by Mike Ryan
The mom looked at him, a smile engulfing her face as she appreciated the strange man’s generosity. “OK. Thank you again. For everything.”
“My pleasure. Bye, Jonathan. You stick close to your mom from now on, OK?”
“OK.”
Lamb stuck his hand out and gave Jonathan a high five, before turning away and going in his own direction. As he walked past the cashier, she gave him a smile. He couldn’t help but think of what she called him. An angel in disguise. If ever there was a mismatch of words, that had to be it, he thought. He had about seventy-five people who were now buried because of him who would vehemently disagree with that statement. An angel of death would be more like it.
2
After eating lunch at the mall, Lamb drove to Wood’s house, wanting to investigate the area for himself for a couple hours before his target arrived. It was a rather large estate in a Houston suburb, and had plenty of land, though it was mostly in the backyard. There was also a long, winding driveway that led to the front of the house, along with the usual features one would suspect from a property like this: an in-ground swimming pool, three car garage, and top of the line materials on the inside. It was easily a million-dollar home. As he waited, Lamb looked over Wood’s file to familiarize himself with his life a little more. Wood was in his late forties, was married to his third wife, and had two children, both of whom were teenagers. He’d been a very successful businessman who’d made quite a few enemies over the years because of his ruthless style. He was a man who had no qualms about stepping on, or steamrolling, anyone who got in his path. The fact that he was now being targeted by the criminals he’d gotten into bed with was somewhat ironic in Lamb’s mind. Sometimes, people just deserved what they had coming to them.
The tougher part about this assignment was where Lamb could set up shop. It was a neighborhood of very expensive homes that were in fairly close proximity to one another. They had big backyards, but not too much land in front or on the sides of the houses. And as Lamb looked around, nobody parked along the curb on the street. Everyone parked in their driveways or garages. If he stopped on the street, he’d stick out like a sore thumb. He was hoping to do this job from a distance, shooting from his car, or even a building across the street. But that didn’t seem possible in this instance. It looked like he was going to have to make it a little closer than he wanted.
The other issue was whether anyone else was in the home. He noticed two other cars parked, one in the driveway, and one in the garage, which he could easily see with the door lifted up. Sitting there for a few minutes, he couldn’t tell either way whether there were other people there. He could only surmise that there were. If he was able to target Wood from a distance, it wouldn’t much matter. But if he had to approach the house, he wouldn’t want any witnesses. And taking out the entire family wasn’t an option. Some men in his profession probably would’ve handled it that way, eliminating everyone from the equation. But Lamb didn’t work like that. He only targeted the people he was assigned. No one else. Regardless of whether it was easier or not, he refused to kill anyone other than his target unless it was absolutely necessary for his own survival or escape. Outside of his objective, he didn’t fire on anyone unless they fired at him first.
Though terminating Wood at the house was Lamb’s first option, he just didn’t like how everything was laid out. It seemed a little too close quarters for his tastes. He preferred more breathing room. He looked back at the file, and knowing Wood was at the golf course, thought maybe he could do the job there. Seeing that Wood had a regular tee time every Friday, there was a good chance that he’d still be there by the time Lamb arrived. In fact, Wood would probably be approaching the fourteenth or fifteenth hole at that point. The golf course was only about half an hour from Wood’s residence, so Lamb knew he could make it in time before he left the country club.
Lamb made good time, getting to the golf course in twenty-five minutes, well before Wood approached the fifteenth tee. He parked across the street from the lot, which housed a small apartment complex. It was about a thousand yards from Lamb’s location to the putting green on the fifteenth hole. An easily makeable shot for him. The longest kill he ever had was about two thousand yards, with a little wind at his back. This was a clear day, sunny, no wind in sight.
Lamb shifted to the back seat and opened his rifle bag, assembling the weapon and putting the scope on. He took a quick glance around to make sure no one was nearby, and looked through the scope. Though he played in a regular foursome, Wood was usually distinguishable from the other three in his group by the dark blue hat that he usually wore. About ten minutes after getting there, Lamb found his target. Just like the intel suggested, one of the four wore a dark blue baseball hat. Lamb looked at his target through the scope for a few seconds, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Wood was the first one on the green to put, and Lamb was waiting for him to finish. After Wood finished his put, he stood next to a couple of his partners as another golfer took his turn. As he stood there on the end, not moving an inch, leaning on one of his clubs with his legs crossed, it was the perfect shot for Lamb to take. And Lamb didn’t waste the opportunity. With a stationary target, Lamb gently pulled the trigger. As he looked through the scope to see the end result of his shot, he saw Wood’s body drop to the ground. It was a perfect shot right through Wood’s chest, blood staining the green putting area of the golf course that the forty-seven-year-old now lay on top of.
As Wood’s three golf buddies started waving around frantically at the sight of their comrade lying in a pool of his own blood, Lamb calmly packed up his rifle, putting it back in the bag. Unflustered from the chaos he just unleashed, he got back behind the wheel and drove out of the apartment complex. Some people made the mistake of trying to rush out of a situation like that, which sometimes drew unwanted attention. The goal of anyone in his profession was to be as quiet as possible, almost invisible. The best way to do that was to act like you weren’t even there. Move as calmly and slowly as possible, not giving anyone any reason to think you’re acting suspiciously. Lamb did just that. He slowly drove out of the complex, just like he belonged there. As he exited the lot, he turned onto the road that ran perpendicular to the golf course, taking a quick glance at the chaotic scene that he just left behind. As people were running toward the fifteenth hole, screaming and yelling, Lamb knew that his job was finished.
Lamb immediately went to the airport and boarded the next available flight back home. He could’ve driven back home, even though it was a sixteen-hour drive, but he really preferred to fly. Unless the drive was within five hours, he always chose to go the airport route. As he sat in the airport, he called Garner to let him know the job was done. Since Lamb wasn’t able to get a definitive view that his target was dead, he asked Garner to use his sources to confirm. By the time Lamb got back to his house, he wasn’t in it for more than five minutes before his phone rang.
“Hey, just wanted to let you know that it’s official,” Garner said. “Wood died almost instantly.”
“Good to know.”
“Our employer wanted me to send a message along to you thanking you for the swift, professional work that you did. They were very impressed and appreciative at how quick the job was done.”
“Thanks,” Lamb said, not really excited by the compliments.
“They even gave a little more than was agreed to out of appreciation for your efforts,” Garner said with a laugh.
“You can keep it.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. What is it?”
Lamb hesitated before answering, wondering if he should tell him about the weird feelings he’d been experiencing lately. Garner was not only a friend and a partner, but he was probably the closest thing he ever had to a father figure. He was also willing to pass along life tips and lessons whenever he thought it would be useful.
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br /> “So, what’s the matter?” Garner repeated.
Lamb sighed, finally relenting. “I dunno. It’s just lately...lately I’ve been feeling different.”
“Different? Like what? You sick or something?”
“No. At least not where it shows.”
“What then?”
“It’s hard to explain. I’ve been thinking about how much longer I wanna keep doing this.”
Garner was a little surprised to hear it since Lamb had never indicated a willingness to stop before. “What brought this on? Something happen? You talk to somebody?”
“No. The first time I started thinking about it was when I killed the wife of that prosecutor a little while back.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting regrets and feeling bad about things.”
“She didn’t deserve it, Ross.”
“Listen, who are we to say who deserves what? How do you know she was a good person? For all you know, she kills kittens in her spare time.”
“Come on,” Lamb said, not believing the analogy.
“You know what I’m saying. You go around thinking this person deserves this, this person deserves that, this person doesn’t deserve anything, you’ll drive yourself crazy. That was one of the first things you learn when you get into this business. You don’t allow personal feelings to get in the way. Everything’s just business.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Don’t overthink things. If it makes you feel better, just assume everybody’s guilty.”
“Yeah, but we both know that’s not the truth, is it?” Lamb asked.
“Who’s to say what’s the truth? We both know things aren’t always what they appear. Just ‘cause someone appears to be innocent, doesn’t mean they are. We all got skeletons in the closet, kid. For some people, they just come out sooner.”
Garner was concerned with Lamb’s mental state, as he’d never given the slightest indication that he was tired of his profession before. Never even hinted about it. It gave Garner pause as to whether he should give his friend the other news he had to share. Part of him thought maybe he should wait a while before delivering it. He finally decided to tell Lamb anyway, as they had never kept anything from each other before. At least nothing big.
“I don’t know if I should tell you this now, especially with how you’re feeling, but we’ve always been honest with each other,” Garner said.
“What is it?”
“I heard from your father a few days ago.”
“Yeah?” Lamb said, without the slightest bit of warmth in his voice.
“He wanted a chance to talk to you again. He didn’t say when, but I got the feeling he hoped it’d be soon.”
“I think we said everything we had to say to each the last time we talked.”
“That was five years ago,” Garner said.
“Nothing’s changed since then.”
“Maybe he wants to make amends for things.”
“Does it really matter at this point? What’s done is done. Nothing that’s said is going to change anything that happened.”
“No, but maybe you’ll both get some kind of closure if you both talk again.”
“I don’t need closure. There’s nothing to close,” Lamb steadfastly replied.
“He’s sixty-five years old now, Eric. Time changes people. Heals old wounds.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“I dunno. I’d like to believe in the idea of it. At least now and then. I can hope anyway.”
Lamb closed his eyes for a second, not really wanting to talk to his father again. The last time they spoke was at his mother’s funeral five years ago. She had an aggressive form of cancer that quickly spread through her body. Though Lamb attended her funeral, his intention was just to pay his respects, not reminisce about painful memories from his childhood. He tried to stay in the background and not make himself too visible during it, though his father caught up to him after it was over. They wound up having one of their heated arguments, his father chastising him over not being around over the years, and not being there at the end for his mother. Lamb’s argument was that neither one of them was ever that nice to him, as the bruises on his body, and his mind could attest to.
Though his father was the one who laid the physical beatings on him, his mother was content with the verbal assaults. Even though Lamb hated his father for the abuse that he put him through, he actually thought twice as badly about his mother. Part of him always thought that she should’ve tried shielding her son away from her abusive husband. She never did, though. Lamb always hated her for allowing the beatings to happen without ever trying to stop them, or even putting herself between the two of them. Not only didn’t she do any of that, but she piled on, calling him every terrible name she could think of. Words that should never have left the lips of any mother.
From Lamb’s point of view, they were all lucky that he went to his mother’s funeral at all. Neither of his parents had ever apologized to him for what they put him through as a child. They never seemed to have any remorse over it either. And while he occasionally thought about his childhood, he didn’t agonize over it, or wonder too much about how things could have been different. He accepted things for what they were and had come to peace within himself a long time ago. He never hoped for a last-ditch effort to suddenly become closer with them. As far as he was concerned, they blew their opportunity for a normal family relationship when he was a kid.
“So, what do you think?” Garner asked. “You wanna talk to him?”
“I don’t know, Ross. Maybe eventually. Not right now, though,” Lamb said, trying to say it as diplomatically as possible, even though he didn’t think a time would ever arise where he’d feel differently.
“I understand. The offer’s out there. I’ll let him know you’ve got a lot going on right now and we’ll touch base again in a few weeks.”
“OK. When’d you get so chummy with him, anyway? How long have you been talking to him?”
“Haven’t really. He only reached out to me about a week or so ago. I told him I’d let you know he was asking about you. That’s about all there was to it.”
“Oh. Seems like you’re pushing for us to have a reunion.”
“Nah, it’s not like that. Maybe it’s just me being a father myself, I can kind of understand what it’d be like if I hadn’t talked to my son in five years. When was the last time you two talked before that? Ten years?”
“We seem to be on five-year intervals. Twice in ten years.”
“Maybe it’s time to cut that down a little,” Garner said.
“Why are you so bent on this? He give you a finder’s fee?”
Garner laughed at the insinuation. “No. Like I said, maybe I can relate a little.”
“You couldn’t even relate to him a little bit. You never beat your kids. Making sure that the bruises weren’t visible so teachers couldn’t see them, or making you wear long sleeve shirts in ninety-degree weather to prevent people from seeing what your parents did to you.”
Seeing as it was still a sore subject for him, Garner tried to back off the issue before it got any deeper. “Listen, I know what they did to you wasn’t right. You have a perfect right to feel about them the way you do. I wouldn’t change that and I would never try. I’m just letting you know the option’s on the table if you ever wanna give it a shot. And if not...hey, it’s no skin off my nose, kid.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Lamb’s father never knew of his son’s profession. Seeing as they didn’t communicate much, his dad had to piecemeal things together from other sources, including Garner. As far as Mr. Lamb knew, his son worked in private security. That’s what Garner always told him the few times they talked, which was usually three or four times a year, usually when Lamb’s father called him about arranging a meeting between him and his son. Garner told him that Lamb worked private security, often in dangerous parts of the world as a defense contractor. Usually when Mr. Lamb inq
uired about his son, Garner told him he was in another country to prevent him from harassing him any further. Garner usually didn’t even tell Lamb that his father was asking about him since he knew what the response would be. He only disclosed it this time, thinking that in Lamb’s current mental state, maybe this time would be different. Lamb, though, didn’t want to talk about his father anymore, instead, choosing to focus on their next assignment.
“So, what’s next? Tampa?” Lamb asked.
“Yeah. You’ll have to get there in a couple days. They want it done quick.”
“All right. Send me everything you got on it and I’ll look it over.”
3
Garner sent Lamb a text message, letting him know he emailed the Tampa job file over to him. It was about seven o’clock when Lamb downloaded it and started looking it over. As he began perusing the information, it seemed like a regular case. Nothing special about it. It looked like a job he’d completed at least thirty times before. The hit involved taking out a man with a criminal past, who was involved in some shady organizations. The problem appeared to be that someone in the organization was doing some snitching to the police. Apparently, the other members felt that it was him.
As Lamb continued looking over the file, he became increasingly uncomfortable as he read. It wasn’t just Lawrence Swanson who was expected to be taken out. It was his entire family as well. The death of Swanson and his family was supposed to send a message to anyone else who had thoughts about snitching. Do it, and your entire family will pay the price. Swanson was a thirty-six-year-old man who’d been married for twelve years and also had an eleven-year-old daughter. Obviously, his daughter was not involved in that type of life, and it didn’t appear Swanson’s wife was either. This was the part that disturbed Lamb.
