascending the staircase, he glanced around for any sign of Christian, not seeing a trace of him from the cursory looks he could take. Maybe he hasn’t even arrived yet, he thought. It contradicted what his instincts had already told him. Continuing into the bathroom, he turned on the light and shut the door, and took a deep breath to settle his nerves.
“What the hell am I doing here?” Victor asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror.
“I was going to ask the same question. Thank you for doing it for us both.”
Victor spun, facing the shower, and watched the curtain part and the door open. Seeing Christian inspired a litany of confusing and conflicting emotions and seeing him like this only made it worse. Christian wore only black. Black shirt, black pants, and a coat concealing what Victor could only assume were the tools of his trade. Leather gloves on his hands, and his blue eyes just as conflicted as Victor felt. That part of him that had relished their time together also relished seeing him. The other part wanted to smack him for breaking his heart.
“I assumed you might be here,” Victor said. “I came to talk to you.”
Christian clenched his jaw, attempting to look unfazed by the presence of the other man. Are we playing the same game? “If you came here to stop me –”
“Not to stop you. To warn you.” Victor raised an eyebrow. “There’s a police raid about to take place. Sometime tonight, I don’t know when. They discovered what Samuel was using the shipping company to transport.”
“And what is that?”
“Weapons. Guns, to be precise. I didn’t want you killed in a police shootout, if Samuel decided to do something stupid.”
Victor realized only after the fact that he’d said more than he intended to say. Christian stared at him, though he was glad when whatever overwhelmed Christian passed without the hitman attempting to do anything stupid. Like kiss him. Even if I wish he would. “You were worried,” Christian said.
“I was, and this is the last time I’m doing something so foolish to warn you.” More words stopped in his throat. Be careful. Don’t do this. Get out of here. Reconsider. Come home with me. It isn’t too late. Except it was. Victor knew that without even needing to ask. “Message relayed,” he said, attempting to sound cold. “What you do with it is up to you now.”
Christian nodded. As much as he tried not to look pained, it still showed through the neutrality Christian fought so hard to convey. Victor wondered if his face looked the same way. “Get out of here,” Christian said, nodding at the door. “Before this turns into a mess. I couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”
The words cut worse than one of Christian’s knives. “Very well, then.” Goodbye again, Christian, Victor thought, making the motion of flushing the toilet and turning on the tap to wash his hands. He offered Christian one final look, feeling damned and not willing to surrender to it yet. Just because he cared didn’t mean he had to relent. And just because he said goodbye didn’t mean it had to be the end.
He left Christian to sort through that himself. Walking out of the bathroom, he raced down the stairs, declaring to Samuel that he’d forgotten something at the office. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” he said, without stopping to receive acknowledgment. Out the door, he walked back to the motorcycle and climbed onto it. Maybe that really is the last I’ll ever see of him, Victor thought, starting the engine.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t.
It took a moment of catching his breath for Christian to align his thoughts with the job again, though the time between when the bathroom door shut, and his senses returned, felt blissful. He had desperately wanted to kiss Victor; to touch his face and press their foreheads together while telling him something he knew he might regret later. Something like those cursed three words, that if he spoke aloud again felt doomed to repeat history. Pressing his back against the bathroom wall, he looked up toward the ceiling and shut his eyes.
Finish the job, he told himself. Then think of how to handle the situation with Victor.
Nodding at himself, he opened his eyes again and gathered his focus back in armfuls. Reassembling Christian the Hitman took an additional minute, but once he had, he realized his first problem, besides waiting for Victor to leave. Before hearing Victor’s voice and plotting a time to warn him away from the house, he had been searching through Samuel’s belongings, looking for anything his mark might use to surprise him. Now, not only had he been warned there would be guns. Samuel had been given a chance to arm himself with one.
“You are a wonderful pain in my ass, Mr. Mason,” Christian whispered, slipping cautiously out of the bathroom. Reaching inside his coat, Christian placed a hand on the hilt of one knife, his eyes scanning the immediate area while he instinctively crouched low. The sound of talking downstairs placed Samuel for him, causing him to relax by the slimmest of margins. When the front door shut, Christian felt a near-palpable wave of relief rush over him. Victor was finally safe.
Eyes darting around, he looked toward the spare bedroom, which had been left unexplored. His hand relaxed to his side and while he inched closer to that door, he reminded himself of the original plan and realized it had been shot to hell. If Samuel was nervous, and armed with something, then Victor’s hasty retreat was about to register as suspicious. Getting the jump on him well enough to break his neck would be impossible, which made throwing him down the stairs less likely. Yes, he could try to knock him out somehow, but an autopsy report would show the blunt force trauma.
No, this was going to have to look exactly like what it was. A mafia-sponsored hit.
Fuck. Christian shook his head and pushed the door open. Walking into the room, he eyed what revealed itself to be a study, examining it as best as he could with the faint light shining from the hallway. A desk had been situated on one side of the room, a computer set up on it with its monitor switched off. When his gloved hand touched the door to the closet, he realized it had been locked, but counted that a boon. A locked door meant whatever it contained could not be easily accessed.
“Alright, where are
you?” a voice called from the stairs, startling Christian. He looked in the direction of the door he had left cracked open, his heart racing while he scurried closer to the desk for a hiding spot. “I’m assuming the other guy saw you. Must have been why he left like the place was on fire.”
Christian reached into his coat and finally pulled the blade from its sheath. Peering around the corner of the desk, he saw the shadow of his mark reach the top of the stairs. “Not feeling chatty?” Samuel asked. “Honestly, I almost didn’t let you know I knew about you, but I’m really curious now who sent you. Was it DeMarco? Or Ashcroft? I know, I know, they have this whole loyalty thing going for them, but to be honest, I didn’t really see weapons being in Ashcroft’s wheelhouse. If he’s the one who’s pissed, he only has himself to blame.” Samuel crept closer to the study. Christian held his breath, tracking the sound of his footfalls.
“Come on, you sneaky bastard,” Samuel said. “Or I’ll have to force you out.”
The door opened abruptly. Christian used the desk as a shield, allowing it to absorb the first few bullets which flew. When Samuel realized he had missed, he motioned left, which prompted Christian to the right. Another hail of bullets sank into the walls surrounding them, but remaining crouched gave Christian the ability to dodge them.
“You son of a bi–” Samuel began, but Christian threw a knife at him before he could reload. The gun he struggled with dropped to the floor, a shriek of offense passing through his lips when the dagger plunged into his shoulder. It had been an unpracticed throw, executed without Christian’s normal finesse, but it gave Christian the chance to rush closer to his mark. Samuel paled, but at the last second, he threw himself forward to counter Christian’s initial attempt to bring him to the floor.
Christian groaned when he landed on his back, Samuel’s weight on top of him.
“I’ll call the fucking police,” Samuel said, trying to shift his weight to lean his uninjured arm across Christian’s windpipe.
Struggling to force Samuel off him instead, Christian laughed. “Yes, from what I hear, the police will love hearing from you,” he said. Bending a knee, he thrust it between Samuel’s legs, impacting his groin enough to stop Samuel. He groaned and hit the floor when Christian gave him one violent shove to the side. While Christian clambered to his feet, Samuel braced himself against a bookshelf and rose as well.
Christian reached for another dagger. Samuel reached behind his back with his good hand and the two drew their weapons at the same time. Without hesitation, Samuel squeezed the trigger and Christian nearly dropped to his knees from relief as that shot missed as well. It’s not his dominant hand, he thought. Throwing the knife in his hand, blind and intending to distract, he rushed to the side of Samuel and thrust an elbow at the other man’s temple. It connected and when it did, Samuel staggered and fell into a plush, leather chair that had been placed beside the bookcase.
The gun had dropped out of his hand. He looked up at Christian when the hitman rushed upon him and within seconds, the altercation ended. Christian crushed Samuel’s crotch with his boot. Using it as leverage to pull the knife from Samuel’s shoulder, he thrust the blade up into Samuel’s neck once it had been freed and as he watched, the light faded in the lawyer’s eyes. Samuel went limp, slumping as Christian removed the knife from his throat.
Pausing to catch his breath, Christian shut his eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whatever higher power existed.
“The police,” he reminded himself. His heart still pounding, he felt a small bead of sweat run down the side of his face and looked around at the mess they had made. Some of Samuel’s blood had gotten onto his coat, which meant that would have to be burned with the remainder of his clothing, but aside from that, all that left was wiping down prints and staging the body. “Alright, sunshine, let’s make you look pretty for the cameras,” Christian said.
By the time he left the house, knives collected and cleaned, Christian had been forced to slip out through the back door. The shots which Samuel had fired had undoubtedly summoned the police ahead of schedule; their sirens made up the final seconds of Christian’s cleaning and flashing lights illuminated his predetermined path of escape. A car waited several blocks away, engine idling, and the dark-haired female thief behind the wheel flashing him a grin when he slipped into the back seat.
“You know, I’ve decided in the time since I first heard the cops show up that I’m upping my rate by a grand,” Monica said.
“It’s yours,” Christian said, settling into place. Monica nodded, shifting into drive, and while she left the neighborhood, Christian shut his eyes, riding the wave of adrenaline rushing through him. Taking several deep breaths, he waited until they merged onto the highway before opening his eyes again. “I have a fool for a boyfriend,” he muttered.
“A boyfriend?” Monica asked.
“Yes.” The corner of his mouth curled upward. His eyes fixed on the roof of the car, he imagined Victor and as he did, he allowed himself to process the emotions seeing him again had inspired. After their last conversation, a part of him had resigned himself to never seeing his lover again. Another part – one that asserted itself in the high of the moment – reminded him that he knew Victor felt the same way about him. That was what had been the most damning part of all. Neither one of them would’ve been able to stay away for long.
“So, alright, tell me more about the boyfriend,” Monica said. “We have a few minutes before we get back to Fishtown.”
“I don’t know if I should say anything yet. I have some making up to do,” Christian said. “Though, for the first time in days, that doesn’t look as impossible as I once thought it was.”
“If you say so.” Monica fell silent. The remainder of the car ride, music played and when they reached Christian’s building, he paid her the money they had agreed upon and went their separate ways. “Text me if you have any other jobs you need help with,” she added before driving off. “Just so long as I’m not touching some other mob boss’s crap, I’m down for it.”
“It’s been a pleasure,” he said, nodding at her. Slipping inside the building without encountering any of his neighbors, Christian stripped his clothing, hid his knives again, and bagged up what would need to be burned the next day. The return to the status quo had looked differently in his mind. Seeing a job to its completion usually resulted in him crashing right after the high, and he’d already prepared for a few morose days spent in rest and recovery. Rather than thinking about that, all that spun in his thoughts was that simple declaration that Victor had been there, needing to ensure Christian was safe.
Christian sighed. “I have no idea how this is supposed to work out, love,” he said, liberating his phone, “but I’d like to give it a go.” Switching to the screen where his text messages with Victor lay, his fingers started to tap out a message before he reconsidered and erased it all. Christian frowned at the mobile. “No, not like this. Which begs the question of how?” For the first time that night, doubt reared its ugly head.
Until he thought about the condo. He thought about the dinners they had shared there and the breakfast that had been preempted. Victor’s home was his heart, and the more he thought about it, the more that concept brought a smile to Christian’s lips. Nothing cold and impersonal like a text message. And a phone call wouldn’t do.
Christian needed to look Victor in the eyes and tell him he was sorry.
Twenty-Three
Victor didn’t go back to work. He called Evie and said he was taking the rest of the day, and that if Nathan asked, to say he would see him tomorrow and looked forward to finalizing the negotiations with Shaw. Evie, for her part, asked if there was anything he could do. “Not today. But I’m certain I will have a different answer tomorrow.”
“Raincheck, then. I’ll call you on it if you force me to, you know.”
“I know. Thank you, Evie.” He hung up before he could say anything foolish. Like, My lover is a hitman.
He drove unt
il his hands started shaking. After finding a place to pull over, he let the car idle while he took stock of himself. I imagine they don’t need to do this in the action movies, he thought, running his hand over his face. It trembled more than he liked, so he clenched it into a fist. I hope Christian is alright. First and foremost. Seeing him there, in those clothes, with those tools... To be honest, Victor wasn’t certain what entirely he’d seen. It had happened so fast that there was only one detail that struck him with definitive meaning.
Christian’s eyes. They were full of hope. Darkness, too, which was not something Victor would soon forget. But it had still been Christian who spoke to him, who took the time to pull him aside before doing the job he was there to do.
Knowing that Samuel hadn’t stopped Christian, which had surprised Victor. It also solidified the fact that Christian was truly a professional. He intended to complete his task even with the odds against him.
Victor had little doubt that Samuel was now dead. The thought filled him with a mix of emotions, none of them pleasant. For as much as Victor understood that death was a price to be paid in the world Samuel had put himself into, it wasn’t something he could condone. Samuel was still a man; flawed, ugly at times, but with hopes and dreams that were now dead along with him.
No one should have to pay that price. Not like that. He angered the wrong man and it cost him everything. No one should have that kind of power over other people.
For as much as that thought was true to his view of the world, Victor knew it was naive. Of course there were people who controlled others, who dictated the course, the actions, and the end of other lives. The world was full of them, and always had been. He just usually encountered ones who exerted that power very differently, and in ways that didn’t involve death. Unless you count death by negligence. Which, of course, should be counted.
Why is this so damn complicated.
