by David Beers
The levity on the man’s face died; he knew he’d fucked up by keeping that weapon on him—it had been colossally stupid, because it matched up perfectly with the weapons left at the attack sites.
“I can still walk. So you tell me who’s smart.” Drexler looked at Christian. “Do you think I spoke directly to whoever did the hiring? That’s not how it works. There must have been 300 men at all those sites. No one has time to individually recruit each person. I don’t know who allegedly hired me. I don’t care either.”
Christian stood up from the table. He looked at the camera in the corner of the room, the eye recording everything. It had him on record offering illegal deals to the detainee. Christian didn’t care, though, and for once, he thought Waverly might not either. The recording would disappear, because the rules were ceasing to matter. Another attack was imminent, and Christian knew it with certainty. Luke had given him a choice, and he wasn’t going to stop killing until Christian did his bidding.
“I know you’ve heard rumors, Patrick. That many people aren’t hired without rumors springing up. So give us a rumor. Give me something to use.”
“Get me some guarantees and I’ll talk. Until then, I’m not saying anything else.”
Christian stared at the camera. It would do no good to threaten the man’s life, and Christian knew it. The mercenary had made a damning mistake keeping the weapon on him, but he wasn’t dumb, and he certainly wasn’t scared of death.
He turned to Tommy. “Let’s get him some guarantees then.”
It took another twelve hours, but the guarantees were there, all right in front of Patrick Drexler. Christian had also given the okay to get Drexler’s lawyer here. Putting papers in front of the man would do no good if he didn’t have someone trusted to tell him everything was legit.
Which it was.
It had gone all the way up to Waverly, and the basics of it were simple: Drexler was pulled over for a busted taillight, paraphernalia was found on his person, but his cooperation in an existing investigation would cause all charges to be dropped. Testimony in open court not necessary. The record would be sealed and then expunged at the end of the year.
Those were the technical details.
Christian wanted a name and then this man could run down to Mexico and live there forever. He might be a killer, capable of atrocities, but he wasn’t who Christian was after. He was what Lucy Speckle might term nonessential.
Christian was willing to let a killer go if it brought them closer to Luke.
“Everything looks good,” the lawyer said. “You’ll have a record, but it’s sealed, and in a year, it’ll be gone completely.” He was focusing on the documents sitting on the table before him, but he had been pissed when he first arrived. He knew the game Christian and the FBI had been playing, and had threatened to sue from now until the end of time.
The problem was, the weapon charge would have stuck, even if nothing Drexler said inside the interview room would. The weapons charge was legitimate, and all the rules had been followed. So, he had to play ball if he wanted his client to get off clean.
“Alright,” Drexler said. “Let’s not waste any more time, because I’m tired.”
“We all are,” Tommy said, and Christian knew that was perhaps the truest thing ever spoken. No one had slept in the past 12 hours, and it was nearing 7:00 in the morning. Christian and Tommy were fueled by caffeine and hate, but both were quickly running out.
“The rumor is a man named Charles organized everything.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Tommy whispered. “If you think we’re letting you go with a first name, you’re even dumber than I thought.”
“Just pulling your leg, my crippled friend,” the mercenary said. “Did Titan kill your sense of humor when he killed your fiancée?”
Tommy said nothing.
Good, Christian thought. Stay strong. Fuck this guy.
“Charles Twaller,” Drexler said, his eyes still holding Tommy’s.
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s high up. I’ve never met him and I doubt anyone who was on the job had met him, either.” No humor in the man’s voice now. This was the trained killer that rested beneath the clown-like mask he had worn the rest of the day. This was the man who had gunned down innocents and then left before he could get what he deserved. “I’ve heard about him. He’s fat and he’s a psychopath. He deals in munitions, primarily transportation and storage. I’ve never seen him doing operations like this, so I imagine that’s where Titan comes in, if Titan is behind this. I don’t have any knowledge on that.”
“What else do you have knowledge on, Patrick?” Christian asked.
“That’s it. I think Twaller may dabble in drug transportation from time to time, but I don’t know much about him. I only know this because I did research after I was contacted for the job.”
“Who contacted you?” Tommy asked.
“That’s not pertinent to our agreement,” his lawyer said.
Drexler said nothing.
“That’s the deal we cut? A name and hearsay?”
Christian liked hearing Tommy talk like this; it had been a while since he saw the man in his element, and even confined to a wheelchair, some of the old Tommy was coming out now.
“That’s what you wanted,” the lawyer said. “Now you have it. Is there anything else?”
“Why do you say he’s a psychopath?” Christian asked, ignoring the lawyer.
“He kills drivers.” Christian was still amazed at the change in the mercenary. He was like a robot now, giving out information as it was asked, but nothing else. This Charles Twaller might be a psychopath, but Christian thought one sat in front of him right now, too. “The people that transport his goods, he likes to kill them. He’s gotten in trouble for it before. The cartels and such don’t take kindly to their men being killed, but he’s skated by so far.”
“What’s his next attack?”
“I don’t know. I was contracted for one job and I completed it.”
“Why did you take it?” Tommy asked. “Most of your colleagues died. You’re the first one we were able to take alive.”
“Not pertinent,” the lawyer said.
Christian smiled. “Fine. This will be enough. You both can get the fuck out now.”
It was one in the morning when Christian finally returned to his hotel room. He’d been able to nod off for 20 minutes earlier in the day, but other than that he hadn’t slept at all.
Exhaustion wasn’t a strong enough word. Christian wasn’t sure the English language possessed one.
Veronica was up and waiting on him. Christian had made sure there were two beds available, though he wasn’t going to put her in a separate room. It was too risky. Even with the FBI agents standing outside the door, he thought one more line of defense—even if only him—was better.
“Didn’t want to risk my seduction?” Veronica said, turning the television on mute.
He hadn’t been to the room yet, but knew she was talking about the separate beds.
“Sex would complicate things.” In his exhaustion, he was reverting back to blurting out whatever came to mind. Veronica (and his mother, and Melissa, and a host of other people) had helped him work on it, but he just didn’t care right now. He placed his bag next to the bed and then fell on the mattress.
He turned to his side, facing Veronica. A lamp hung on the wall between them, the light shining.
“You always knew how to woo a woman, Christian.” She turned the television off and rolled on her side, the former lovers staring at each other. “Are you ready for bed?”
“I’m not sure I can sleep right now.”
“You look like you could sleep forever.”
“I think that’s death.”
“Then you look like death,” she said, smiling.
Even in his current state, he couldn’t help but fall in love with that smile. Every time she did it, he fell again. If only things could have been different, if only
Luke had never existed.
Then you wouldn’t even know her.
“Are we safe for the night?” she asked.
“As safe as we can be. Two guards are outside our door. Two guards outside of Tommy’s, though I did consider putting the three of us in one room.”
He didn’t smile, but she chuckled slightly, knowing he was kidding.
The two stared at each other for a few minutes without speaking, yet no awkwardness fell across them. Christian watched as her eyes slowly started closing. She was falling asleep, almost unaware, and with no self-conscious desire to hide it.
After everything, she still felt safe with him. She still felt at home, and Christian couldn’t help but feel thankful. They would never be together again, but it still felt good to be loved. To know that even though he’d pushed everyone away, creating that massive wall around himself, people still cared.
And how much do you care about her? Enough to let the world burn down around you? Enough to let everyone else in it die? Because that’s what you’re doing.
Christian hadn’t fallen asleep because he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. He needed to go inside his mansion, tired or not. Sleep was for those that could afford it, and Christian couldn’t right now. He had, for the most part, simply not thought about Luke’s dictum. The day demanded it. Every day demanded it. Because each one brought more terror and disorder—all of which Luke wanted to create.
Now, though, in the silence of the hotel room, he could go into himself and hopefully see what he was missing. The rest of the day had been spent focusing on this Charles Twaller man. Not a full ghost, but publicly nothing like the mercenary had described.
“He’s too clean,” Tommy had said. “No one is this clean, not when someone like Drexler mentions their name.”
Christian closed his eyes and immediately felt sleep trying to push his consciousness out of the way, wanting to drag him down into its dark depths for an unknown amount of time. Christian shoved it aside roughly, turning his intense focus once more on what needed to be done. While others would have fallen asleep without a thought, Christian’s mind overpowered his body’s will.
Chapter 14
“Every time I see you, you look worse.”
The other’s eyes were bleeding, dark red blood dripping down his face. It both slid down his neck and dripped off the point of his chin, but he looked at Christian as if he didn’t notice.
Christian breezed by him. He hadn’t come to chat, but wanted to look at Luke’s past again. The more he thought about it, the more he thought answers lay there. He thought Luke wanted him to know it, too. Why else had Luke brought his past up so much? Why did he put so much weight on it?
“You’re probably right. If something is hidden, it’s in there. Something that makes the man tick.”
Christian ignored him and continued walking to the back of the floor. He didn’t look at any of the walls or other memorabilia that had been set up over the years. Regardless of how hard he shoved sleep away, he desperately wanted it, and only this last thing kept him from it.
He found the chair and television where he’d last left them.
“What do you think it’ll show today?”
The other was no longer behind him, but standing in front of the TV, facing and looking down on it. Blood splattered on the floor beneath him.
“I don’t know,” Christian said. “Move out of the way.” He took his seat and the other did as he was told, leaving a line of sight to the television.
It wasted no time, sensing Christian’s need. It flashed on and Christian fell into Luke’s history.
The preacher man, as Luke thinks of him, is sitting with Luke’s mother.
Luke is outside, though he knows why the preacher man has come. He is here to ensure that Luke never again says such things to him, and never again threatens to interrupt his cash flow.
Of course, he won’t say it like that to Luke’s mother. He will speak in terms of the Lord, and eternal souls. He’ll mention the Devil and Angels. He’ll cloak the whole conversation with the Bible, draping its pages over his message like a protective shield.
Luke knows all this and still, he lets the preacher man do his talking.
Luke has made up his mind about the priest, though he cannot tell his mother. When she calls him inside the house, if the preacher man is still there, he will take his chastisement in silence. Luke’s mother is his world. That and his brother. They are all he has, all he knows as truth. While his mind is still expanding at an astronomical speed, he has yet to even partially understand what may lie outside his small world. For now, all that matters is his tiny family, and he will not disrespect his mother, not even in front of the preacher man.
“Luke, will you come here, please?”
The call. His mother.
Luke feels a brief bit of anger try to rise up, but he knows it won’t serve him, so he discards it. He doesn’t understand how special that ability is, especially for someone as young as he is. Emotions drive the rest of the world, but at 11, Luke is coming to master his own.
He turns from the broken porch and pulls back the screen door, entering the house. It’s not a large place; his mother and the preacher man are sitting in the kitchen/living room. There are two bedrooms attached to this main room, one for Luke and his brother, the other for his mother.
“Father Marquez told me about your last confession, Luke.”
Luke nods, not looking at the preacher man. His eyes are only on his mother.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Luke isn’t at the place yet where he refuses to lie. That comes later in his life. He would have lied to God himself if it would save his mother pain, and so he says, “I’m sorry.”
His mother looks at him hard for a few seconds. “Are you?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t have said that. I am sorry.” He turns to the preacher man. “I’m sorry, Father Marquez. I will not speak to you like that again.”
“Son, I worry about you,” the preacher man says. “When you say such things to me, I wonder if perhaps the Devil has undue influence over you. Your mother worries, too.”
Luke doesn’t know if the preacher man is using his mother as someone might use a sword, cutting through Luke’s own attack and defenses, or if the preacher man is simply talking. If it is the former, then the priest surely knows Luke is lying and has no intention of keeping quiet in the future. If it is the latter, then the preacher man is stupid.
“I know.” Luke turns back to his mom. “I’m sorry. I promise to be more respectful.”
“What made you talk like that to him?”
Two focal points would take place this day, and the first had arrived. Luke lied once, but now he needed to say something that would resonate with people. He needed to say something convincing enough to allow his mother to continue living her own life, without fear of what might be happening to her son, as well as to ensure the preacher man worries no more about his cash flow.
In short, Luke needs to read and react to people in a way that allows him to continue moving through the world undisturbed.
Christian, as he watches, understands this is a trait successful sociopaths possess—though to classify Luke as a sociopath would be a gross oversimplification.
And, like everything else in Luke’s young life, he flies past the focal point without any hindrance.
“I saw your budget, Mom. You left it out on the table and you know I’m good with numbers. I saw how much we were spending on the Church.”
“Honey,” his mother said, reaching out to touch his knee. “You don’t need to worry about any of that. That’s my job. I make sure we have enough money each month, and part of being good Christians is making sure we give to God what is His.” She looked back to the priest, though didn’t remove her hand from Luke’s knee. “I’m sorry, Father. He’s a good boy. He just wants to make sure we’re okay. I promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”
Luke looks at the preache
r man, too. “I promise as well, Father. I’m very sorry.”
Luke is alone in his room and the night is upon him. He’s already starting to enjoy both being alone and the darkness. He doesn’t know why yet, but it feels like home. His brother sleeps next to him, but Luke is still alone—only his thoughts are with him, as his brother is unconscious. In the future, he will learn that he can be even more alone, but in such small spaces, this is all he knows.
He is thinking about the preacher man, about how he came to Luke’s house and disturbed his mother.
Luke can allow a lot to happen in life; indeed, he already has. Slights come and go in their small town, especially when they live in such poverty—none of them are consequential to Luke.
Except for this.
The preacher man does not see him as a man at all. He thinks that bypassing Luke is as simple as showing up at his house, and talking with his mother. He thinks that the payments will still continue though Luke decided before his confession that would no longer happen.
So, the preacher man and Luke are at odds.
There are a multitude of things that Luke can do to prove to the priest that he is foolish, and has severely underestimated Luke’s dedication to his family. The problem is, Luke doesn’t know which one to choose.
Luke’s mind is rushing through the possibilities, and he watches with fascination as it takes each option and follows a path to its most logical conclusion. He has done this before, but not with something as serious as he now considers.
The crux is does he want to scare the priest, or does he want to end the priest. The fact that he so easily considers murder is lost on him. It simply makes sense. If something is against him, then it should end. If it is against his family, then it must end.
Christian watches these thought processes with a sense of awe himself. For years, he had lived next to someone that first contemplated murder at a very, very young age—and did it with ease. Yet, Christian noticed none of it, not until it was too late.
Luke reaches his conclusion in the early morning hours. He has thought on this longer than he will most of his other decisions; the sticking point being whether it is smarter to murder the priest, or better just scaring the man.
