by Sam Jones
Black checked his watch—
2:00 A.M.
Some parks and rec employee might stumble across us.
I’ll deal with them if they do.
For the past forty minutes, neither Cassie nor Black exchanged a word with one another. The two of them split the area up into a hundred-foot wide circle and kept things to a militaristic vibe. They continued to survey their surroundings for any sign of Roenick’s people or other unwanted visitors, guns at their sides.
We lost them.
Roenick doesn’t know where we are.
Without looking at her, Black, from fifty feet away, shouted out to Cassie—
“Why?”
It took her a moment to answer.
“I don’t need to tell you my reasons,” she said.
“If we’re both going after Amanda we need to be on the same page,” he said.
Cassie turned around and threw her eyes on Black. “I never said I was going after Amanda,” she said.
Black also turned around. “You’re still here,” he replied.
She walked towards him. He followed suit as the conversation continued—
“I want the story,” said Black. “The full story. Who you are, what Roenick wants with Amanda, all of it. No filter, no bullshit. If I’m about to stick my neck out for this girl, I need to know why I’m doing it.”
Cassie organized the narrative in her mind. “Roenick, or Marcus Silver, is my brother.”
Intriguing…
“Keep going,” said Black.
“For the past few years he’s been operating as a mercenary. Using his old contacts for recruiting manpower, so on and so forth.”
“And then what?”
“Roenick’s physician tells him he’s sick.”
It made Black think of Richie.
This guy… He needs her…
“Sick with what?” asked Black.
Cassie opened her mouth but the reply never came out. She slowly paced in a circle as she laughed at the absurdity of the situation and the role she played in getting it to that place.
“Finish,” said Black.
“Roenick needs a heart transplant,” she said. “He needs it soon. Amanda Dubin is going to be his involuntary donor.”
Black let it soak in.
I should have known.
It’s never that far of a walk…
“How did he find her?” he asked.
“Same way he found me,” she replied. “He didn’t have to go far to peg Amanda as his candidate. Amanda Dubin, like me, is related to Roenick… She’s his twin sister…”
This just keeps getting better and better.
Cassie laid out the whole story. How Roenick, in the course of setting up his ‘side business’ after his post-Trust breakup, located the original orphanage where he was given up for adoption. By default, he discovered his siblings, Amanda and Cassie. For years Roenick never used the information to seek them out.
“Not even for a Christmas card.”
Cassie explained that it wasn’t until the day that Roenick was told his ticker was sick that he recruited Cassie to join him for a mission geared towards saving his life, pulling on her heartstrings and hijacking her loyalty with the knowledge of their shared lineage.
“He was my brother,” she said. “It was that simple.”
The more intricate details of Roenick’s heart ailment were irrelevant. What was important was the fact that he needed a new one. Working with his physician, they established a time line on when it would be done and possible donors they could attempt to recruit. From the get go, Roenick knew that Amanda Dubin was the perfect match and his only choice, for a myriad of reasons.
He then infiltrated his twin sister’s life (with assistance from Cassie) by turning her husband into an employee via the assistance of the now deceased Gregory from Brooklyn.
“He was Richie’s replacement,” said Cassie. “Until you killed him. That’s why Roenick brought Amanda to Vegas. He was going to wait until the last second to bring her in. You pushed the timetable forward.”
“Roenick was also dumb enough to let it slip that you were in Vegas with that ‘Sin City’ comment,” said Black.
“Probably didn’t think it made a difference,” said Cassie. “He wanted you here. We thought we had you…”
“You didn’t…”
Black grinned at Cassie.
Prick.
“Why’d Roenick want to get rid of Richie?” asked Black.
“He had his reasons. Richie wasn’t exactly the pick of the litter,” replied Cassie. “Not by a long shot.”
“Roenick blew up that club, yeah?”
Cassie shook her head.
“No… We have no idea who did that. He thought maybe it was you.”
“It wasn’t me.”
Who was it?
Trask…?
“That guy at the hotel with you,” said Black. “King, right?”
“Yep,” Cassie huffed. “Son of a bitch was working with the Feds. According to Roenick, they’re trying to build a case on The Trust. Thinks an agent named Flint may have planted him in with us. I’m just surprised they haven’t busted in and arrested us all, now that King is dead.”
Black shook his head. “The Feds, this ‘Flint’ guy, they might not even know what’s going on yet,” he said. “Or, they do, and they’re letting this situation play out so they can nail someone other than Roenick.”
“Like who?”
“You. Roenick’s cronies. Hell, maybe even me.”
Cassie continued on and illustrated how Roenick managed to lock Amanda down in a confined enough setting where she could be kept healthy (which he enforced through Richie and monitored through monthly physicals) and in the dark until the day of the heart operation.
The whole shebang began to make sense to Black. The facts became clear and the puzzle pieces started to fit into place. Cassie’s story lined up with Amanda’s paranoia.
“Does Amanda know she’s related to this asshole?” asked Black.
“No. Roenick never wanted her to know. He figured the more he could control her from a distance and keep her knowledge of the situation to a minimum, the better.”
Black took another step towards Cassie. “And you were all right with this? When you learned the truth about Roenick? About your sister? You’re telling me you were just going to sit idly by while he cut her heart out?”
She took a step towards Black. Everything in her composure was indicative of somebody who was on-edge and not looking to be prodded.
“I thought I didn’t care...” Her eyes welled but she held back. “I guess I was wrong,” she said. “And that’s as far as I’ll go to explain myself to you. Marty.”
Black let it go.
“Where’s Amanda?” he asked.
“In a house about forty-five miles from here.”
“Then we drive up there, shoot everybody, cut her loose, and I can walk away.”
Cassie shook her head.
“They won’t be at that house, anymore. Knowing Roenick, he’s going to move everything. Maybe not immediately, but soon. Right after they take Gibson.”
Black sighed.
Did we really need one more element in all of this shit?
“Who’s Gibson?”
“Doctor William Adam Gibson, renowned cardiovascular surgeon. Roenick contacted him back when he first learned of the situation with his heart and attempted to solicit his services for the surgery. Gibson, once he learned about Roenick and the tastier details of the situation, refused. Gibson became paranoid after Roenick tried to recruit him. He hired around the clock bodyguards that haven’t left his side in two years, except during his monthly, three-day trips to Vegas where he gambles his wallet clean, though his wife is under the impression that he’s on business in Phoenix and hasn’t stepped foot in a casino in over three years. Had a gambling addiction, apparently.”
“Why get rid of the bodyguards? Why not just lie to the wife and go to Vega
s?”
“She initially found out about his gambling addiction because of an affair she was having with one of his former bodyguards.”
“Ah…”
“After good old Doc Gibson is done playing the slots in Vegas, he makes a seven-hour road trip to Carson City to a whorehouse called ‘The Bunny Ranch.’ Out of all the things he’s not supposed to do, he definitely doesn’t want the bodyguards around for that. Either way, Doctor Gibson goes completely off the radar during these little holidays. So, between that, Gibson’s vacations date, and the timing of Roenick’s heart surgery, now was the perfect time for him to put it all into motion.”
“I buy it.”
“At five a.m., Roenick’s team will abduct Gibson at the airport, take him to Amanda, and, as you so succinctly put it, cut her heart out.”
“Then we go after Gibson.”
Cassie shook her head as she began pacing, the headache that was Roenick already creeping up on her. “Roenick’s going to readjust his plan now that I’ve turned on him,” she said.
“Without Gibson, he’s got nothing,” said Black. “We need to take him at the airport.”
“Roenick’s going to change the plan. I promise you.”
“We still have to try.”
“We need to find Amanda. She’s the end goal.”
“What do you suggest we do then?”
“Honestly?”
Cassie produced Black’s signed Commitment Waiver and one hundred grand in cash from her pocket. She folded up the CW into a square, placed it inside the overstuffed envelope, and offered it to Black. It took him a moment to accept it from her.
“You should just go,” she said. “This is all my fault, in a way… I owe it to Amanda to get her out of this and finish off Roenick.”
Black looked at the CW peeking out of the envelope. A tiny sliver of the thick stack of green bill tempted him.
I’ve got everything I need and more.
I can leave if I want to...
No.
Do the right thing.
He pocketed the envelope in his jacket; a thin veneer of sweat started to form under his armpits.
I gotta change my clothes soon.
After we get Amanda.
“I’m going to help you,” he said to Cassie. “Two heads are better than one.”
“If anyone should be explaining their reasons for helping her, it should be you,” Cassie said.
“How do you figure?”
“From what I understand, between the cash and that piece of paper, you’re set. You’ve got no excuse to help this girl.”
“Maybe I’ve just got more of a conscience than you think I do.”
She stepped forward with a smug look on her face, a smile that was about to be followed by a checkmate. “Or maybe,” she said, “you’re trying to pay back the sins you bestowed on that one girl who kept you topped off at two women.”
Lizzie…
“What happened, Marty?”
Black let a few seconds tick by as he swallowed the memory choked up in his throat. He said nothing.
“You need my help,” he said to Cassie with a matter-of-fact delivery. “So you’re going to take it.”
Though he wasn’t sure, due to the lack of light, Black was pretty positive he saw Cassie cracking a smile.
She removed her SIG and double-checked the rounds as she headed to the trunk of the Mustang. Black followed behind her.
“We should scope out the house he’s been keeping her in,” she said. “Chances are they’re gone. But, if we’re lucky, Roenick might still be in the process of moving out of there.”
“We should scope out the airport. Might get sticky if we run into any of your old friends.”
“I’d rather be thorough and check the house first. We may get the drop on them. The airport is twenty minutes from there, so we won’t have to go far.”
Twenty minutes.
All it takes is a SECOND to kill someone.
“And what’s your plan if we do get the drop on them, Palizzers?”
Cassie pressed the unlock button on her car keys and the trunk opened wide with a click. Inside of it was an extensive collection of handguns, rifles, and Kevlar vests.
That’s a lot of death.
“Yep,” said Black. “That sounds about right.”
Black removed his dress shirt and donned a Kevlar vest. Cassie produced a Bellini model shotgun from the trunk, a long and thick instrument of destruction with a handle grip near the trigger. She began loading red shells the size of large batteries into the weapon as Black’s eyes picked out which of the guns he would take for himself.
“Ask you something?” he inquired.
“What?” she replied, neither of them making eye contact.
“How did you put on those fake tattoos you had back when we first met? They looked pretty real.”
“Trade secret.”
“Gotcha.”
Something in the trunk caught Black’s attention. He reached in, grabbed it, and pulled it out: a modified MK 18, a compact-like version of the M4 carbine with an angled grip.
It reminded Black of DeNiro’s gun from the shootout in Heat.
Hot damn, that’s a great flick.
Cassie removed her jacket while Black checked his magazine rounds.
“How much of our conversation in that bar was bullshit?” asked Black.
Cassie shrugged. “Bits and pieces. Your English teacher bit wasn’t true, right?”
“No. It’s true. I teach in a town in Pennsylvania.” Black caught himself and laughed. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Why?” asked Cassie, genuinely confused.
“Because I don’t need you looking me up after this is finished.”
Cassie pumped a round into the shotgun.
Click-Clack.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said. “You’re not my type.”
“What is your type? Psychotic ex-Trust employees with wild plans and a trigger finger?”
Cassie then began unbuttoning her shirt. She took it off, exposing her well-toned stomach, black sports bra, and eye-catching curves.
“How is it,” Black asked, “that you went into business with your brother over having a connection with your sister? You’re a girl, so… I don’t know. I guess I just don’t understand that choice.”
Cassie didn’t either.
“People are strange,” she replied.
Worried he might continue with unwanted inquires, Cassie shifted gears and belted out the first thing that popped into her head—
“What’s the last book you read, Teach?” she asked Black as she reached into the trunk for one of the bulletproof vests.
“The Shining,” he replied.
“Creepy.”
“It is. Stephen King has this magician’s touch with how he writes. He sucks you into a dream before pulling out the rug and turning it into a nightmare. Hits you like a hard drink and then lingers around like a hangover.”
“Sounds kind of like this situation,” Cassie said as she tightened the Velcro on the sides of her vest.
“Fever dream,” said Black.
“What’s that?”
He thought back to the memory—
“It’s something Amanda said to me. It just kind of fit.”
“Hmm,” said Cassie. “Maybe this is a dream.”
Black froze and thought about it.
He got lost the thought and finished jocking up. His Kevlar now added an extra layer underneath his shirt, causing his chest area to puff out like a dog ready for a fight. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, finger grazing the trigger. “Can I trust you, Cassie Palizzi?”
Cassie had re-donned her shirt and jacket. She turned up the oversized collar and clutched the shotgun in her right hand. “Can I trust you, Martin Black?”
He thought it over. “I’m not sure…”
She thought it over. “Me either…”
Black stood tall and nodded towards the horizo
n where the sun would soon rise. “Good!” he said with passionate exhilaration. “Then let’s go shoot some bad guys!”
Cassie parked the Mustang a half-mile from the house. The car was hidden behind a large boulder that had been chipped away by erosion and scattered across the ground. Mountains were to the right and left.
It was ten minutes past four a.m. by the time Cassie and Black crept up a dirt road that led to an overlook, which sported a view of the compound laying off to the east.
Black and Cassie took up a surveillance position about twenty feet above the boulder on a cliff edge that was surrounded by rocks the size of severed heads. A half-mile wide valley tinted with green shrubbery separated the house from their position. Warm traces of the sunrise trickled into the frigid nighttime chill as Cassie perched behind a rock and scanned the house with a pair of binoculars. Black, at her six o’ clock, acted as the lookout. MK 18 at the ready.
“I can’t see anyone,” said Cassie with a sigh. “I think they’re all gone.”
She offered the binoculars to Black. The two of them switched positions and he did his own visual investigation.
No lights.
No bodies.
No cars.
Shit…
“Yeah,” he said as he pulled down the binoculars from his eyes. “That bastard skipped out of here in a hurry.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“We need to go after Gibson,” he said.
“We should still check the house,” she replied. “Just to be sure.”
Black nodded in confirmation.
Cassie kicked in the front door. Black moved around her and the two of them cleared the foyer and living room with military precision.
“I’ll take the upstairs,” she said.
As Cassie moved up, Black cleared the back rooms. He found nothing but a couple of open and empty crates along with boxes and a plastic sheet that had a biohazard label printed on the front.
Medical equipment…
After a rigorous but swift sweep of the house, Black and Cassie came up with zilch. The two of them regrouped in the foyer as they engaged the safety switches on their weapons and holstered them.
Black checked his watch—
4:45 a.m.
