“He is not home.”
“I'm gonna try again.”
Miko took the receiver from him and hung up the phone. “You tried three times. He is not home.”
“I don't think I can do this.”
Taking Toby's hand, Miko dragged him back to the car. “I will do. Just drive around the block until I come out. It is okay.”
“But what if—”
He kissed him, then pressed his finger to Toby's forehead to smooth down the lines. “Worrying.”
“The place is probably a mess,” Toby said quietly.
“You want me to clean while I am there it will take longer.”
“No, I...” He rolled his eyes as he got the joke, once again believing that Miko was serious for just a moment too long. Then he turned away, suddenly looking very small. “Just don't think less of me.”
“There is nothing your father could do to make me think less of you. Kocham Cie.”
Toby smiled. “Dziekuje.”
“You thank me when I get your picture.” He got in the passenger side, habitually adjusting his hair like he was on a job even though he had none of Hector's orange scented pomade to make it actually obedient. He didn't have his glasses or suit either. Or a steak. He ate a candy instead, looking around the neighborhoods as Toby reluctantly drove.
“This is it,” Toby said, pulling up to the curb and nodding to a plain one-story house across the street. It was in slight disrepair with a dead front lawn. “There should be a photo album, on the coffee table in the living room maybe, or in his bedroom.”
“You keep spare key outside?”
“It's not locked.”
Miko looked to him questioningly.
“This isn't Boston, Miko. No one locks their doors. There's no need.”
“There will be now.” Miko got out of the car, walking up to the front door and then shooing Toby away since he was anxiously watching instead of driving in circles. Toby winced and drove off, and Miko turned the knob, peering inside before entering.
It was a mess, but no less than Miko would've expected from an alcoholic who lived alone. His expectations for Toby's father were not particularly high to begin with. From the hallway he could see a mostly empty tray from a microwave dinner on the coffee table and a completely empty whiskey bottle but no photo album, so he headed down the hall towards the bedrooms.
Figuring out which room had been Toby's was simple; it was probably exactly as he'd left it. A twin sized bed, bookshelf with a few books he'd left behind, dresser with nothing in it, a couple of shirts on wire hangers in the closet. They were dusty but Miko took one anyway, shaking it out and nearly pulling a muscle while pulling it on. Then he stretched a bit and did the same with the others. He would need Toby's help getting them off but Toby was quite skilled at helping Miko get undressed.
Isaac's room was about the same, except for the posters of barely dressed women on the walls and no bookshelf. Miko took a moment to appreciate being surrounded by what were obviously fake but still likely cuddly breasts before moving to the last bedroom. Also no bookshelf, no photo album in the nightstand. Miko peeked under the bed, then thought about Toby and his box of useless things and checked the closet. Toby had something in common with his father after all.
Miko picked the album up off the floor and blew away some dust, then flipped to the first page. There were plenty of photos to choose from, and Miko ate a candy to center himself, starting to feel as if this was going just slightly wrong like most of his hits.
“Stand up,” came an authoritative voice from behind him. The kind of voice that belonged to someone carrying a weapon. He didn't ask who Miko was or what he was doing in his house, he commanded, as if Miko answered to him.
With a twitch Miko stood to face Toby's father. He wasn't armed, just a bully, accustomed to intimidation. Miko decided they didn't have anything in common after all. There was nothing of Toby in him. He was an angry man who'd clearly just woken from a drunken stupor. He must've been on the sofa, so dead to the world that Miko had overlooked him. That he hadn't heard Toby's phone call.
Toby's father let his eyes drift to Miko's hand, still holding the photo album that he seemed to barely recognize. “Put that down.”
Miko gripped it tighter. Even though the man had never laid a hand on Toby, Miko wanted to break him in two. But despite what Toby had said, Miko could already tell that Toby's father wasn't like Emmett, someone who could learn something from getting the shit kicked out of him. The man was someone who would take a beating and then take it out on somebody else. Instead, Miko just decided to fuck with him. “You have a very handsome family.”
“The fuck did you say to me?”
“What is that?” Miko gasped and pointed, then sprinted towards the door once his father turned to look, giving him a quick pat on the ass with the photo album. He bolted out of the house and ran across the lawn, able to see the panic on Toby's face even at a distance as the car approached at a quickening speed. Miko smacked into the side door as he grabbed the handle while he was still moving one direction and the car was going in the other. He swung himself into the passenger side and yelled, “Retreat!”
Toby gunned it in reverse, saying, “Oh God oh God oh God.” With one hand on the wheel he hit the breaks, spinning out in the empty intersection with a screech of tires and shoving the gear into drive once they faced the other direction. It was the way Miko wished he could drive a getaway car, the way a trained professional would drive, but in reality Miko would end up crashing into sixteen different things while going in reverse and then the car would stall. “What the hell happened?” Toby yelled.
But Miko was too busy grinning with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. “Toby that was so cool! Where did you learn to be getaway driver? Are you a spy?”
“I'm gonna be sick.” Toby pulled over and got out of the car, leaning over with his hand on the hood for support. Miko followed him, offering a candy as Toby took deep breaths and tried not to throw up. “What happened, Miko?”
“He was home,” Miko said nonchalantly.
Toby squeezed his eyes shut. Then he gasped and opened them again. “Did you kill him?”
“No.” Miko cocked his head. “Do you want me to?”
“Of course not.” Toby sighed and took the candy. “Did he see you?”
“Yes, but—”
“He's gonna call the cops,” he groaned.
“And say what to them? That a German man with a red mouth stole his picture album? He was very drunk, they will not believe.”
With a glance back at the car, the worry finally started to drain from his face. “You took the whole album?”
Miko shrugged. “It was on the floor. It had dust. He does not care about them. You will. It is purple like your bowl.”
Toby slumped back into the driver's seat and picked it up, flipping through with a growing smile. “Aww, I still remember all of these.” He stopped at a picture of his parents together, his father looking much different than he did now. “What did he say when he saw you?”
“He told me to put it down. I said he had a very handsome family and then I ran away.” Miko left out the part about smacking the old man's ass with photographs of his handsome family.
Toby scoffed and gave an incredulous laugh. “You are such a nut.”
“Move over. If the cops are coming we should go.”
He scooted over with the album so Miko could drive. Then he did a double take. “What in God's name are you wearing?”
“You got me shirts.”
With a shake of his head, Toby laughed again. “How many do you have on?”
“Five?”
“You're never gonna get them off.”
“You can do it. You are strong.”
Toby smiled, opening the album again. “Isaac taught me to drive. We used to do all sorts of stupid shit like that. There isn't a whole lot of excitement in rural Ohio.”
“You will teach me?”
Raising h
is eyebrows in disbelief, Toby asked, “Really? I would've thought you'd know all about that sort of stuff.”
“I am not a spy.”
“Okay, but we should try it with the Beemer when we get home. You can do way more stupid shit with a stick shift.”
It took all Miko had not to grin like an idiot and bounce around. And to keep his eyes on the road, not staring in wonder at Toby. “See, you were wrong.”
“About the stick shift?”
“I saw your father. And now I think better of you.”
Sitting in the car with the doors locked, Miko stared at the prison and sucked on another candy. Inside were murderers like him, thieves, rapists, criminals of all shapes and sizes. And Toby. His criminal mastermind who could drive a getaway car but couldn't even steal a book. Miko wasn't sure whether he was more nervous about Toby being inside or him being outside, in such close proximity to where he'd earned himself a cell as much or more so than the current inmates.
He could've stayed at the hotel, but he didn't want Toby to be driving if he got upset, and by the circles under his eyes Miko could tell he hadn't slept well the night before.
Miko glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It had only been half an hour and he was perilously close to the bottom of the second bag of candy. They were heading right to the airport after this and he was supposed to save some for the flight, but there was only one bag left after that one and he didn't think he'd make it.
Climbing into the backseat, Miko pulled the photo album out of their bag and started flipping through it. The photos were all from when Toby was very young or not even born yet. There was nothing more recent. Everyone was smiling and happy. It was strange to think that both of the children in those pictures were now sitting in prison. That they hadn't spoken to each other in eight years. Miko found that he believed Isaac's apology more now, after seeing the two of them playing together. But even though it was Isaac's dismissal of Toby from his life that earned Miko the shirt he loved so much he wore it to death, Miko had in no way forgiven him.
He crawled back over the seats to the front and adjusted his new shirt, rinsed out in the sink when they got to their hotel so it would stop making him sneeze. Seven minutes had passed. Miko brought his feet up so he was scrunched into the driver's seat against the steering wheel. If it weren't for his mental problems he would probably enjoy prison, except maybe the cells would be too big. He'd only heard of one of Silva's men being arrested, an Englishman named Cooper who was busted at a train station carrying the proceeds from his hit converted into the form of massive amounts of cocaine. Simon paid Cooper a visit in jail, and then Cooper was no more. Miko ate another candy, remembering how highly he'd thought of Simon when he heard that story from Hector.
Simon had never thought highly of Miko.
Wrapping his arms around his knees, Miko stretched out his shoulders where his H tattoo for Hector was. Sometimes he would forget it was there, just for a moment, because he couldn't see it. But Hector was with him in everything he did, every candy he ate, and it made him smile to think that some day he'd bring Toby to Germany and Hector's garden would've grown back from Miko pulling it up after he died. Toby could smell all the flowers. Unless Hannah sold the house.
He crunched down and straightened up, pressing his back against the seat. If she sold it they would break into her house and steal her photo album. She had a handsome family. There may be pictures of Hector. There were none of Miko.
With a mischievous grin Miko took a picture of his lap and texted it to Toby, knowing Toby's phone would be at the guard's station or at least turned off. Then he looked up to see Toby approaching, pausing to take out his phone. He blushed and looked up too, smiling and shaking his head as he came to the car. Miko got out to greet him. He'd obviously been crying but he didn't look sad. “You're so naughty,” Toby said, relaxing into Miko's embrace.
“It was okay?”
“Yeah. He...he's fine. Calm. This is all good for him, as weird as that sounds.”
“Puts into perspective,” Miko said. Hector had told him that about Silva, when the old man got sick. Silva was not disappointed that Miko fucked up a job because he was dying and the job didn't matter. Now Silva was dead and Isaac was calm, apologizing to his brother who did matter.
Toby nodded. “You all right? Eat all your candy?”
“Not all.”
“Good. Let's get out of here.”
Miko turned on the radio when they got in the car, watching the prison in the rearview mirror as he drove. He'd been in his own prison, going crazy over Ophelia. Now he was calm too, just waiting to be released by revenge. And with the breaking news report, perhaps it was closer than he thought. Ophelia's parents were dead.
Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow
Miko: Age 16
Miko had never traveled without Hector before, had not been away from him for more than a few hours at a time since Hector had given him and his sister candy and asked where their parents were. But Hector had to be in Venice for a German assassin named Hans to shoot someone and Miko had to be in London to see Ophelia off, so he relented and let Miko go.
The Venetian mark was to be killed before he could leave for the airport. He was moving out of the country too, just like Ophelia, and Miko wished Hans would come and kill her parents before they could leave as well. But Hans wouldn't and Miko wouldn't either, so Miko let his thoughts drift to something closer to home.
He had done a lot of thinking about his father since Hector told him the truth, but the thoughts he had now were very different than the ones he would've expected. He only briefly considered what must've flashed through his father's mind in his last moments: fear, grief, regret, certainly concern over his children, possibly memories of his wife. Miko did not empathize with his father, with the victim. He thought of the killer.
Although Hector had given him no more information on the topic, Miko knew enough to fill in the blanks with his inappropriately fueled imagination. The weapon would've been a switchblade, he decided. It was easy to conceal, the weapon of a thug, not a professional. This wasn't a job. His father knew the murderer, had crossed them, and they walked up alongside him and with a quick pull of their arm it was all over. The body would've been left where it was, just off the path, where it would be found early the next morning if not the same night. Miko could see his father ineffectually trying to drag himself back towards his children, one hand covering the geyser of blood from his throat. He would've died on his front, his arm stretched out before him, his face turned to the side. Miko could see the blood.
Miko would see the blood.
Hector had contacted Silva, let him know Miko was ready, and preparations were being made. Miko imagined himself there already, imagined an associate picking him up at the airport as if he was on a job. But no one was there.
He made his way to Ophelia's house, an address he had memorized and could soon forget. Her mother opened the door and reached for the flowers he carried like they must've been for her. He defensively pulled them back, clenching his fist as if to strike her except his good hand was filled with daisies. “Can I help you?” she asked with a haughty sneer.
The hallway behind her was glaringly empty, no furniture or pictures on the walls. Then he saw Ophelia approaching and it didn't seem so empty after all. “Mum, that's Miko. He lives next door.”
“Oh yes, I remember now,” Mrs. Marlowe said, no recognition on her face that she'd ever seen him before even though it was just a few weeks ago that Miko put her daughter in the hospital. She stood aside so he could enter. “Do come in.”
Ophelia smiled at him and shyly took the flowers, then his hand, leading him to a small bedroom in the back of the house. Only her bed was left, and a suitcase by the door. “I'm so glad you could make it,” she said, her big blue eyes filled with misplaced hope as she clutched the bouquet to her chest. Miko knew that Ophelia had no one else to come and say goodbye to her, just friends of her parents and theater people coming and going,
superficially making their departure more dramatic with every kissed cheek and faked tear. Miko was all she had, the one person who didn't want her to leave, didn't want her to become successful in Hollywood. And there was nothing he could do to help her.
Except be there. “Of course I make it.”
She set the flowers on her pillow and Miko instinctively looked to the ceiling to ensure it was a safe place to lay their heads beside the flowers. Ophelia must've taken it as insecurity being around her parents, quickly saying, “They're going out tonight. One last hurrah. Then that's it. The conveyancer is coming tomorrow to take the keys to the house.”
“What is he like, the conveyancer?” Miko wanted “conveyancer” to be a euphemism, like problem-solver or pest control. The conveyancer would come in the morning before her parents were awake and make certain they stayed sleeping. Ophelia would be collateral damage of an assassination, just like Miko, and she would come live with him and Hector while the mysterious conveyancer would never be seen again.
“She. A bit barmy, really. She wears her hair in a bun at the back of her head, and she keeps sticking her pens in it so she loses them and has nothing to write with. I swear she had six of them back there yesterday.”
Miko wasn't sure what barmy was but he knew of only one female assassin, and Bella didn’t wear pens in her hair. But perhaps she should. The pens could be weapons. He could use a pen. Their knives would all be packed. “Did she take your pens?”
Ophelia smirked. “I put one in my bag so she couldn't steal it. Will you write me a note?”
He nodded and she pulled it out, along with a scrap of paper. Ophelia's pens were all purple and pink on the letters she'd sent him. There hadn't been time for many but they'd spoken on the phone, Miko able to call at all hours of the day or night because her parents were rarely home and never paying attention. If they had anything serious to discuss Ophelia would sneak out of her room and wait for him to call her back at the payphone down the street, since according to her “that's how assassins do it.” Miko didn't let her go to the payphone after dark, no matter what they talked about. He couldn't help but think of Tola, screaming at every sound, trembling in fear as the sun went down.
The Mercy of the Mako Shark Page 6
