No Fortunate Son

by Brad Taylor

  The bearded man ordered them to rise, stating they were leaving. Hands still bound, they marched to the stairs. They reached the top and Kylie said, “Please, can I use the bathroom one more time?”

  “What the fuck? You just did.”

  “Yes, but I have a small bladder. If we’re leaving, I’d like to go again. I don’t want to pee myself in a trunk. Please?”

  He grunted, and said, “You two stay right here. No movement. I can see you from the bathroom door.”

  She caught Nick’s eyes and saw fear. She nodded slightly and followed the bearded man.

  Inside, she closed the door and put down the seat of the toilet loud enough for him to hear. She made cloth-on-cloth noise, as if she was lowering her pants, then stood still, listening. Hearing only the shuffling of feet.

  She glanced at the window and swallowed. She took a deep breath and climbed onto the toilet. She cranked open the window as fast as she could. When it squeaked, she stopped, adrenaline racing through her.

  She looked back at the door, but it remained closed. She continued, working the lever much slower, as she had before, getting it as wide as possible. She paused one more time, hearing footsteps outside the door, as if the man was moving away, back down the corridor.

  Nick. He was making a diversion. She was sure of it.

  She crammed her body into the window, her bound hands outside and clawing for a grip in the gravel. Her breasts caught, preventing further movement. In desperation, she jammed her elbow against the windowsill and pulled, feeling her back getting ground as if a cheese grater was running over it. In a brief moment of panic, she realized she was stuck. Absolute fear took over, her response like that of a person caught in a tangle of rope underwater.

  She thrashed about, desperately trying to get her upper body through the small aperture. She rolled right, then left, clawing the dirt and pulling. She felt the blood on her back, the pain shooting through her. She came close to crying out, but clamped her jaw shut and continued pulling.

  She popped through.

  She dragged her legs out, stood up, and began running down the alley, looking for a way out. The house was on the right, a concrete wall topped with razor wire on her left, another house rising behind it. She rounded a corner and saw a street to her front. Freedom. She sprinted as fast as she could, trying to reach a car or a neighbor.

  She raised her bound hands, preparing to shout and flag down any vehicle that appeared. Seamus stepped around the corner, the sight sending fear bolting through her. He was so close she couldn’t avoid a collision and tried to duck underneath him. He snagged her collar and she felt her necklace snap from her forward momentum, the gold circle flying out of her peripheral vision. She twisted under his arm, trying to break his hold, and he punched her straight in the face.

  Her head exploded in stars and she collapsed onto the ground, barely hanging on to consciousness. He grabbed her hair and began to drag her backward. She saw her necklace in the dirt, her last connection to her uncle. She scraped the ground, touched the chain, then felt it slip from her fingers. He jerked her to her feet and slapped her hard, causing the blood running from her nose to spray out against the wall. Dazed, she was shoved through a small access hatch on the side of the house. She fell two feet to the flooring below, slamming her shoulder into the ground.

  In a haze, she saw Nick’s unconscious body on the floor next to her, his face bloodied anew. Standing above him, without any damage, was Travis, looking appalled at what had occurred. Looking guilty.

  Before she lost consciousness, the truth sank through the pain. That bastard betrayed us.

  26

  Walking up the steps to the flat, Jennifer wasn’t too keen on the plan Pike had in mind, but she let him go with it. The mailbox for apartment 4A was registered to a J. B. McFadden, so there probably wouldn’t be any drama anyway. Her concern was what Pike would do if this lead panned out and Braden showed his face.

  The address from Dylan McKee led to the famed Piccadilly Circus, an area of London with a less than stellar reputation, which fit what Dylan had told them about his grandson Braden. They’d exited the tube at the Piccadilly stop, getting topside and seeing performance artists and giant LED billboards, not unlike Times Square in New York City.

  They’d fought through the crowds of tourists, passing a man dressed like Yoda, painted entirely in gold and magically suspended in the air, only his cane touching the ground. Jennifer had done a double take and run into a seven-foot Darth Vader. He poked her with his fake lightsaber, making her jump.

  Pike had laughed and kept moving, parting the people in front of him and ignoring the fact that he was interrupting their attempts at taking pictures. They went deeper into the neighborhood, past the tourist traps like the Ripley’s Believe It or Not! museum, and the area got decidedly seedier. Strip clubs and worn-out watering holes began to dot the landscape. They passed a gay cabaret, with an Asian massage parlor on the second floor, the neon blinking in the daylight.

  Jennifer said, “Great area.”

  Ignoring the scenery, Pike said, “Better than some other shit holes I’ve been to.”

  Jennifer said, “What are we going to do when we get to the address? How long do you want to conduct surveillance?”

  Looking at the street name on the brick building to his front, Pike turned down an alley and said, “No surveillance. I’m just going to knock on the door.”

  Jennifer glanced at the grime on the windows and said, “You sure that’s smart? What if it spooks him?”

  “If he’s here, he’s living in the open. He’ll answer the door. If he doesn’t, I’ll pick the lock and enter anyway.”

  “And if he does?”

  “If the guy on the surveillance video opens that door, he’s answering questions. Whether he wants to or not.”

  Pike stopped and looked at a number on a dilapidated brownstone, now chopped up into a number of different flats. He said, “This is it.”

  They’d entered a foyer and checked the mailboxes, seeing the name of J. B. McFadden on the flat in question. Pike had grunted and walked up the stairs to the first floor, Jennifer trailing behind. He reached the flat’s door, the hallway extending another thirty feet before terminating in a right-hand corridor. Jennifer automatically moved beyond him, checking for threats. She reached the end, peeked around the corner, and saw two more doors, one labeled maintenance, the other with an apartment number. At the end was a stairwell. She returned just as Pike knocked, looking at her with a grin.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t have to tell you anything. You’re learning, young Jedi.”

  She smiled back and said, “You’re no Yoda. For one, you can’t levitate like that guy in the square.”

  “Maybe I should paint myself gold and put on a mask.”

  “I don’t think the Taskforce would appreciate the cover problems that would cause. It would be hard to blend in anywhere besides Piccadilly Circus.”

  “I was talking about in the bedroom.”

  She saw her reaction reflected in Pike’s grin and started to retort when they heard footsteps behind the door. She grew serious. “Pike, don’t hurt this guy. I don’t want to spend the night in jail explaining why you broke his thumbs.”

  He said, “That’s entirely up to him.”

  The door opened and Jennifer let out a small sigh of relief. It wasn’t the man from the surveillance photo. This guy was short, fat, and slovenly. He resembled Danny DeVito, if the actor had fallen on hard times and completely ignored personal hygiene. Wearing a stained white T-shirt, jeans, and no shoes, he looked like a hobo in a movie from the ’20s. His bodily odor wafted out, coating the hallway and forcing Pike to take a step back.

  Breathing through his mouth, Pike said, “Mr. McFadden?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Me.”

  Pike
said nothing else, letting the unspoken command settle. From behind, Jennifer couldn’t see Pike’s expression but knew what he projected. She’d been on the receiving end, back when they’d first met, and she had no doubt the man would talk first. After one second of silence, he did.

  “Yeah, I’m McFadden. What do you want? If you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

  Pike said, “Mind if we come in?”

  McFadden scowled and said, “Yeah, I mind.”

  Pike pushed open the door and said, “That was just a formality. Like saying ‘I mean no disrespect,’ then calling you a jackass.”

  He said, “Hey! What are you doing? I’ll call the police.”

  Pike flicked his head at Jennifer, and she sidestepped, moving into the flat. She walked through the den and entered the bedroom, hearing Pike say, “Call whoever the fuck you want.”

  McFadden said, “Hey, she’s got no right—” She heard a thump, and knew Pike had just stepped over the threshold, letting the man know that rights were held only by those who had the monopoly on violence. She had no illusions about who that was.

  Six months before, she would have regretted her participation. Maybe even tried to intervene. Actually, most certainly would have intervened, if only to prevent Pike from causing permanent damage to an innocent man. Today, those feelings never surfaced. She expected remorse, but all she felt was the press of time and the loss of Kylie. The fact surprised her. She pulled up short, hearing the man protest again, then Pike begin his questions. She heard a slap and started to go back to make sure Pike didn’t do anything she would regret.

  Kylie’s picture floated in her head, and she stopped. Finding her is the priority. She’d seen the pain on both Kurt’s and Pike’s faces, and the little turd in the other room meant nothing. They needed answers, and he might have them. Her thoughts surprised her again, making her wonder what she’d become.

  She took a quick glance in the bedroom, seeing no threats—and nothing to indicate anyone was being held here. Well, anyone that wasn’t a science experiment for contact diseases. She picked her way through the dirty underwear and smashed beer cans, getting to a closet at the back of the room. She opened it and found a sunlamp and a few marijuana plants growing, making her smile.

  She went to the bathroom, cringing at the moldy shower curtain and grimy tile. There was nothing else of interest. She caught her reflection in a mirror and paused, looking to see if she was different. If she was now like Pike, devoid of empathy. Devoid of the natural human desire to stop someone like him from extracting what he wanted from a weaker being. The person who looked back was a cheerful woman, hair in a ponytail and dancing gray eyes. No remorse. No thousand-yard stare.

  And she had an epiphany. Pike is right. Sometimes you need to be a little bad to ensure the good.

  Monsters were holding Kylie, and no amount of goodness was going to stop them from harming her. There was no “natural” human desire to prevent atrocities. She’d seen enough brutality to shatter any notion about innate human virtue. If they wanted Kylie back, they would have to take her by force, carving a path through men like the one in the next room. If that meant violence, then so be it. It was his choice.

  The conviction was something new. And a little unsettling.

  At Jennifer’s core, she knew she wasn’t evil. Knew she didn’t yearn to harm others, so it was something else that kept her former tendencies at bay. And she found it in the mirror. In the woman looking back.

  She saw Kylie in her own reflection. Saw herself four years ago in a drug lord’s house in Guatemala, begging to be saved. Begging for anyone to come and destroy the men who’d held her, to rescue her before they physically took from her everything she had. That day, handcuffed half naked and nearly catatonic, about to be forced into unspeakable acts, she’d prayed for a miracle. What had shown up was Pike.

  And he had exacted every bit of punishment she had fervently wished for.

  What Pike was doing now might not be legal, but it was just. And she would do what she could to help. She looked back into the mirror, remembering the terror. Understanding what Kylie was experiencing.

  We’re coming. We’ll find you.

  She reentered the den to find McFadden sitting on a dingy stool, his face swelling and fear oozing from him like pus from a blister. Pike sat across from him, in a chair turned backward, his arms on the backrest. He said, “Get me the address, and we’ll be gone.”

  Pike saw her and said, “Anything?”

  “No. Other than the fact that he’s trying to re-create the Black Plague.”

  McFadden started scribbling on a napkin, and Pike stood. McFadden handed him the address and looked at her with apprehension.

  She said, “Don’t worry. We don’t care about your indoor gardening.”

  Relief flitted across his face. Pike said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. You ready to go? Or you want to pound the crap out of him?”

  McFadden cringed, realizing she wasn’t an ally. Pike scowled, saying, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She smiled, disarming his aggravation. “Just teasing. We have everything we’re going to get?”

  McFadden breathed a sigh of relief and said, “You’ve got all I’m going to give.”

  Jennifer’s smile faded. “There’s more?”

  McFadden shook his head rapidly, saying, “No, no. That’s not what I meant.”

  She walked over to him and said, “This is no game. I was joking before, but this man will tear you apart for no other reason than he likes it.”

  Pike stood up, towering over the smaller man, and Jennifer let him, not saying a word.

  McFadden raised his hands and said, “I don’t know anything about the guy. He was here a year or two ago. Jesus. Call him off.”

  Jennifer looked at Pike. He held up the napkin, flicked his head to the door, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  27

  They hit the street and Jennifer asked, “So what did you get? What’s on the napkin?”

  “The landlord. He said this guy might have a forwarding address. I doubt it because McFadden’s been there for over a year. And he wasn’t the only tenant. There’s been a revolving door in there since Braden stayed. But it’s worth a shot.”

  They retraced their steps, walking back into the light of the tourist area. She asked, “Where is the landlord?”

  “Believe it or not, pretty close. Down someplace in a Chinatown section about a half mile from here. He gave me a restaurant to look for, and an alley next to it. I guess the landlord is some foreign expat. He didn’t know if he was Vietnamese, Chinese, or something else. Only that he was Asian. The whole thing is shady.”

  They walked back to the center of Piccadilly Circus, passing Ripley’s again, and Pike said, “Why’d you say that about beating the crap out of him? Asking as if I would like it? You still don’t trust me, do you?”

  She looked up at him to see if he was just pressing her buttons and realized he was serious. She said, “Yes, I do. Completely.”

  “You say that, but you still question. It’s like you only want part of me. The good part. But the world doesn’t work that way. I’ve come a long way from when we first met, but I’m not going to ask politely to get Kylie back.”

  “I know. I’m okay with the necessary violence. I really am.”

  “But you think what I do is unnecessary?”

  She walked a little bit, thinking of the mirror, then said, “I used to. But not now. I’m not sure what I believe anymore. You say you’ve come a long way, but maybe it’s the opposite, and I’m the one changing. Does it matter?”

  He said, “It does to me.” He walked in silence for a minute, then said, “Heather never saw me in operations. She only saw the good. She had no idea what I’ve done in the name of national security. I sometimes wonder what she wo
uld have thought if she had. I used to lie in bed at night, hearing her talk about how proud she was of me, and I felt a little dirty. She thought the world was split neatly into black and white, but it’s not.”

  Jennifer stopped walking, getting his attention. He turned to her and she said, “I never want to hear that again. She loved you for what you were. What you are. You. Nothing more. And certainly nothing less. She saw the man. Warts and all. I’ve seen the same. And I feel the same way.”

  He held her eyes, trying to determine if it was just talk. He felt the honesty behind her words and said, “Getting Kylie home is going to be violent. It won’t be clean. You good with that? Because I can’t have you holding back based on some sense of morality for a world that doesn’t exist.”

  She thought about the mirror again and said, “I know. I’ve been to that world. I’m good with it. I mean really good.”

  He looked at her a moment longer, then started walking. “Okay. Let’s go find Kylie.”

  She smiled, and in a stilted Yoda voice said, “Finding her good would be.”

  He laughed. “You’ve got a few miles left before I make you a Jedi.”

  They walked down Wardour Street and entered a section full of Asian restaurants. He pulled out the napkin and said, “Okay, we’re in the right area. Now keep an eye out for Little Wu Chinese Restaurant. It should be close.”

  She pointed to the left and said, “That’s it right there.”

  He said, “Holy shit. That was easy.”

  He walked to an alley right next to the restaurant. A sign with Chinese lettering underneath indicated it was called Dansey Place. “This is it. Should be straight back.”

  She peered down the alley, cloyingly small, full of trash cans and other refuse. She said, “Wow. That doesn’t look safe.”

  “Well, it is what it is.”

  He entered the alley without another word, walking past the backs of restaurants, Asian men sitting on steps and smoking, glaring at the intrusion away from the tourist area.