Retribution

by Evelyn Drake

  Steve gave a low whistle under his breath, and Michael shot him a look that said, really? He felt like throttling the guy but then ended up smiling when Steve answered with a shoulder shrug and an impish smile .

  Turning his attention back to the doors, Michael studied their seam from the bottom to the top and along all the rims. The door handle’s latch was going to make noise when they opened it. It was unavoidable .

  Taking a deep breath and stretching his neck from side to side, Michael took each of the curving, lever-style door handles in hand. Pushing them down simultaneously with measured speed, he heard the small click that he’d known he would hear. Pulling the doors open, he held his breath with the pent up hope that the hinges wouldn’t complain. They didn’t. When he trained his eyes to what was to be found within the inner sanctum of the room, what he saw was Chandler’s turned body, half sitting up in bed and looking at them .

  Fuck!

  But it didn’t matter. Not really, and he knew that. It simply went against every ounce of his being to allow exposure of himself during a breaking and entering. For him, it felt akin to a ninja wearing tap shoes and sparklers .

  Putting a finger to his lips as a warning to Chandler to stay quiet, Michael saw Steve’s gun appear over his shoulder, its nose pointed at Chandler to intensify the silent instruction .

  Chandler sat up fully, his back against a wooden headboard that stretched halfway to the ceiling. He was bare chested, and age and lack of exercise hadn’t been kind to him. Next to him, curled into a ball within the sheets, was a naked boy of barely eighteen with a lithe, slender body that also showed a distinct lack of any strenuous, muscle building activity .

  “Hush,” Chandler rebuked the boy when he whimpered. But like a scared jack rabbit, the boy went from curled and unflinching in one moment to on his feet and running to jump off the end of the bed in the next. Steve scooped the boy up, and the boy’s torso folded over his Steve’s powerful arm, but the boy’s frantic squeal had Steve dropping him just as fast. Michael and Steve watched as he ran from the room, made a sharp turn and disappeared .

  “He gonna tell someone you have visitors?” Steve asked, his voice low but not quite a whisper .

  “Probably,” Chandler said, not hiding his annoyance at his most recent selection in companions .

  “Looks like our visit will be a little shorter than originally planned,” Michael said, perching on the edge of the bed near Chandler’s feet. “So I’ll dispense with the niceties and get to the point. You butchered my family .”

  Steve lifted his gun higher and cocked the firing hammer. Chandler continued to look unimpressed .

  “So, this is your new boy,” Chandler said, reaching over to turn on his bedside lamp before letting his eyes trace every line of Steve’s body from head to toe and back up again as he pursed his lips in appreciative evaluation. Finally, with a sideways head nod and a lift of his eyebrow, he said, “I can see the attraction .”

  Michael dragged a finger down Chandler’s comforter-covered legs. “My boy killed your boy. Sigmund’s dead .”

  “Yes, I am aware,” Chandler said, his voice going flat .

  “And I’m wondering, if he could do what he did to Sigmund, I wonder what he could do to you.” Michael leaned into his delivery of the words .

  Chandler sat, unresponsive to Michael’s words, and then he broke out in a laugh, his hand waving dismissively in the air. “It’s not your way, Michael. You don’t kill .”

  “He does,” was Michael’s quick reply as he gave a nod toward Steve. “He’s not up to the sick-bastard status that your boy was, but he gets the job done .”

  Chandler eyed Steve speculatively, measuring. “How much do you want to come work for me? Name your price. I have your first job picked out for you,” he said with a smile filled with teeth so white that they glowed unnaturally as he returned his gaze to Michael .

  Michael recognized it for what it was, an empty threat. Chandler had no standing with Steve, and everyone in the room knew it. One nod from Michael and Chandler’s life would be over .

  “Want me to shoot out his kneecaps?” Steve asked .

  Michael’s thoughts froze as he considered it. He envisioned Chandler writhing in pain and it made him uncomfortable that it gave him so much pleasure. But it did .

  Sweat broke out on his forehead as visions of Sara came back to him. What had been done to his parents had been bad enough, but their pain had ended. What had been done to his sister reached beyond an agenda of control and sank inside a cesspool of demented delight that only Sigmund had understood, and it had been Chandler who had pointed Sigmund at his family. Chandler murdered his family .

  Michael’s eyes grew unfocused as he stared at Chandler and became only distantly aware that Chandler had begun to fidget under his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable .

  “Babe.”

  Steve’s stabilizing hand closed on Michael’s shoulder, bringing the present crashing back in on Michael’s senses. Before him, Chandler snapped back into focus. The man had grown pale .

  “Right,” Michael said, more as a note to himself than the two men in the room with him. Reaching to the pouch at his side, he pulled open its drawstring and spilled out its contents onto the bed .

  Chandler’s eyes hardened and he reached, seemingly involuntarily, for the collection of gems, rare coins, and antique watches that Michael estimated had values in the tens of thousands each. Michael gave a hard, sharp slap to his hand. When it didn’t seem to do the trick, in a sudden rush of rage Michael grabbed his hand and yanked his middle finger back until he heard a sickening pop. Then he twisted it until there was a sound of tearing. Chandler started to scream, but releasing his hand, Michael smashed him in the mouth with his fist .

  Sitting back hard on the bed, Michael fought to regain control over his rage. Having let it loose, it ran rampant through his senses and threatened to take over all of his thoughts .

  “You killed her, you son of a bitch. You killed them all,” Michael hissed, holding his fist in his hand. Before him, Chandler held his hand aloft as if that would help the pain. His middle finger was pointed up in comparison to the rest of his hand—stuck that way .

  Closing his eyes, Michael took a few breaths and felt his heartbeat slow. Opening his eyes, he still wanted Chandler’s destruction, but he was no longer bent on making it happen personally .

  “All of this, it’s going with us,” Michael said. He’d estimated the value of everything combined to be near twenty million dollars. He suspected that it was Chandler’s get-lost-fast nest egg .

  “Fuck you!” Chandler spat, literally .

  Michael slammed his fist into Chandler’s face again, snapping the older man’s head back. To his credit Chandler took it, righted himself, and focused to listen .

  “All of this,” Michael said again, making an air circle over the items with his finger, “goes with us. And these,” he paused, holding out a hand to Steve. Steve pulled out a folder that had been tucked into the back of his pants and put it in Michael’s hand. The gun never wavered. “These,” Michael continued, opening the file onto the bed before Chandler, “will stay with you .”

  Chandler didn’t bother to look down at the bed. The documents had come out of the same hidden safe that the gems had come from. Michael had located the safe and had broken into it ten years ago just to prove to himself he could. He hadn’t taken a thing—not then .

  “But the photos of all these documents—documents that show you’ve been embezzling from the Family and that you ratted on some of your competitors—they’ll be going with us. Actually, to be more honest, they’ve already gone beyond us,” Michael added, leaning in conspiratorially. “They’ve been sent to three different sources, people who will follow up by destroying not just you but the entire Family if anything ever—ever— happens to either one of us .”

  He pointed a finger between himself and Steve for emphasis. As for the three sources, it was an exaggeration, but not one that mattered.
The Family would see its end if Chandler didn’t let him walk away this time. Professor Grunion was already in possession of the pictures they texted to him .

  A low growl filled the room, and Michael turned to see if the sound was coming from Steve. A shrug from Steve told him it wasn’t. Turning his attention back to Chandler, Michael’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man seem to grow bigger in stature .

  What the fuck ?

  “I saved you. You were nothing when I found you! You owe me everything, and this is how you pay me? How many years have I waited patiently for you to come to me, to show me your gratitude? No one. No. One. Could love you the way I have loved you!” Chandler’s voice boomed, filling the bedroom. When Chandler tried to stand up, using his good hand to try and push off the headboard, Michael leaned back to put more distance between them .

  “You are mine!” Chandler screamed, spittle collecting at the corner of his mouth. “You have always been mine! I have been patient and given enough with you. You will give yourself to me or I will continue to hunt you to the corners of the earth, burning any connections you make along the way. I will salt the ground you step on and kill anyone you dare to love until you admit the truth that is in your heart and give yourself to me !”

  Steve extended his gun arm and aimed. The ring of a gunshot filled the room and a hole was punched into Chandler’s chest as he fell backward against the headboard. His knees folded and he slid down, leaving a smeared trail of blood above him as he sank. Finally, with his eyes wide open, he fell back onto the bed, his arms slack at his sides and his head lulled backward .

  With his jaw agape, Michael turned to look at Steve, but Steve was turned with his gun pointing at the doorway. There, in a silk night robe made of reds and golds, stood Chandler’s nephew Monty, with a pistol pointed at Steve .

  “We’re done here. Get your shit and get out,” Monty said, reiterating his words with the flick of his gun’s nose pointing the way out. He put his gun away, tucking it nose first into the waist of his pajama bottoms. “I was going to kill the old man next year anyway,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “You moved the timeline up, and that’s fine. Now go. We’re clean, Michael.” He slapped his hands against each other as if brushing off dirt. “You stay away from the Family, bring no dishonor to us, and we stay away from you. Do you agree to this? Because, if you don’t...” He left the rest unsaid .

  “You’ll stay away tomorrow?” Steve asked, his tone making it clear that Monty’s answer was a potential deal breaker .

  Monty nodded. “Everything about this deal is now dead to us. It’s void with the passage of the Papa. You are free and clear of us .”

  “Then, I agree,” Michael said, brushing the collection of gems and other items into a small pile and scooping them back into the pouch. He glanced at Steve for reassurance that Monty’s vow was one worth committing to. Steve gave him a silent nod .

  Michael took the hand that Steve extended. Without another word exchanged, they put the Family behind them as they left the mansion and the only life Michael had ever known as an adult. Their future sat heavy in the pouch at Michael’s hip, but their one remaining obstacle still lay ahead .

  “We survive the next twelve hours and you’ll be stuck with me for years,” Steve said, giving Michael a kiss as he started their car’s engine .

  “Make that decades and you’re on .”

  25

  Michael

  “I n your hand is the item you’ve been looking for,” Michael said, a gun pointed at the head of Horatio Gunderson, Director of Operations .

  Gunderson looked down at the hefty stone that filled the palm of his hand. He scanned the area, a deserted strip mall in a failed town. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand as he turned his attention back to Michael. Shifting one bare foot, he managed to look authoritative and in control even as he stood without any backup in the middle of nowhere in his pajamas .

  “What did you give me to knock me out? If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. So, I need to know if what you gave me will cause permanent damage .”

  “Got a headache ?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s as bad as it gets .”

  “What do you want ?”

  “I want Steve Turney’s freedom .”

  “You can’t have it .”

  Michael lowered his gun to point at the stone in Gunderson’s hand. The bullet trajectory was sure to continue into his chest. “Then you don’t have what you need .”

  The Director rubbed the back of his neck again. “What assurances can you give that Steve will not be a continuing problem for Operations? Leaving an uncontrolled asset to do as they please does nothing for the long term security of our organization. Decades of work would be at risk .”

  “And you’ll be able to achieve decades of work in a matter of years with what you hold in your hand .”

  Gunderson’s brows lifted .

  “That’s right. We know what it is—and we have isolated the key .”

  Gunderson’s mouth dropped open, and he scanned his surroundings again, this time looking at rooftops as if he could will snipers to be there to take out the man before him .

  “All the work that you can achieve with the stone’s information, we will be able to trace it and expose it .”

  “This isn’t exactly helping your argument to live .”

  Michael pulled back the hammer of his gun .

  “But then, of course, you’re not the one whose life is currently in jeopardy,” Gunderson said, taking a deep breath before pressing his lips into a thin line and returning his focus to the stone .

  “And we want to keep it that way. Keep the stone. Keep the ability to spy on every government, corporation, or person of the world. Keep the ability to plant information and drive the direction of global decisions .”

  Gunderson looked up at Michael sharply as his last words were spoken .

  Bingo, Michael thought to himself, recognizing the direct hit .

  “Be able to do it all,” Michael continued. “We will never expose you because to do so would take away the leverage to have and to keep what we want—our freedom .”

  Gunderson nodded his head, his eyes looking him over from head to toe appraisingly, as if seeing him for the first time. “It’s a deal .”

  “Call off your dog. Call off Monica .”

  Gunderson flinched, and took another deep breath, but he took the phone—his own phone—when Michael offered it .

  “Call Monica right now. Call her off. Or... can’t you control her ?”

  The Director squared his shoulders and seemed to get an inch taller as he dialed the phone .

  “Put it on speaker,” Michael directed, and Gunderson complied .

  The sound of ringing filled the air, then the static-click of someone answering .

  “Yes.” It was the clipped answer of a woman .

  “Give a status update,” Director Gunderson ordered .

  “We are on location at the abandoned warehouse.” Michael could see the location in his mind. It was the same one where he had reported to the Family—and had run from the Family. “The subjects have not shown .”

  “Call it off,” Director Gunderson directed. “The objective has been achieved, and the mission is scrubbed .”

  Silence filled the air .

  “Brightman.” No response. “Monica, report .”

  “With all due respect,” came the clipped, tight words in answer, “I decline that order .”

  Gunderson swore under his breath and the color of his face turned ruddy. “Dammit, Monica, I have the stone. Stand down. That’s an order. No action—I repeat—no action is to be taken against either Steve Turney or Michael Gammot. Do you understand? The mission is scrubbed! Return to Operations immediately and without further action !”

  “I respectfully relieve you of duty as Director of Operations,” Monica said, her tone turning silken and viperish. Gunderson’s face turned two shades darker and he sputtered. �
��As Acting Director, I will continue with the mission as planned. Steve Turney and Michael Gammot will cease to exist as a threat to this organization !”

  “Stand down!” Gunderson shouted into the phone .

  “Sir, you have no authority over these matters, and I require you to report to Operations for extensive debriefing to prepare for your transition to retirement .”

  “You fucking bitch!” Gunderson screamed into the phone. “You think you can threaten me? I will end you. End you !”

  Two quick shots rang out over the phone. A loud, sharp clamor followed that sounded as if the phone had been dropped. Director Gunderson stared at the phone in wide eyed horror as if it had suddenly turned into a radioactive turd .

  A moment later there was a scraping sound followed by a man’s voice. “Sir? Sir ?”

  “Report!”

  “Sir, this is Max Spencer. Unit Leader Monica Brightman has been struck and killed by a sniper bullet to the head and chest.” Shouting could be heard in the background followed by multiple rounds of gun fire .

  “Stand down! Stand down!” Director Gunderson yelled into the phone. But the tinny explosion of gunfire continued until suddenly it stopped .

  “The assailant has been neutralized,” Max Spencer reported .

  “What does that mean?” Michael said, steadying his shaky hand as he pointed his gun’s nose at Gunderson’s head. Gunderson closed his eyes and his lips moved in what Michael could only assume was another silent swear. Grief welled inside Michael, threatening to eclipse the rest of reality. His knees faltered, he staggered and he sat backward, hard, on his ass. Yet, his gun never stopped pointing at Gunderson .

  “Expand report,” Director Gunderson said into the phone with eyes closed as if he fully expected a bullet .