Infernum Omnibus

by Percival Constantine

  “Suárez wants to offer you a job,” said Reyes.

  “Then you can tell him to shove it,” said Flint.

  “Think you’re gonna get away? All that tequila must’ve rotted away your brain. This is an offer, cabron. Which means if you don’t accept, you get made an example.”

  “Tell Suárez to do his worst.”

  Reyes laughed.

  “Something funny, Chuckles?” asked Flint as he held the blade scant inches from Reyes’ throat.

  “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do remember an old joke,” said Reyes. “It’s the one about the beautiful young lady. Ever hear it?”

  Flint remained silent.

  “See, one day, in Colombia, there was a beautiful young lady. She was so beautiful, she even captured the heart of a drug lord. So he took her as his mistress. The drug lord’s son wasn’t happy about this. You see, he loved the beautiful young woman. He wanted to marry her. But then his father took her from him.

  “The young woman, though, she loved the drug lord’s son, too. And she was as intelligent and as deadly as she was beautiful. So she thought of a plan. Her and the drug lord’s son would kill the drug lord. Now you might ask, why did the drug lord’s men let this happen? And that’s because as far as anyone outside of a few close advisors knew, the drug lord was still alive. He always ran his empire from the shadows, so very few people had ever met him.

  “Does this story sound familiar, Señor Flint?”

  Flint put the knife away. “Tanya Cruz. She’s Suárez.”

  “Far as anyone is concerned, yeah,” said Reyes. “She keeps his son around, but more as a token than anything else. He thinks he’s still in charge, but really it’s all her. She’s been doing this for a few years now.”

  “And now she’s done getting away with it,” said Flint.

  “So what about me?” asked Reyes.

  “What about you?”

  “I told you what you wanted to know. I can help you. And in return, I only want one thing.”

  “What’s that?” asked Flint.

  “Suárez’s operations—I want to take them over. I want to be the new Suárez. You didn’t care about Suárez’s cartel before. Why should you now? I’ll even let you stay in town. No more hassles.”

  “And the ‘offers’?” asked Flint.

  Reyes shook his head. “Gone. You’ve got my word.”

  “Not bad, Sheriff. Gotta say, I’m impressed with your courage. Most people would’ve begged to be let off. You’re trying to cut a deal with me.”

  “So what do you say, Flint? Are we in business together?”

  “Tell you what.” Flint drew a second cigar from his pocket. “What do you say we discuss it over a cigar?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you untie me so I can really enjoy it?”

  “In a second, something else first.” Flint knelt down and held out the cigar. Reyes wrapped his lips around it. Flint fished through his pockets and then patted down his body. “Looks like I forgot my lighter.”

  He picked up the blowtorch and pushed the switch, unleashing the flames from the end.

  ***

  Julie Kim pulled her rental car to a stop just outside the town. She opened the door, stepping out and slowly raised her sunglasses up. Strung up in front of the police station were the charred remains of a human being. A gold badge labeled SHERIFF was pinned to his chest. Hanging around his neck was a sign.

  THIS IS WHAT AN EXAMPLE LOOKS LIKE, SUÁREZ!

  THEN

  The saxophone squeaked. Another missed note. Flint tried again, but his fingers kept fumbling on the keys. His embouchure—the use of his facial muscles around the reed and mouthpiece—was atrociously off. The pieces he played were out of tune, the sound quality suffering greatly.

  If the soul is corrupt, the music won’t flow.

  That was something he was once told. He always assumed it was just artistic snobbery. But now, with that man’s blood on his hands, he wondered if there wasn’t some truth to it.

  Flint unhooked the saxophone from the neck strap. It had been a few weeks since he killed Pierce and he still hadn’t gotten any further instructions from Jackal. The number they programmed into the phone for him to call once the job was over turned out to no longer be in service. Dante was many things, but he kept his word—it wasn’t natural for him to go this long without providing payment for a job. At least not without some sort of contact.

  Which could only mean one thing—something unexpected happened. Something that distracted Dante’s attention over the past few weeks. Something that also kept Jackal or even Tauna from getting in touch with Flint to explain the situation.

  Outlaw Blues was empty for the moment. They hadn’t opened for business yet. Over the past few weeks, Flint hadn’t played any sets. He spent his days, from morning until night, practicing nonstop. Yet still, the errors only grew in number. Playing became more and more difficult.

  Flint held the saxophone up, sliding the reed between his lips once again, He didn’t attach the neck strap, just supported the saxophone on his own. Tightening his embouchure, he tried to play a high G note and the instrument squeaked once again.

  “Damn it all!”

  He threw the saxophone on the stage, knocking over its stand. Flint stalked to the bar, taking a bottle of Wild Turkey from the shelf and slamming a glass on the counter. As he took the cap off, he was about to pour it in the glass, but instead brought the bottle to his lips and drank hungrily. Flint paused and leaned against the counter. Then he drank again.

  The sound of the door opening drew his attention. Flint didn’t look up as he said, “You’re early, Mickey.”

  “That’s because I’m not Mickey.”

  Now Flint looked at the new arrival. A young woman, with dark red hair pulled back and wearing a trench coat over a black suit. He placed the bottle down on the counter. “We don’t open until seven.”

  “I’m not a customer, either.” She slid onto a stool. “I’m here to talk to you, Carl.”

  “I know you, lady?”

  “My name’s Julie Kim.”

  “And?”

  “I’m here to talk about a job you did recently,” said Julie.

  Flint reached for a cigarillo laying on the bar beside a box of wood matches. He placed one between his lips and struck the match. “I don’t do private gigs anymore. Here’s the only place I play.”

  Julie looked at the stage and saw the saxophone laying beside a knocked-over stand. She turned back to Flint. “Having some difficulty in that area?”

  “The hell is it to you?” asked Flint.

  “You’re right, it doesn’t matter to me at all. I couldn’t care less about your washed-up music career. What I’m interested in is your extracurricular activities.”

  “Don’t have any of those,” said Flint.

  “Christian Pierce.”

  Flint hesitated before taking another drag on the cigarillo. He flicked off the ash in a nearby tray. “You say that name like it should mean something.”

  “I have two other names that might mean something to you—Angela Lockhart and Dante,” said Julie.

  “Don’t know any of those.”

  “So we’re playing games now?”

  “Only thing I play is my sax.” He gestured to the stage with his cigarillo. “And you can see how well that’s working out.”

  “I looked up your records, you know. Carlton Flint, ex-Special Forces. An expert marksman, one of the best our country ever produced,” said Julie. “I bet if they asked you to, you could recreate the Kennedy assassination and prove the Lone Gunman theory.”

  “Aren’t we flattering,” said Flint. This time he poured the whiskey into the glass as opposed to drinking from the bottle. He wasn’t quite sure why.

  “I also know you left the military years ago. Got married and began a career as a jazz musician. Played at some pretty nice venues too,” said Julie.

  “I had my day in the sun.”

  “That’s where the r
ecords get sketchy. Luckily, the people I work for are good—very good—about keeping tabs on players like you.”

  “Oh yeah? Your boss likes to keep tabs on musicians?”

  “I think we both know that’s not the kind of player I was talking about,” said Julie. “Your marksmanship gave you notoriety with the wrong kind of people. That’s when Dante recruited you into Infernum.”

  “Dante’s Infernum?” Flint scoffed. “Someone really took their college lit classes to heart.”

  “You traveled around the world performing assassinations for Infernum. We don’t have an exact estimate or a perfect record, but we do know you worked for him. And then one day, several years back, your extracurricular activities seemed to stop,” said Julie. “You got a divorce, bought this old shack, and you’ve stayed off the radar ever since. Until a few weeks ago when you turned up at the Cobra Club and had a sit-down with Johnny Venom.”

  Flint gulped down the remainder of the whiskey and refilled his glass. “You’ve got a vivid imagination for names, lady.”

  “The sniper who killed Christian? That was a tough shot. Not impossible, but tough. For someone like you, it’d be a cakewalk. As natural as breathing.”

  Flint snapped his eyes at her now. “Let’s get one thing straight—you don’t know me or you wouldn’t dare suggest something like that.”

  He turned his back to her and Julie huffed. “Let me guess—a killer with a conscience, right?”

  Flint peered over his shoulder, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  “So what was this, then? One last job? What exactly was it that made you retire in the first place? Turned you into a burnout? And what could have brought you back?”

  “If I am who you say I am, why even bother coming in here to talk to me? Why not just walk in, blow my head off, and walk out? Not like the first time you Agency types have tried that.”

  “Who said anything about the Agency?” asked Julie.

  “You did. In so many words.”

  Julie eyed the bottle of Wild Turkey. “Mind if I have some of that whiskey?”

  Flint silently grabbed a clean glass and filled it up. He slid it over to her. Julie took slow sips of it as she kept her gaze locked on him.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Carl. I know right now you keep asking yourself, ‘when are the doors gonna bust down?’”

  “So what’s the answer?” asked Flint.

  “Never,” said Julie. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m not even here to arrest you. I’m pissed about Christian but I’m also a professional. You really think I’m going to put a bullet in some has-been hit man and be satisfied?”

  Flint started to chuckle and took another drag on his cigarillo. “Wow, you government types never cease to amaze. You really think I’m gonna accept some sort of deal in exchange for giving up Dante?”

  “Why not? He’s a criminal, Carl. A criminal on a global scale. The very same people you used to go after when you were in the military.”

  Flint continued to chuckle, pouring himself another glass. “Wow, you take naivete to a whole new level, kid. Just who the hell do you think you’re working for? Santa Claus?”

  “We’re the good guys, Carl.”

  “This just shows how good the bad guys are at what they do—they make you think they’re on the side of angels.”

  “If I wanted big government paranoia, I don’t have to go far to find it,” said Julie. “I’m not interested in conspiracy theories. We do what we have to in order to keep the world from falling into chaos.”

  “And that’s how you sleep, huh?” asked Flint. “You’re a real piece of work.”

  “It’s a simple deal, Carl. Give us Dante and we let you walk. You can go back to your shit bar and your shit life and we won’t bother you again.”

  “Right. At least until you need to take down someone else I used to work with. Then we’ll be right back here, won’t we?”

  “We take down Dante, we take down his operation.”

  “Few things you need to know, kid.” Flint sipped the whiskey. “First, Dante’s unpredictable. I don’t know when he’ll show up and I’ve got no way of getting in touch with him. He usually sends middlemen to contact his operatives. Second, the guy’s like a grandmaster at chess. While you’re trying to figure out where to move your pawn, he’s already mapped out a strategy for twenty moves down the line. You think he doesn’t have contingencies in place?”

  “I want you to think about my offer.” She slid the glass across the counter. “Thanks for the drink.”

  She stood and started to walk away. Flint looked down at his glass and asked, “Out of curiosity, what exactly are you offering me?”

  “Immunity,” she said. “And we’ll help you get out of the country.”

  “And what if I don’t care about those things?” asked Flint.

  “Then I guess it depends on what you want us to do for you,” said Julie. She left the bar and Flint picked up her glass, finishing off the little bit of whiskey still left in it.

  On the bar, under the spot where the glass had been, was a business card. Flint picked it up. It had her name and a phone number and nothing else.

  Flint turned on the speakers, putting on a Miles Davis CD. He sat at one of the tables and rested his feet on its surface. Slowly, he turned the card around between his hands, staring at it and thinking on what Julie had told him.

  Flint was lost in his own world, following the music and he didn’t even notice when Mickey came in. His bartender tried to say hi, but Flint was miles away and just ignored it. Not until the sound of a bottle being banged on his table did Flint snap out of his trance.

  Jackal sat down across from him, sipping from the bottle of Corona he just used to get Flint’s attention. “The hell’s the matter with you?”

  “What’s the matter with me?” asked Flint. “How about what’s the matter with you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s been weeks since the Pierce job and I haven’t heard a damn thing from anyone.”

  “Yeah, about that,” said Jackal. “We had some...complications.”

  “What kind of complications?”

  “Dante almost died.”

  Flint took the beer from Jackal and drew a long gulp. “You wanna run that by me again?”

  “Maybe if you don’t steal my damn beer,” said Jackal, grabbing it back. “Lockhart had some grievances and she delivered her resignation. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “So what happened?” asked Flint.

  “He’s okay, barely. Should be getting out of the hospital tomorrow.”

  “He was in the hospital?”

  “Tauna’s got the whole thing covered, no need to worry.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. I want my money.”

  “You’ll get it. Tauna’s making arrangements.”

  “And something else,” said Flint. “Before you showed up, I had a visit. From Pierce’s partner.”

  “What? But how the hell could she have made you?” asked Jackal.

  “She said I popped up on the radar recently when I dropped in at the Cobra Club.”

  Jackal shook his head. “God, you’re a massive idiot.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “What were you thinking?” asked Jackal. “You go to Johnny Venom’s place and you think the Agency wouldn’t know? Did you tell him about the job?”

  “It was before I took it.”

  “Did you tell him you were offered an assignment?”

  Flint nodded.

  “Oh shit, you really screwed things up for yourself now,” said Jackal.

  “Dante knew about all of this. He had me watched.”

  “And did he also happen to mention that Venom is now working as a consultant for the Agency?”

  Flint’s jaw slackened. His throat seemed incapable of producing any sound. The Jackal nodded and sipped his beer. “Yeah, that’s right. Your old buddy is an informant for the Agency. How do you think they
found you so quickly?”

  Flint lit a fresh cigarillo. “Dante and I had a deal. If I’m made, he does everything in his power to make sure I get away.”

  Jackal nodded. “If that’s the arrangement he made, he’ll keep his word. You know that.”

  “Then do it.” Flint stood from the table. “I wanna be in another country with a clean identity by the end of the week.”

  Flint went towards the back, where the entrance to the stairwell leading to his apartment was located.

  “Where are you going now?” asked Jackal.

  “Seems like I’ve got an old friend to visit,” said Flint.

  NOW

  The music blared loudly from the bar and Antonio had difficulty keeping up with all the orders coming in at a rapid pace. Still, he was happy as he poured the shots and beers, as were the patrons in the bar that evening. They had all seen the “example” Carl Flint made of Sheriff Reyes and they knew it was the beginning of the end for Suárez.

  Julie Kim entered the bar, drawn from the street by the sounds of the celebration. She pushed past the people, trying to find some sign of Flint, although she supposed he would have avoided such an event. Instead, she went to the bartender and handed him a photograph she printed out of Flint.

  “Excuse me, have you seen this man?” she asked. “He goes by the name of Joe Lawrence.”

  Antonio looked at the photograph and studied it for a few seconds. He handed it back to her. “Sorry, never seen him.”

  “What’s the party for?” asked Julie, having to raise her voice over the sound of the music and the people singing along.

  “Someone set the sheriff on fire!” said Antonio.

  “Is that something you should really be celebrating?” asked Julie.

  “Definitely!” Antonio held up a shot of tequila for himself. “Salud!”

  “Salud!” the rest of the bar responded in unison.

  Julie motioned for Antonio to lean in closer and he did. “Could you come with me for a minute?” She motioned towards the door. Antonio nodded and followed Julie outside. Once on the street, Julie shoved Antonio face-first against the side of his own establishment. She pushed her gun to the back of his head.