IA: Invincible Assassin

by John Darryl Winston

  “You sure, Wordsmith?” asks Soul.

  “Positive.”

  I look over my shoulder as I make my way back to a small group standing near Meri’s grave. Coach, Soul and a few more players from the team leave together—family. I pull a pristine rose from my backpack, kneel, and recite Psalm 23.

  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

  he leadeth me beside the still waters.

  He restoreth my soul:

  he leadeth me in the path of righteousness for his name’s sake.

  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:

  for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” (KJV)

  I place the rose on her casket, stand and then turn to see Mr. Tesla nearby talking to a tall lady with dark hair pulled back in a bun and wearing sunglasses.

  “Um … hi.” I approach the two respectfully, nodding to the woman and holding out my hand to Mr. Tesla. “I don’t know if you remember me, sir, but I’m one of Naz’s teammates. We met—”

  “Harvis,” says Mr. Tesla, bowing his head slightly.

  “Yes.”

  “Harvis,” says the lady opposite Mr. Tesla, holding out her hand. “Nice to finally meet you, although not in the most ideal of circumstances.” She looks at Meri’s grave. “I’m Naz’s therapist.”

  “Oh … nice to meet you … Dr. Hornbuckle. Naz talks about you all the time.”

  “I hope nothing bad.”

  “Oh, no! All good, Dr. Hornbuckle.”

  “Well, that’s good to know, and call me Dr. Gwen, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This one was special, one of a kind.” Dr. Gwen looked at Meri’s grave. “Loved by so many … such a tragedy.” Her words are strong, as is her presence. There is no trembling to her. “I’m guessing you haven’t heard from Naz, either,” she continues, turning her attention away from the grave and scanning the cemetery grounds, echoing my suspicion that although Naz is not in attendance, he is likely around. “I’ve heard many good things about you, too. My son, John, said he had classes with you in the summer academy at IA.” She nods toward a clean-cut young man, also with dark hair, about my size, standing several feet away with his back turned, apparently waiting. “John,” she calls to him.

  John walks over and immediately sticks his hand out to me. I match his firm handshake but am barely able to recollect him being in any of my IA summer classes, although I never mingle much with the other students there. We stare at each other for a bit, and I wonder if the good doctor possesses those same intense blue eyes behind her dark sunglasses.

  There’s an awkward silence, and I take the opportunity to scan the many bushes and trees that define the landscape of the cemetery. If Naz wanted to be close enough to hear and see the memorial but not be seen, he’d hide behind the closer ones. The bushes on the perimeter catch my attention. They will conceal me. Now’s the best time for me to take cover while a good number of people are still milling around and moving about, coming and going.

  “Well, I have to get back,” I say, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

  “Nice to see you again.” Mr. Tesla bows his head.

  “Wait.” Dr. Gwen pulls a card from her clutch and hands it to me. “You’re likely to hear from him before I do. I have a proposition for him. He needs to call me, though … as soon as possible.”

  I look at the business card and nod. “Yes, ma’am. I will. I should be getting back.” I shake her hand. “J … John, is it?” I reach out for John’s hand.

  He takes it, and we exchange a firm handshake.

  “Mr. Tesla.” I shake his hand.

  I slowly walk away, having no intention of leaving the cemetery. I make my way to the exit and then casually walk along the inside of the cemetery fence. Looking back to check and see if I am being observed, I almost stumble over a homeless man who has made camp alongside the fence.

  “Excuse me,” I apologize.

  He nods and puts his hand out as I pass by. I have a thought—a perfect opportunity to defy Dad. I reach in my back pocket and pull out the few singles that congregate there. I turn and hand them to the derelict, just now taking notice of him. He’s definitely dressed for the winter: a drab wool hat stretches out over an apparent mass of hair and his face is completely wrapped in a gray scarf, except for his alert eyes.

  He nods and gives a muffled, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I nod back, turn, and continue on my path until I find a group of trees that adequately conceal my presence. The people leaving the funeral pay me no mind. I just hope wherever Naz is—if he’s watching—he doesn’t notice, either. In his present state, I should be the last thing on his mind.

  It doesn’t take long before the funeral party dissipates along with the falling snow. I remove my hat, button the flaps, and put it back on. It’s only then I notice the homeless man is also gone, and then it strikes me—why would a homeless man camp out at a cemetery? Easy answer: visiting a loved one probably. Duh. I shrug off the irony, lean against a tree and prepare the tracking device. I don’t have to wait long as Naz emerges from a cluster of bushes opposite Meri’s grave. Lucky for me, he’s predictable.

  Naz stops just before he gets to Meri’s grave. He appears to take a deep breath and then continues. He kneels down in the same spot I did and places a flower on Meri’s casket. My eyes well up, and I shake off the emotion. I’m tougher than that. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I shouldn’t be crying now, but it’s different. My father says tears betray the strength of a man, but my mom says they embody it. I miss my mother all the time but right now more than ever. I wouldn’t tell anybody that. I’m not sure what to say to Naz—a wordsmith without words again—and Mom always has the right words.

  I look away and then close my eyes tight to make the tears disappear. I say a prayer.

  When I return my gaze, like an angel, someone has appeared from nowhere. Her white knit hat like a halo and matching mittens to warm cold hands, D sits next to Naz. I turn back around and nod. This is good. I don’t want to be a voyeur on what could be an intimate moment for the two, but I don’t want to lose Naz either, so I turn around every few minutes to keep track of their progress.

  After a while, they’re sitting on the grass, and from a distance, I swear Naz is smiling. D laughs, confirming what I thought I saw, and Naz chuckling soon follows. I nod again and smile. Perfect! At one point, D pushes against Naz’s shoulder causing him to lose his balance and fall to his side. The two laugh again.

  Not knowing how long D will be there, I’m tempted to sit down. It has stopped snowing, and not much of it has accumulated on the ground up against the tree. Still, I decide to stand strong and wait for my friend to be alone.

  After what seems like more than an hour, I turn to find D facing Naz. She leans in, kisses him on his cheek, and stands—sly dog. Naz looks up and says something. She replies and walks away. Naz watches, and she looks back several times before she reaches the gate. They must really like each other.

  When she’s gone, Naz turns around and looks at the casket. He says something. It’s now or never. I come from behind the tree and start toward him. I immediately see the clergyman return and approach Naz from the rear, maybe startling Naz. I freeze. Whatever the man says apparently upsets Naz, and the look on the man’s face after Naz’s response paints the picture of disappointment. He asks Naz one more question. Naz answers with a posture of pride and then turns his attention back to Meri. The man puts his finger up like he wants to say something else but then pauses as if he thinks better of it and walks away looking slightly dejected.

  I hold the tracking device on its edges between the thumb and middle finger of my left hand, careful not to let the adhesive touch my skin. One thing I can be sure of is that if the General says the adhesive is permanent, I can count on that fact to be true. I have one chance at this—let’s do it. I ga
ther myself, readjusting the backpack on my shoulder and then make a motion symbolizing the cross in front of my chest. I say a short prayer and then continue my approach.

  “Hey, man,” I say when I’m only a few feet away.

  Naz’s head turns slightly, acknowledging my presence, and then he returns his gaze forward.

  I pride myself on being prepared for any and everything—four readings of the Art of War will do that to you—but at this moment, it occurs to me I still have nothing in the way of the words. I can’t talk him down or derail him from his decided upon path. My only goal is to plant the tracking device as stealthily as possible.

  Surprisingly, Naz breaks the ice.

  “Do I know you?” Naz continues looking straight ahead.

  “What?” His question is a bee’s sting that surprises me.

  “Do I know you?” he asks again, almost too quickly, with an air of impatience.

  “I don’t under—”

  “Because … there’s something familiar about you. There always has been … since my first day at Lincoln in Coach’s class. Everyone knows that I can’t remember things, but I see flashes.” He finally looks up at me, suspiciously. “And … you’re always throwing out hints … when you help me out and I say, ‘I owe you,’ talkin’ ’bout ‘trust me: you don’t owe me.’ Why don’t I owe you? What does that mean, ‘I don’t owe you?’”

  Trying to buy some time, I put my free hand in my front pocket and walk to the other side of the grave. I didn’t expect that—so much for predictability. I take a deep breath that I hope Naz won’t detect.

  “The Wordsmith is wordless,” Naz continues. “Last week, everything I did … with Roffio and the rest of those boys, none of it surprised you.”

  “Naz—”

  “Let me finish.” He stops me with an open palm. “You even took the bullets out of that gun Soul brought.” Naz stands and faces me. “You knew they might have weapons. You’re not bulletproof, and you would’ve never put Soul in danger; you’re his guardian angel, his protector. At the hospital when Soul asked about the things I did, it was you who covered for me. How do you know about what I can do?”

  This is my strength, and some call me the Iceman because I don’t rattle easily. Watch me work. “I don’t,” I say with a straight face. “Like Soul, I just saw. That’s how. And at the game earlier that day, you didn’t miss a shot. Even pro ball players don’t shoot that good. It is what it is. There are things on this earth that are bigger than you and me, things that we’ll never understand. It’s called faith, belief in the unseen. Heard of it?” I say, regaining my composure.

  “Uh-huh.” Naz looks down at Meri’s casket and then back up at me, shaking his head. “You said all of that with a lot of conviction, but I’m not buying it. You’re hiding something. Did you know I could read minds, too?”

  Can he? I show no emotion. Is it possible, with the other things he can do? “Great! Read my mind. I have nothing to hide.” I bluff, trying my best to think of basketball, video games, rhymes, anything but my past with Naz.

  “Forget about it.” Naz looks back down at the grave, dejected. “It doesn’t work anymore anyway. Your secret is safe … for now. What do you want? You knew I’d be here, so you waited ’til I came out of hiding. I don’t have to read minds to know that.”

  “Just checking on you, man. Everyone’s worried about you, haven’t seen you at school.”

  “Just need some time.” Naz shrugs.

  This is my chance. I can’t let Naz sit back down or walk away. I reach out to shake his hand. He looks at it and then up at me. I keep my mind as clear as I can just in case what Naz says about being able to read minds is true.

  When Naz finally takes my hand, I aggressively pull him toward me in an intended man-hug. He reciprocates. I place the tracking device on the middle finger of my left hand and when Naz is close enough, press it against the back of his black hunting jacket. When we release, Naz furrows his brow. Something is off about my little show of affection, and I’m sure Naz can feel it, too.

  “Naz, if you need anything—”

  “Family, I know.”

  “Well, yeah—”

  “They took my only family away, the Incubus Apostles.” Naz turns back to Meri’s grave. “And they’re gonna pay.”

  He’s blunt, which surprises me. It can only mean he’s reaching out, but I have no intention of giving him advice about the negative impacts of hate and revenge. His straightforwardness spurs me on to some directness of my own. Maybe I can at least negotiate a stay in his actions. Here goes nothing.

  “Naz.”

  He doesn’t look at me, but I know I have his ear. I use words that appeal to his sense of duty as a friend. “I need you to promise me one thing.”

  He turns to look at me, expressionless.

  “Three weeks,” I say to peak his curiosity and continue the dialogue between us.

  “Three weeks?” He takes the bait.

  “Give me three weeks to see what I can come up with.”

  “The case is closed. Everyone thinks Roffio was lying about a boss and that he acted alone. The police said the orders Ham, Dill, and Denali were following must have come directly from Roffio and there was no boss.”

  “The police?” I scoff. “My father’s a brigadier—”

  “General! I know.”

  He twists some of his hair, making it obvious he’s giving it some thought.

  “You have three weeks,” he concedes.

  “Well, you know where to find us.” I walk away, looking back to see if I successfully planted the tracking device. To my surprise, the device has somehow turned black, and I have to squint to see it. Like a chameleon, it has become the same color as his jacket. Sweet! Military grade, Dad said.

  I leave the cemetery, wandering and wondering what will be Naz’s next move. He’ll probably start asking around … as if all the questions haven’t already been asked. But that’s what I would do. I hope he doesn’t ask the wrong person the right question. That would be bad for them. Maybe after three weeks, his passions will cool, and he’ll get over it. Not likely.

  Great! Three weeks. That gives me one week to hang out with Soul and … Hailey, I guess, and when Mom gets here next week, I can spend the entire Christmas vacation with her. She must’ve planned it that way. I smile involuntarily and look around to make sure no one notices. The General’s idea about using basketball and Coach as an excuse to get away from Mom was solid, but I’m glad I don’t need it anymore. The tougher proposition comes after those three weeks: getting away from Fears at a moment’s notice, when I need to track Naz.

  I program my watch to alert me every time Naz is on the move. It’s mild for mid-December, and the snow that has fallen either didn’t stick on the pavement or has melted on grassy patches that I pass on the way back to Coach’s. I take off my hat and run my hand through my hair. My dad taught me to request a high-and-tight haircut from the barber as far back as I can remember, buzz cut on the top and almost nothing on the sides. Maybe I should let it grow. I laugh.

  Mmmm … I smell the aroma of the intoxicating beans and stop at Patriot’s coffee shop. I love that smell, and it’s hard to resist. It’s mid-afternoon and bustling. I take a seat, one of the only empty ones, near the window and order coffee, black. It always impresses Soul and Naz that I can drink it this way—a side effect of being the General’s son. Anything tough is an acquired taste and preferable to build character. When I was younger, everywhere I went people would say, “That caffeine’s gonna stunt your growth, kid.” My dad never engaged the self-appointed prophets and always assured me it wouldn’t, and my mother concurred. At one month shy of fourteen and only three inches under six feet, I’ve learned to trust my parents’ words, although they don’t always agree.

  I take out my notebook and a pencil, and begin:

  Lightning strikes … a battle is won.

  A mind awakens … the war has just begun.

  Something within elevates the
evolution …

  The ghetto’s got some problems …

  Not in a creative mood, I stop writing. Naz is about to wage war against not only the Incubus Apostles but also the streets of Marshal Park, a war he cannot possibly win—not yet anyway. I finish my coffee.

  HOURS LATER, SOUL and I sit on Coach’s long black leather sofa, watching a paused video game on the giant screen in front of us. Coach sits adjacent to us in a matching chair. According to my watch, Naz hasn’t moved from the cemetery, which is a little weird and scary. It’s almost dark. Maybe this thing doesn’t work. I tap the watch’s face—hello …

  “If you’re not gonna try, why play?” complains Soul.

  “You’re still losing,” Coach says.

  “Yeah, but it’s not even by double digits.”

  “What’s the problem? I’ve let you wi … I mean, you’ve beaten me before.” I chuckle.

  “See. He’s not even trying to win or lose. It’s like he’s not here.” Soul puts his hand out, appealing to Coach.

  Coach shrugs as he taps away on his phone, clearly in his own world.

  “And why do you keep lookin’ at that stupid watch? Nobody wears watches anymore. They’re played-out.”

  Coach holds up his wrist, examining his watch.

  “Sorry, Coach.”

  “It’s a Christmas present from my dad.”

  “Christmas is more than a week away,” says Soul.

  “I know, but he won’t be in town.”

  “Sweet! So you’ll be hangin’ with us for the holidays again,” Soul determines.

  “Nah. My mom’s comin’ home for two weeks.”

  “That’s cool.” Soul looks back at the screen, disappointed.

  “Which reminds me, Coach, I’m thinking about playing AAU for Coach Benedict this winter. He’s the JV coach at International Academy.” I hate lying to Coach, but I need a ready-made excuse when the time comes.

  I have to play this thing just right. I have Dad’s silent approval for this mission. The trick is keeping Coach at bay and Mom in the dark. At least I don’t have to lie to her about my whereabouts the two weeks she’s here. I don’t like lying to her. It doesn’t help that I’m good at it—courtesy of the General and his junior interrogation training, which was kind of fun. Of course, he didn’t teach me everything because he knows when I’m lying or telling the truth. Coach would never agree to me following Naz—who has apparently given up on life—and playing guarding angel in the face of certain danger. And what about Soul? Maybe he can help. No. He’ll just get in the way, and I can’t watch them both at the same time. Coach can take care of Soul.