The Informers (The Stringers Book 2)

by TJ Martinell

  I asked them where Carl Farrington was. The doctor yawned and checked the patient list and then pointed us towards the corner of the room with a thin curtain. I swept back the curtain and found my father lying in a cot on the floor, an IV bag hung on a pole above his cot pumping saline into his arm.

  I sat down next to the cot and looked at his face. With his eyes closed and his head turned to the side, he looked perfectly normal, as though he would be as alert and sober as I when he awoke. Sadly, it wasn’t true. I knew him well enough to sense something wrong with him, even when he was asleep.

  Jean came into the room. She lowered herself down beside me.

  “He will recover,” she said.

  I didn’t answer.

  “I thought you would be happy,” she said.

  She didn’t seem to realize there was a thick layer of dirt covering her face. I took a spare towel from the table beside my father’s cot and moistened it with water before rubbing at her cheeks. She smiled and took the towel from me and did the same to mine, revealing a thin layer of grime when she placed it by her side.

  “Why are you not happy?” she asked.

  I sighed and took the towel and wiped the rest of my face before throwing it back on the ground. I touched my father’s arm, feeling the faint pulse throb in his veins.

  “I came here to get my father,” I said. “Now I have him. But I can’t leave now. Not like this. It’s become more than that.”

  She seemed to understand me. It didn’t help the guilt in me.

  “I’m sorry about making you leave your father,” I said. “Please believe me; I would have done something if I could have.”

  “I do not wish to talk about it,” she said.

  “But you understand, don’t you?”

  “Will you please not ask?”

  “I won’t. But I don’t know why you don’t want to talk about him.”

  Her eyes glistened. “You had hope of finding your father. I did not. Now you have your father. I do not.”

  She then immediately asked, “What are you going to do if you are not going to leave?”

  “Hard things.”

  “What are these hard things?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I then moved over my father’s cot and leaned against the wall, my hand resting on the edge of the cot. I took off my coat and rolled it up into a pillow and placed it behind my head, turning and twisting until I found a comfortable position. Jean got up and pulled the curtains around us and then settled onto the floor with her head placed against her coat.

  For the first time in years I told myself it wasn’t real it wasn’t happening.

  It hadn’t happened. It was just a dream. I’d wake up from it and discover none of it was real. The newspaper wasn’t real. My father and I were still at home. The ISA hadn’t come. They would never come.

  Both Jean and my father slept peacefully. I watched them with envy, unable to take my mind off a lit candle on the table in the middle of the room. I watched and waited for it to live out its brief life, but as the night deepened it continued to burn.

  I stared at it as though allowing it to carry away the thoughts of the day, knowing they would return to me tomorrow.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, I went to Olan’s office to find him making notes on a map. His window afforded a glimpse of the tension in the city. Gunmen on the street, drones in the sky. But the streets were as silent as I had ever heard. Smoke was still rising from the fires long contained.

  “You decided to stick around,” Olan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Here’s what happened while ya were asleep. The ISA put up some bullshit PR story for Cutman, claimed he died of a heart attack. Our little shoot-up yesterday went national. The regional director is headin’ over to D.C. to testify on it. He just got interviewed by some blonde ditz on the Net with a nice rack, telling her they need more cash.”

  I surveyed the map on the wall. Within the mishmash of lines zigzagging and crisscrossing up and down the city streets, there was a consistent pattern of marked addresses. All of them were safe houses for our stringers. Some of them had been given a giant X, the black spot signifying their destruction or compromised status.

  On the other side was the list of friendlies, enemies, and neutrals. White Center, Shoreline, Ballard, and Rainier Valley were in the ISA’s hip pocket. Queen Anne, Belltown and Fremont were keeping to themselves.

  “What’s the damage?” I asked.

  “Minimal, if that. That gamble didn’t pay off for ‘em.”

  “The bastards ain’t backin’ down. They’re just tryin’ a different strategy.”

  “Like what?”

  “Informants.”

  “What kind?”

  “I mean they’re gonna send out people to spy on us and then report us to the ISA when they get a clear shot with their weaponized drones. Problem is not much we can do. They’re finally gettin’ smart.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  He shrugged. “We don’t got much choice, do we? The same as we always do. Shoot ‘em and ask for forgiveness in the afterlife.”

  “That’s what they want us to do.”

  “Who gives a shit what they want?”

  I sensed a bit of fear in him. I could see why. The newspaper wasn’t entirely stable. There had to be some factions whose loyalty had been with McCullen. They had fought yesterday for their own survival. Now that it was over, they had time to think. Unless Olan solidified his authority, he ran the risk of meeting the same end as McCullen.

  If it happened they’d come after me, too.

  “When do you plan on hiring new men?” I asked.

  “Today. I got my boys scoutin’ around town right now. The biggest pain in the ass will be sortin’ out the worthless from those who can shoot worth shit. A lotta hungry kids willin’ to do anythin’ to get off the street.”

  “We should take advantage of that.”

  Olan narrowed his eyes at me. “How?”

  “Pick some of them out of the crowd. Make sure they got no attachments. I know there ain’t a hell of a lot of married men around here, but if any of them come with baggage of any kind, anybody they love who’s still above ground, leave them out of this.”

  “No girls?” he joked. “Or are ya worried about the attachments?”

  “Funny. And no. This isn’t going to be a pleasant job.”

  “What should I tell them?”

  “Nothing,” I stated. “Except that it will involve killing ISA officers. That should suffice.”

  I went over to his desk and opened the drawer, taking out a slip of paper and a pen. I jotted down the address to the underground garage, along with a date and time.

  “Make copies of this and distribute to all the recruits,” I said as I gave it to Olan. “But make sure they got clean backgrounds. Oh, and one other thing; all of them have to have had at least one family detained by the ISA.”

  Olan paused, stood tall and studied me carefully. “What’s goin’ on in that mind of yours? I gotta know.”

  “Somebody’s got to die. I just want it done right.”

  Olan laughed under his breath as he moved over to his desk and started writing.

  “I’ll put some stringers on getting information from the ISA’s regional office HR department,” he said. “They’ll have the laydown on who the drone operators are, where they live. I’m going to write up a message to send them after you’ve picked the recruits for this job. Pay some delivery boy extra to drop one off at each of their residences.”

  I waited for him to dismiss in some way, but he kept looking at me with a subtle grin.

  “It’s funny,” he said. “I was sure ya’d be gone with ya old man. I’m glad ya didn’t.”

  I ignored his remark, eyed the newspaper on his desk. McCullen’s name stared back at me.

  “We need a new name for the paper,” he said. “What
the hell do I replace it with? It’s gotta stick with people. Somethin’ they’ll remember.” A moment later he snapped his finger and said, “How ‘bout Seattle Free Press?”

  “Sounds pretentious.”

  “Then leave and let me figure one out.”

  Griggs and Jamie were in the newsroom. Griggs hadn’t slept a minute, his disheveled face held low as he wiped it with a blood-stained cloth. I gestured for them to follow me down the hallway and into Olan’s old office which he was letting me borrow for now.

  “Glad to see you’re alive,” I said.

  Griggs rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you lost sleep over it.”

  “You obviously did.”

  “I’m sure I knew some of the people I killed.”

  I didn’t have time to discuss it.

  “That’s why I’m going to need you for something I’m putting together,” I said. “You know how your old paper operates. You know parts of town that I don’t.”

  “So?”

  I looked at my typewriter, repeated the words for the message already prepared in my mind. Thinking them was easy. Putting them down was the hard part. For some of those who received it, it would be their death sentence.

  “We’re going to put together a team for a special job,” I said to Griggs. “I need you to figure out a way to get a hold of any HR documents from the ISA’s regional office in Bellevue. I want any information on drone operators. You know anybody working out of there?”

  “No.”

  “Then we will put you in touch with one of our men there. He’s been plugged into his beat for so long he’s openly known by the local cops. They’re on good terms. They might be able to help you.”

  Griggs looked down at his mud-spattered clothes, picked the crusted dirt off his shirt. He rubbed his eyes and shrugged.

  “Sounds better than shooting people,” he muttered.

  “What about me, boss?” Jamie asked.

  I looked at Griggs. “Is it alright if he comes along, strictly for backup? He’s not a writer, but he knows how to handle a knife and a gun. Just don’t ask him to stalk someone.”

  “I guess,” Griggs said as he turned to Jamie. “Just don’t get in my way, right?”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Oh God.”

  They left. I positioned my typewriter close to the edge of the desk, pushed the carriage return to the side, and went to work. It took longer than I thought. The message was short, but I had to find the right words.

  Jean entered and sat on the side of the desk as she ate a small breakfast in her hand. When she finished she played with her hair and shoved a bobby pin into it.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Nothing you need to know.”

  “Why will you not tell me now?”

  I folded my hands as if praying, and indeed I did pray, praying to the God who had spared me time and time again from death would spare once more. This time, however, it would be for Him to spare others of death. Deaths I would be responsible for.

  “I want to give these people a chance,” I said. “A chance they never gave my father.”

  ***

  I stood against the concrete wall as the cars drove down into the underground parking garage. Tinted windows hid the passengers.

  Except to me their identities were all known.

  I moved to the middle of the pathway and took off my fedora so they could see my face more clearly. My old clothes were gone, replaced it with a light brown suit, white shirt and black tie.

  The cars formed a semi-circle in front of me. Griggs and Jamie came out and opened the passenger doors. Men hardly more than boys appeared and walked uncertainly to the empty space in the center.

  Their looks were telling. Inquisitive, timid, but hardened. They were all gaunt and slender, awkward in their posture. There was one unifying quality, a quiet resolve in their eyes. Some had the blemished look of someone who’s spilt blood. Others had yet to kill, but not from a lack of will. The opportunity hadn’t arisen.

  Griggs handed me the list of names. Notes made out with Olan’s handwriting included additional background on them.

  Twelve young men, all under twenty three. They had little else in common. Different neighborhoods, different family circumstances. Different religions, different criminal records, different personalities.

  All different.

  Uniting them was a similar shared misfortune.

  That alone would make them effective. No chance for blackmail or strong-arming. The state had already taken everything from them. Only their desire for revenge was left intact.

  “You know who I am?” I asked.

  They mumbled, shivered from the cold air. I had chosen the location intentionally to keep them uncomfortable. Comfort bred conformity. They would also stay alert while I spoke.

  “You all know ISA surveillance drones are as common in this area as seagulls and pigeons. The difference is that seagulls and pigeons aren’t trying to kill us. The ISA is. They’re working on loosening up restrictions on the use of weaponized drone. In the meantime, they have informants running through this city like a bad virus reporting back when they can hit us with minimal collateral damage. We don’t know who they are or where they are. Whatever the case, it’s irrelevant. We’re not going to touch them.”

  The boys’ eyes widened in collective bewilderment.

  “The ISA wants to shoot us dead from the skies,” I continued. “They can’t identify us without eyes on the ground. So they’ll have humans do it. We’re going to put a stop to it by making it unpleasant for those who operator the drones to work them. That is your job.”

  “What are we going to do exactly?” one of them asked.

  “We’ve sent messages to every single operator at the ISA regional office in Bellevue,” Griggs explained. “We’ve warned them that if they engage in any further strikes in this city, they will be killed.”

  “By us?” one of them asked.

  “If you’re up to the job,” I replied.

  The boys glanced at one another as if to determine whether they possessed the fortitude to kill a stranger, someone who had not done them any personal harm. A few of them I had no doubts about. They would kill without pity. Several of the boys winced as they envision it. They were perhaps innocent, but not naïve. They knew what it would involve, how horrific it would be.

  “This will not be pleasant,” I said. “But I think you all know what will happen if it isn’t done.”

  I gave them time to think it over. The decision couldn’t be a hasty one.

  When I felt they had thought it over sufficiently, I pointed to the ramp leading to the street.

  “If anyone of you does not feel like they can perform this job, you are free to go,” I declared. “There will be no consequences. I promise you, I will not force you to do this.”

  Immediately one of the boys broke out from the group. He took several steps towards me and stopped.

  “I’ll do it, but I won’t shoot them in the back,” he said.

  “Ever been in a fight?” Jamie barked. “Ya don’t get no choice.”

  I silenced him with a hand gesture. I appreciated his concerns, but it wasn’t the time for that.

  I looked at the boy. My notes said his name was Joey Lauter. He struck me as a killer who simply needed reassurance.

  “You do it however you need to do it,” I instructed him. “But you cannot hesitate. If we tell you to kill someone while they are outside their home or in front of their wife or kid, you will do it.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Griggs added. “There are other jobs for a kid who knows how to shoot a gun.”

  Joey looked over his shoulder, suddenly self-conscious at the attention cast on him.

  “I don’t mind killing them,” he said. “They’re all bastards. But I don’t want it getting around I shot ‘em in the back.”

  I glanced at Olan’s no
tes again. It now made sense. Joey’s father had been nabbed by the ISA, shot while resisting arrest. I had a good idea of where he had been shot.

  “Then don’t shoot them in the back,” I said. “Just make sure they don’t get back up and shoot you in the back.”

  Joey nodded and stepped back into the group. The rest of the boys remained silent. They wouldn’t protest. This was familiar territory for them. No mercy asked or given.

  “Welcome to our little setup,” I said. “You will be contacted when the job needs to get done. In the meantime, I want you to read up on our weapons and vehicles. If you get caught in a pinch, help won’t be coming over the next hill, or any hill. Train with them as often as you can.”

  Jamie and the drivers led the boys back to the cars without ceremony. They drove up the ramp and out of the garage back to where they would be dropped off at predestinated points.

  Griggs was the last to go. He his time as his boys climbed into the seats. He opened the driver’s door and then walked back over to me, chewing on some chaw that he spat out on the ground.

  “Somebody wanted me to tell you myself that your old man woke up about an hour ago,” he said.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. They didn’t say.”

  I had to know. I had waited long enough already.

  I thanked Griggs and jumped into my car and drove off. Outside the sky was darkening from a pale blue that matched the water to a deep orange hue as the sun dipped down below the horizon. I was so excited I couldn’t remain still in my seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly to control myself.

  At last I would get to have the conversation that had been postponed for far too long.

  Chapter Thirteen

  My father’s health had improved in the few days since he had been cleansed of the drugs in his system. His complexion underneath a scraggly beard was now a bright burgundy color.

  His IV bag clinging to a wall hanger was nearly empty. I called for one of the attendants as I took a spare stool and sat down beside the cot. The female attendant arrived shortly and changed the bag. I asked for her name, which she gave warily. I thanked her, telling her I would complement her work to her superior. She walked away with a smile, not fully realizing the power my word now had inside the building.