“Can’t,” the young man says as he pulls off his boots. He sets his socked feet onto the wooden steps of the porch as he listens to the night sounds of the country starting.
“Can’t or won’t?” Grant pushes a little before he takes another puff of the pipe. He’s looking at the back of Troy’s head now and sees the muscles in his neck twitching as his pulse increases.
“Both,” Troy answers before he stands up and goes inside the house. Grant looks at the sky for a few moments before he puts out the pipe and meanders down to the barn. Troy watches him from the window beside the door until the old man disappears, and heads upstairs for a shower.
Images of his sister lying gutted on the kitchen floor with three fingers cut off makes his stomach roil, and he’s glad he had yogurt as he wretches into the toilet. There isn’t much to come up. He clings to the sink as he sips on some water, and then looks up at the face of a monster. If he had just stayed away from them, they would still be alive, and he would be numb as he used to be.
Now that he’s been forced to feel something, it’s starting to pile up on him like boulders. Narrowing his eyes, he looks away from the man in the mirror and hops into the shower where he tries to think about anything else but his dead family. Thinking about the blonde agent from the hotel two nights ago doesn’t help him much either. It just makes him feel like a prick.
* * *
“You have the address of the mark, why do you need the reason?” His voice is deep on the other end of the phone, too deep to be his real voice. The man must be using an app to make it sound different if it’s even a man at all.
“The reason is important. I don’t just kill anyone for anything.” The man known as Troy answers calmly as he stares down at the address on the piece of paper.
“You’re a killer for hire! You’re paid to ask no questions and kill whomever you’re instructed to. I paid good money for this!” Troy rolls his eyes to the ceiling of his apartment as he leans the stool he’s sitting on back.
“I’ll refund it. Just tell me why you need this particular guy dead.” There’s a silence on the other end as the person seems to reconsider their position on the subject. Then they finally answer.
“He killed my husband and left my children without a father. I want him to pay for what he’s done.” He feels his mouth go dry when he realizes it’s a woman he’s speaking with. Troy switches the disposable cellphone to his other ear and stares down at his name on the piece of paper along with his address. It’s not the first time he’s heard of a client hiring a hit man to kill himself. He just never thought it would happen to him.
“How long ago did this happen, ma’am?” He sips on some water from a glass and turns his head when his door begins to creak open. Troy slams the stool down and hangs up the phone abruptly as his little niece comes waddling through the doorway. His sister slips through behind her daughter and smiles at him warmly with a bag in her hands. None of his family knows what he does for a living, and if they did, they wouldn’t speak to him.
Troy pockets the piece of paper, and like any good man, he puts work aside for his family. But the piece of paper is burning a hole in his pocket while he devours Chinese food and listens to his niece’s trivial complaints. They’re not inconsequential to her, so Troy pays the utmost attention and answers her accordingly.
* * *
He wakes up with the sheets tangled around him and a cold sweat soaking him. Troy stares up at the dark ceiling for what seems like a long time, but is only a few minutes. Each breath is like a burning poker down his throat as he clamps his eyes tight against the tears. They were too innocent to die the way they did, and he did it to them.
When the heavy weight on his chest finally lifts enough that he can draw in a normal breath, Troy glances at the clock on the nightstand beside his bed. The red, glowing digits tell him that he’s fifteen minutes early, but he turns off the alarm and slides out of bed anyway. This morning he does sixty pushups before he makes his bed military style.
Grant isn’t downstairs this morning; thus Troy has to make his own cup of coffee. He roots around the refrigerator for the ingredients to start the eggs and fumbles around with making hash browns. He has a hard time with it, and ends up making French fries in the pan with an extra helping of butter. Grant shouldn’t mind.
The old man’s shuffling footsteps alert Troy to his presence coming down the stairs, and Troy realizes the man looks a lot worse when he hasn’t had the time to get started on his own coffee. He’s like a zombie as he fixes himself a cup, which consists of pouring the coffee in and nothing else. After four sips, he looks a little less worse for the wear.
“The last time a guy was here, it took him six days to make his own breakfast.” Grant rubs at his eyes and stifles a yawn with his fist as he stares into the pan of fries. His eyebrow quirks at the same time that his lips twist wryly at the corners. “Not sure how to make hash browns?” Troy shrugs and begins plating without an answer.
He’s not in the mood to talk this morning. Grant seems to understand that as they sit down, and he seems mechanical at he eats. Troy isn’t any better.
“Cassidy’s not coming to exercise the horses today. She’s not feeling well, so I’m going to need your help with that.” A fry gets caught in the hit man’s throat, and he gently beats on his chest with a fist as he coughs, attempting to dislodge it.
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Grant has a gleam in his eye that is a little too mischievous for Troy’s taste.
“I’ll need your help with the horses.” Yeah, that’s what I thought you said Troy mentally adds as he digs into his eggs. Today is only going to get worse it seems.
“What’s wrong with Cassidy?” The old man glances up at him and shrugs a shoulder as he takes both their plates and starts to rinse them.
Chapter Four
“Don’t walk behind him! Don’t you remember what happened last time you did that with a horse?” Grant’s loud tone is not going to help the situation, but Troy does as the old man says and remains in front of the horse. Beethoven is not fond of him, and it’s obvious by the way the horse’s eyes roll back into his head when Troy gets close.
The chestnut mustang stomps his feet with his agitation and chomps at his bit while Troy tries to get him to walk out to the ring. His chest still aches from the other day, and last night he bled a little on his shirt. Beethoven sidesteps away from the man leading him and throws his head up into the air. There’s enough of a lead that it doesn’t jerk Troy forward, but he braces for it anyway.
“Calm down! The way you’re feeling right now is the way he feels about you. He can smell your fear from the way you’re perspiring, and he can see the way your muscles are tensed each time you make eye contact. Take in a few deep breaths and relax.” The old man speaks as if he’s talking to a child, and Troy, against his better judgment, closes his eyes as he holds onto the lead. Instead of focusing on the fact that a one thousand pound horse is in front of him, he tries to think about something that used to make him happy.
“The pony should be purple! That one’s not green!” Her chubby fingers grab for the crayon before Troy can ruin the coloring book, and he takes the purple one she hands him. Lilly’s fingers grasp for a pink one as she starts coloring her own My Little Pony picture that Troy hunted the internet for.
“Sorry, kid. I’ll get it right someday.” There’s a lot in those words. Spending time with her makes him remember that there is something good in this world.
“Someday,” her tiny voice pipes up as she reaches a hand over to put on his forearm. Warmth envelopes him as he colors in her coloring book, a privilege that no one else has. She reminds him love still exists.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking of, it’s working.” The voice by his ear makes him jump and almost yelp at the same time. He’s getting slow since he hasn’t been on the job in over three weeks. Cassidy’s hand is resting on his arm where he imagined Lilly’s to be just moments before.
&nbs
p; “What are you doing here? You’re Dad said you weren’t coming today because you’re sick.” Her hand slides off his arm as she turns to look at her father sitting on one of the fences with his eyes upon them. Troy doubts he can see the frown from this distance, but it’s right there between her eyebrows.
“I’m not sick, but he did say he didn’t need me today. I figure he’s just upset about yesterday.” Cassidy takes the lead from his hand, and he lets it slide out easily. Beethoven is grazing about six feet in front of him, but his ears are still pointed towards Troy as if he’s on alert. The horse does seem calmer.
“I can take it from here. Beethoven can be a bit of a prick sometimes. He has a mind of his own, and he doesn’t like to take orders.” Before he can stop himself, Troy hides a chuckle with a cough and turns away. “What’s funny about that?”
“It’s just, I think I know how he feels. Taking orders sucks.” Now that he’s free of horse walking duty, Troy takes his leave of the woman, and her mustang to clean the stalls. Grant slides off his fence and follows after the stranger on his farm.
Robert Grant can’t stop thinking about the mystery man who showed up early in the morning on his farm after he received a phone call only twenty-four hours ahead of time. He’s never told what it is that these men had done before they were enrolled in the program, but he is told what type of risk they entail. Troy Red is the most dangerous man he’s ever let into his home, and all he knows is that the fellow killed people.
It’s not that he doesn’t like the boy, but Cassidy can fall easily when she has a mind to. Grant doesn’t want his daughter getting involved with a man that will lie to her. It’s not a matter of if but when. Yet something intrigues him whenever the man lets his guard down for a few seconds.
“Troy!” Grant calls out, grabbing one of the shovels from the tack room. He puts on a smile for the newcomer and tries to push aside his worries. “You did good.” He takes the shovel from Troy that has a splintering handle and replaces it with the better one. Then he wanders off to check his fields.
As he shovels, Troy attempts to think of anything but his niece who just enjoyed coloring in her pictures. Life was good until he screwed up, and now he has to deal with the consequences of involving them with him at all. He should have done just as other hit men do, disappear from their family’s lives and forget they exist.
It’s not until the barn door slams shut that he realizes he’s been shoveling the same stall for over half an hour. It’s scraped so clean he’ll barely have to hose it down at this point. Cassidy is pulling off her gloves and shaking her hair out of her face when he glances up. Their eyes meet for an instant, and he sees the flush on her face when she heads for the tack room. Is she embarrassed about yesterday, or something else?
Thinking about it is only going to get you in more trouble. Troy moves on to the next stall before he can get into any more trouble with Grant’s daughter. If he stays away from her as much as possible, he won’t be tempted to test the waters with her. One second he feels cold towards her, but when she’s off guard and uncaring, she reminds him of a sweeter life.
The sound of their shovels scraping on the concrete floors is the only noise in the barn when Grant walks in through the doors with dirt all over him and his hair sticking up at odd angles. He’s suspicious of the silence, but doesn’t say anything as he walks to the tack room to put his gloves away. Troy is in the third stall down, so he leans against the sliding door and watches the man’s back bunch with his labor. It’s obvious he’s attempting to work something off, but Grant doubts he’ll talk about it.
“The hay will be ready tomorrow. It’s already dry in this heat. Do you think you’ll be up to it?” Troy’s grunt is the only answer he gets, so he moves on to Cassidy’s stall and leans against the door. She’s working just as hard as the man across the aisle from her.
“I’ll be ready, Dad.” She says without looking up at him. There’s a bead of sweat that drips off her nose and Grant wonders what she’s trying to prove. The girl always tries to do better than everyone around her. It’s going to end up being her downfall one day.
“How are the stocks treating you?” He asks her idly to make conversation. Troy’s shovel pauses for half a second before he realizes that he’s let on he’s listening.
“They’re good. That little business I invested in is doing quite well. The other one is floundering, but I think they’ll pick up.” Her breathing is labored, but she doesn’t slow down. Her pace is almost as fast as Grant’s, but she’s starting to wane.
“That’s good. Are Hannah and her mother making it up today?” The shovel in Troy’s stall pauses again, but it doesn’t start up. Grant notices and Cassidy’s own shovel stops as she looks up. She sees the tormented look on Troy’s face before he turns away from the both of them, but Grant doesn’t see it. He does see the curiosity on his daughter’s face and feels his heart sink. She’s interested.
“Yeah, they’ll be here around three.” Troy’s shovel starts up again with renewed vigor, and Cassidy starts up again. They work in tandem for a few minutes before Grant slaps the wood on the door and smiles at his daughter before he leaves to find equipment to clean. There is always something to be done on a farm.
“You don’t like kids?” The question is unexpected and startles Troy into stopping his work again. He leans on his shovel as he stares at the working conveyor belt. Then he finishes up the stall and moves on to the next one without answering her.
Cassidy starts in the stall beside him and pauses as she leans on the boards separating the two stalls. She has to boost herself up so that she can see over and rests her chin on her forearms. The unruly pink stripe twists forward and gets into her eyes as she watches Troy attacking the straw. Something is obviously bothering him.
“What’s your beef with kids?” He flinches at her terminology and scowls while he dumps the pile on the conveyor belt.
“I don’t have a beef with kids.” Troy’s eyes dart up to look at her blue ones, and she sees the lie in them. He’s awfully tense today, and she remembers what happened the last time she egged him on. But there are boards separating them this time; thus she feels a little safer.
“Then why are you flinching every time I mention one. Did you have kids?” A muscle begins to twitch in his jaw, and she starts to prepare herself to duck or run, maybe both.
“No, I didn’t have kids of my own. You’re awfully nosy, you know.” She ignores his attempt at turning the conversation around to her and narrows her eyes at his behavior.
“But you had a kid, or kids, that looked up to you.” He stops and turns his back on her, but she can see the red starting on his neck. Cassidy slowly lowers herself to the stall floor and backs away from the wall. She’s afraid she’s pushed him too far again today.
“Nosy, and observant,” She hears him mutter before the scraping starts again. Feeling that she’s pushed her luck for the day, Cassidy leaves the rest of the stalls to the mystery man and goes to find her father. Troy feels relief when he hears her receding footsteps and stops to wipe at the sweat on his face. He won’t admit to the fact that it’s more than sweat dripping off his chin.
* * *
Cassidy leans against her truck while Troy’s head remains under the hood of her pickup truck. She can hear him tinkering with something, but doesn’t say a word to him as he works. Her goal was to learn one thing about his past life, and learning that he was some sort of family man makes her feel accomplished today. Her father is sitting on the porch in the unseasonably warm air with a pipe in his mouth. He’s reading a book. His back started acting up during lunch, and she threatened to destroy the tractor so he couldn’t use it tomorrow if he didn’t rest.
At the sound of a jeep trudging up the gravel driveway, Troy’s head finally turns so that Cassidy can see his face with grease prints on it. He’s squinting at the vehicle as if it’s imperative that he sees the driver, and she wonders what he’s worried about. To quell the sudden stiffness from his
worry, Cassidy steps in front of him.
“It’s Hannah and her mother, Jody. Try to be nice.” He has the desired reaction when he stands up and puts the wrench down to wipe his hands.
“You’re carburetor needs cleaned. You should take it to a shop.” Cassidy crosses her arms over her chest and looks at where he was tinkering. It’s obvious because it’s actually clean. Her lips pinch together as she studies it.
“You can’t do it for me?” A door slams behind her, and Troy seems to clam up immediately. Jody’s a pretty woman, but she has a feeling it’s not Jody who has made him tense.
“Cassie!” Turning around to tackle the little girl with fair brown hair and hazel eyes, Cassidy swoops her up into a dirty hug. Her mother gets out of the car after the six year old and starts lugging a bag out of the back. The old man stands up to help the woman up the drive, but Troy’s there before he can hobble down the steps with his bad back.
“Thank you, you must be Troy. Everyone in town has been talking about you already. If you don’t show your face soon, you’ll get the title of hermit!” Jody’s chatter never seems to cease, but her daughter hasn’t uttered a word since she caught sight of the bulky man carrying her small bag.
“Why so shy?” Cassidy whispers to Hannah as she sits the kid down on the ground. Her hand remains in Cassidy’s as her fingers grip tight.
“Who is that?” She’s not usually so clingy, but Troy seems to disturb her more than most. Feeling a twinge of protectiveness, Cassidy steers her little ward up the steps to her father as Troy drops the bag off at the top of the steps. He looks like he desperately wants to get away from Jody’s chatter about the last man who visited Robert Grant.
Assassin Page 5
