A Bullet for the Shooter

by Larry Hoy

  Sweetwater kept trying to make sense of it, but fatigue had really set in by now. Too many adrenaline rushes in one day, too bad of a headache, and feeling anxious—alternating with being pissed off—had all combined to leave him feeling hollow. He tried to make out the mumbling through the hotel room walls but could only hear sounds, not words. Five minutes later, she was back.

  “This isn’t good, Luther, this isn’t good at all. The law requires a licensed training agent to oversee every qualifying kill—”

  “I’ve read the law. So what?”

  “Then you must have missed the part about TAs being present when the contract is executed.”

  “Uh…”

  “That’s what I thought. It was tacked onto the original bill authorizing LifeEnders to mollify some of its opponents and get it passed. Apparently, nobody has ever actually used a TA the way the law says to—it’s all phonied up to make it look good and the TA gets a small fee for letting their name go on the paperwork. Guess who your TA was.”

  “Billy the Kid?”

  “Correct on the first guess; Mister William Bonney himself.”

  Chapter 18

  Southeast Memphis, TN

  Sweetwater needed to think. He knew he wasn’t the smartest guy who ever lived, but when he got out of his own way, he could be damned clever…if only he wasn’t so damned tired. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and with closed eyes, he buried his face in his hands.

  Think, Luther, think!

  “So, this Erebus guy was once married to my qualifying kill, Grace Allen, and somehow he got hold of the paper trail about who pitched her off of that roof. Or who he thinks pitched her off.”

  Warden nodded and gulped some coffee. “That’s what we know for certain, yeah. Now let’s think about what we don’t know.”

  “How did he find out?”

  “That’s the number one question, but we’re not gonna learn that here and now. What else?”

  Bright sparkles filled Sweetwater’s vision, and it helped him think. He didn’t know why, it just did.

  “I think it’s safe to say it was Erebus who tried to kill me on my way to the airport to pick you up, which means I could have been his primary target.”

  “Kinda obvious about him trying to kill you, but I don’t agree on the primary target part.”

  “Did I tell you that I got a glimpse at the guy?” he said.

  “And you low-keyed that?”

  “I honestly just remembered.”

  “Fuck, dude, how did you get your creds? Okay, describe him, think back to what you saw, and only what you saw. Don’t think about Erebus.”

  “It was half a second, before I got you—”

  “See it as a photo in your memory. Focus on it and tell me what you see.”

  “His upper body was obscured…he was—I saw his face, but it looked weird, twisted…angry. He’s fat, flabby cheeks, and a weak double chin. Piggy little nose—”

  “Any ink, scars, deformities?”

  Sweetwater finally lifted his head and nodded.

  “Yeah…he had something wrong with the right…no, no, the left side of his face. It’s like—like part of it was missing.”

  “Where on his face?”

  “Cheek.” He touched the point of his own cheekbone, near the temple. “Right about there.”

  “Good, that’s pretty distinctive. What else?”

  He shook his head. “That’s all I’ve got.”

  “All right, if you think of anything else, say so.”

  “How did you learn all this?”

  “I’m a girl.”

  “Seriously, I’m asking for real. How old are you really?”

  Warden cocked her head. “Fifteen.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “You are extra-extra Luther. You’re kinda cute, but, dude, go take a manhood pill. I’m twenty-four. Wanna see my ID?”

  He held up a palm. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “If we’re done with the drama, let’s go back to you being his target. I can only think of two ways he could have singled you out. First, he saw you pick up the bullet and tracked you that way.”

  Scowling, she fell silent and stared at the wall. Sweetwater admired her ability to shift focus so quickly and tried to wait her out, but when she gave no indication of continuing, he couldn’t stand the suspense anymore.

  “Yeah, and, what’s the second way?”

  “LEI has a mole.”

  “How do I respond to that?” Sweetwater said.

  “Frankly, I have no idea. This is off the charts. I was expecting to find out almost anything, except that somebody slipped through LEI’s security protocols. But that would also explain your fingerprint. If they hacked the database, they could also tamper with my access and substitute yours for somebody else’s. I’ve gotta call the BB.”

  “The what?”

  “Not a ‘what,’ a ‘who.’ The BB, the British Bitch…Cynthia Witherbot.”

  That brought him up straight. Had Sweetwater called her that in front of Warden? He didn’t remember doing so. And her first name was Cynthia? Did he know that already? He also couldn’t think of how to ask if he’d been indiscreet, but then she saved him the trouble.

  “That’s what everybody at LEI calls her. Honestly, I think she likes it.”

  She held up a finger to stop him from replying, pulled out her phone, and called the British Bitch to let her know they’d been compromised.

  Again.

  The Kremlin, LEI Worldwide Corporate Headquarters, Dallas, Texas

  The assistant director of operations ended the call and eyed the Kremlin without turning her head. She’d been about to go home, having worked nearly 22 hours straight at that point, but news of a mole confirmed her worst fears. It had to be dealt with at once, without delay, and the first step was to issue a contract for the guilty party. She couldn’t fill in the name yet, but Cynthia Witherbot had a strong suspicion that when she could, the name would be Mickey Hallum.

  The rifle blasted away, set to full automatic. A man in camo jumped out from behind a pile of crates, aiming directly at him, but Erebus was faster. He swung the big ring sight onto the bad guy’s center of mass and fired, and watched his tracers vaporize the guy into scattered pixels. Then he pushed pause.

  The time on Erebus’ phone read 2:43 am. Sleep had been hard to come by ever since he’d seen Grace Allen die, but sitting on the roof all the previous night, then following the guy in the truck, seeing him live through the crash, and missing another chance to kill him at the restaurant—it was all too much for his system. Exhaustion dulled his mind, yet he was restless, like that time he’d taken steroids because of poison ivy and didn’t sleep for a week. He played the game by reflex. It wasn’t fun like it used to be, and Erebus thought he knew why; once you experienced the high of blowing away real people, in real life, their electronic surrogates in a video game no longer provided the same excitement.

  After thinking about it all day and night, Erebus had discovered that he liked killing people. Unlike math, which had a relentless logic that had always appealed to his orderly mind, eliminating bad people had a visceral thrill unlike anything he’d ever known. Not only was he making the world a better place, but shooting Bonney and his whore had been fun.

  Now he had a new target: the guy in the truck, Luther Sweetwater. And, surprise, surprise, he was also part of Grace Allen’s death. This Sweetwater guy had been some sort of apprentice Shooter, and even though Bonney was listed as the actual killer, Sweetwater had somehow been part of it.

  Things just had a way of working out. He and Herbert wanted to kill every licensed killer, first in Memphis, and then everywhere. Sweetwater would have been on the list anyway, but now God had dropped him into their laps, and they could both get their revenge. Erebus for the woman he loved, and Herbert for his mother. It was all so perfect, and now Sweetwater was about to discover the truth of the old saying. Karma really was a bitch.

  “Luther, wakey-wakey.
”

  Warden stood beside the bed, calling down to him. Sweetwater reached up and rubbed his face, to find his pillow damp with drool.

  “What time is it?” Sweetwater rolled onto his back and stretched. He was reaching for the wall when Warden’s hand came down with a hard slap right in the middle of his belly. He bolted into a sitting position with a cough.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Let’s go! We’ve got actionable intel in the form of Erebus’ address. Get ready, it’s time for you to go to work.”

  “Actionable intel?” he asked, while rubbing his eyes. “Did you get that off TV?”

  “I’m a reader, not a watcher. Hurry up.”

  “Did you sleep?”

  “I’ll do that ten minutes after you put a bullet into Adrian Erebus’ head. For which you’ll now be paid, by the way. You have a contract for him. Now, let’s go.”

  Sweetwater stood.

  “Did you get through to the British Bitch?”

  “Oh yeah, and she wasn’t happy. But finding the mole will take time. They can’t let him or her know they’ve been discovered, otherwise they might cover their tracks, and LEI needs to seal this off before they can do even more damage. Who knows what else they’ve disclosed? But she doubts the fingerprint results were compromised.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Not according to her, it’s not. She said there’s one possibility you may have overlooked. Did you receive a pistol when you went after Grace Allen Tarbeau?”

  Sweetwater blinked twice before answering. “The Sig.”

  “Chambered in 9mm. The same that put down Bonney and his girlfriend.”

  “Fuck. He was there. Erebus was in Dallas when Grace Allen died. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”

  “Looks that way, yeah. You could summon Tarbeau and ask.”

  “Like hell I can.”

  “But you can.”

  “I’m not convinced they’re even real, and if they are, I sure as hell don’t know how to summon them. And on top of all that, I don’t want to! My mom is a religious woman, and she didn’t bring me up to commune with the dead. That’s a mortal sin, so forget that. Besides, we don’t need any more proof that Erebus got the gun in Dallas. Nothing else makes sense.”

  “Guns aren’t my thing, but would it still work after being dropped from such a tall building?”

  “I don’t know, but he could’ve gotten it fixed. Is there any coffee left?”

  “There’s a machine at the end of the hall.”

  “I hate machine coffee.”

  “You offered it to me earlier.”

  “I know.”

  She laughed at that. “You’re not quite the dumbass you want people to believe.”

  “I don’t want anybody to think that!” Especially not really cute girls my own age.”

  “Get us some coffee, big boy. I can take it if you can.”

  “But it’s so bad.”

  “Embrace the suck, Marine.”

  Chapter 19

  Midtown Memphis, TN

  The Prius glided to a stop in an old residential neighborhood where bars were bolted over windows on every house and piles of refuse lined the curb. A couple bags of garbage had been ripped open as if by animal claws—probably raccoons, Sweetwater thought—and their contents littered the street and clogged the gutter drains. There was a run of oily water in the gutters.

  Sweetwater opened the door and felt the cold air suck away his breath. Damn, he hated winter. They were parked across the street, so he joined Warden, putting the car between them and the house.

  “Think he’s watching us?” she said.

  Something had clicked inside of him the instant he opened the car door. He was in the field again, on the hunt, in the environment he’d twice been trained for, once by the Marines and again by LEI. The hesitant awkwardness he felt around people vanished as his mind went into predator mode.

  “We have to assume he is.” Sweetwater looked at the revolver like he was in a restaurant, and the food didn’t match the photo on the menu. “Why didn’t I bring some hardware when I came to Memphis? I always carry a weapon, always, except today.”

  She shrugged. “Be glad the TSA allows LEI people to bring firearms on commercial aircraft, or we wouldn’t even have that.”

  “I should have bought something heavier on the way over.”

  “At two am?”

  His narrowed glance betrayed the killer within that the Marines had recognized, the drive that got him accepted into Scout Sniper School. It wasn’t killing people that bothered him about LEI, it was killing people his personal moral code didn’t think deserved it. With Adrian Erebus, however, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

  “Shooters know people,” he said. “Day or night, it doesn’t matter. I should have brought a better gun.”

  “Fine, you fucked up,” she said, unimpressed by his intensity. “But it’s too late now. If he has seen us and we pull out to go buy some heavy artillery, he’ll be in the wind, and we’ll never find him.”

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  The house was simple brick. Sweetwater guessed it was about as long as his trailer and with a comparably simple layout. The door was in the middle of the wall and a barred window was set on either side, while a wooden garage door with no windows hid whatever was parked inside.

  The sidewalk buckled upward from the roots of an enormous oak tree, with overgrown paving stones leading from the street to a small front porch. Sweetwater headed straight for it; the cold forgotten in the heat of the moment. His right hand gripped the revolver inside his front overcoat pocket. Displaying it openly might give the owner, in case Erebus did not still live there, a defensible reason to shoot him. He was so fixated on watching the windows for signs of a gun pointing his way, that Sweetwater missed when Warden veered off to the left.

  “Over here, cowboy,” she stage-whispered. “The front door is for Jehovah’s Witnesses and bill collectors. What we need is around the back.”

  Great, he thought, in through the back door. Now Erebus could kill them and the cops wouldn’t blink an eye. Not that they would have anyway.

  The back of the house was just as simple, one door accessed by two concrete steps, framed on either side by barred windows. Warden took the steps carefully, as one corner had fallen away, and cracks made them appear unstable. She twisted the doorknob. Turning to Sweetwater with a quick head shake, she pulled a small black leather case from the breast pocket of her jacket.

  Opening it, she pulled out two thin strips of metal, stuck one in her mouth, and held it between her lips. She dropped to one knee, bringing her eye even with the door handle.

  “Yes,” she mumbled around the lock pick in her mouth.

  He kept his own voice low and the pistol ready. “I didn’t say anything.”

  Warden took the pick from her mouth and alternated working it with one she already had inserted. Her gaze never left the lock.

  “You were going to ask me if I knew how to do this.”

  “I was?”

  “You were, and I answered yes. You never know what skills you’ll need on this job—wait…damn, I almost had it.” She stuck her tongue between her teeth and tilted her head to one side. A few seconds later, she pinched both picks in one hand and twisted the knob. The door opened an inch. Standing, she slipped the lockpicks back into their case and into her jacket, and then stepped aside.

  “After you, Marine.”

  “And here I thought I was just arm candy.”

  “That’s me; you’re the gofer.”

  Sweetwater pulled out the pistol and entered the house, gun at high ready, finger on the trigger instead of the guard. He’d been drilled and drilled that you only did that when a shooting could be imminent, which it probably was. The screen door had squealed when he eased it open, exactly like the one on the back of his mom’s house where he grew up. More than once as a teenager he’d tried to sneak inside after curfew, and becaus
e of that damned door she’d caught him every time. Now it happened again, except, instead of facing his mother’s wrath, he might have to face a killer.

  Once inside, he put his back against the inner wall and shut the door. That shut off the only illumination, since heavy curtains blocked the room’s windows. It also left Warden outside, where she should be safe.

  He was in the kitchen and, based on what he’d assumed about Erebus, it threw him. The counters were cleared off, the sink was empty, and the only thing out of place were some papers sitting on the kitchen table. Slowly, he moved to clear the house as he’d been taught.

  A small den off the kitchen was barren except for a recliner, flat screen TV, and a gaming system with multiple controllers. There were no snack bags, soda cans, ashtrays, or any of the typical detritus of a video gamer. Sweetwater found that weird, but he couldn’t stop to worry about it, and kept moving through the house. As he passed the front door, he noticed that it had a chain and more than one deadbolt. He smiled at the stupidity of blockading the front door but not the back.

  A short hallway led to a small bathroom, which was empty save for a toothbrush and tube of paste sitting in a glass, and a bar of soap resting on the sill of the tub. He went back to the hallway and crept toward the last room, ready to shoot, drop, or roll. The door was closed. He stood to one side and reached for the handle. He forced himself to take three deep, silent breaths before he slowly turned the knob and gave it a soft push.

  Sweetwater stayed behind the wall, bracing the pistol with both hands. He stepped back, listened, and dove into the open doorway, barrel first. Nothing happened.

  Dim moonlight filtered past closed curtains and hinted at forms in the darkness. Feeling exposed, Sweetwater took two steps forward. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was spartan. A mattress and box spring lay against the far wall, with the sheets and blankets drawn tight and a single pillow perfectly centered eight inches from the far end. Not a crease marred the surface of the pillowcase. It wasn’t pass-inspection-Marine-boot-camp good, but it was close.