Blinding pain knocked every color out of his eyes. All that was left was white. There was a ringing that deafened him as he fell to the ground. His hand shot up to his head and he felt blood trickling through the broken skin. The police officer had just slammed the butt of his gun into his head.
“I've got a suspect resisting arrest,” the officer said into the small radio on his shoulder. “Backup is requested at the corner of Elite and Marble.”
Andy groaned and clutched at his wound while the officer stepped over to him and pointed his gun in his face.
“Get up!” he commanded.
Fight or flight. That's all that ran through Andy's mind at that movement. One unfavorable movement, however, and Andy had no doubt that this upholder of peace and justice would unload his magazine on him, slaying him in the street for cutting him off in traffic. Then cracking jokes. Seemed such a powerful insult to impotent jar heads, Andy mused. Although he suspected something greater at play.
He had his three-eighty auto. Silenced. He could kill this man without him even knowing. But then what? A dead police officer and half-finished reports that describe him and the car he drove. The call for backup, as well. If I really want to die, Andy concluded, I'll cross this man again.
“Get UP!” the officer yelled.
Andy managed his way into a standing position and then put his hands down on the hood of Steven's car like he was told. The officer was a little taken aback by Andy's sudden obedience. He hesitated before searching the assassin again. Once he started, it was a small matter of time before he found the silenced pistol holstered on his shoulder.
“Suspect is armed,” the officer murmured into his radio. He removed the pistol from Andy's holster and threw it into the street.
“Hey,” Andy started to protest, “I do have a license for that.”
“I don't see a license,” the officer retorted.
“Of course not,” Andy said, moving with the officer's nudges to turn around. “See, you normally would ask for one and I would show it to you. See, it's right here – ” Andy pulled out his wallet.
“Don't fucking move!” the officer screamed at him. “You are under arrest for hitting a police vehicle, resisting arrest, assault of a police officer, and concealing an unlicensed firearm.” The cop started handcuffing Andy.
“Are you serious?” Andy said, losing his cynical grasp of humor and coming close to blinding psychotic anger.
“Get in the back,” the cop demanded as he drug him to the undamaged police cruiser and opened the door.
Andy obeyed, but before the door closed, said, “I hope you die painfully and unnaturally.”
A kick to the head. Elegant practice of the law.
“Do you need any help making your stupid fake wounds look real?” Andy called from inside the car once he recovered. “I'd love to help! I'll beat your ass to death!”
A second police car pulled up and the arresting officer and his backup talked together for a moment. The corrupt mustachio chatted on and on while the other officer listened patiently, nodding. They both seemed to come to some sort of mutual agreement and Andy's least favorite cop in the world climbed into the driver's seat. Neither of them spoke to each other as the car flared up and drove them down to the Lumnin Police Department, further up Elite Street.
He was pulled from the back of the vehicle and led in through the offices until he was placed in a small interrogation room with an Asian officer in round glasses. The arresting officer closed the door behind him and leaned up against the wall.
“Andy Winter, is that right?” the Asian officer asked him.
“No,” Andy replied. “It's Summers. Where did you get Winter from?”
“Can I see his ID?” the interrogator asked the arresting officer.
The volatile man produced Andy's wallet and threw it onto the table. He stared at the back of Andy's head.
“Is he going to stay in here?” Andy asked the Asian man. “His advances toward me are starting to make me uncomfortable. Flattered though I am.”
The arresting officer roared some sort of bestial noise and jerked forward, but was stopped by the Asian officer's gesture to calm. “Please speak only when spoken to, Mr. Winter,” he said. The white officer pouted and reclaimed his unprofessional lean on the wall.
“It says Summers,” Andy repeated.
“I know what it says,” the cop replied.
Andy sat back in his seat, realization washing over him. His minor inklings had grown into confirmed suspicions. The more he understood, the more he seethed with hatred. The less attacking these corrupt pigs seemed like a bad idea to him. His fate seemed to be sealed. The Asian officer produced Andy's three-eighty auto and set it on the table.
“Is this your firearm?” he asked. His eyes were piercing.
Andy gritted his teeth, almost ready to clam up and say nothing more. To become immovable. “How's Leroy Graves?” he asked.
“I'm sorry?” the interrogating officer replied, glancing up to the arresting officer. He had put his hand on his holster but hesitated.
Andy sat forward. “You can tell him that the deadline is not up,” he started through clenched teeth.
“Flynn has finished her report,” the police officer replied. “It's no doubt already been sent.”
“But she has physical evidence that she's bringing in person,” Andy explained. “Something important.” The man seated across from him said nothing. He just watched him coldly. Andy was half angry and half scared. He pleaded. “I have yet to act for or against Decree – ”
The Asian officer slapped him. Andy had little expectation of this and even the arresting officer seemed surprised. “Do not say anything that will get you in any more trouble than you are already in,” he ordered.
There was silence. “What are you going to do to me?” Andy asked, his voice hissing.
“That's not up to us,” the arresting officer said from behind him.
There was a sudden knock on the door.
The person on the other side of it didn't wait for them to answer before opening it wide and stepping through. He was just a few years older than Andy himself but had some light graying at the roots of his hair. His goatee was groomed and his hair combed back with gel. This man drew the attention of everyone in the room.
“What's going on?” he asked both of the officers. “What are you doing?”
“We're processing an arrest,” the white officer told him.
“An arrest?” the bearded man echoed. “For what?”
“You want to see the charges?” the Asian officer asked him, offering the papers that had been sitting before him. The new officer accepted it while the arresting officer rolled his eyes.
His lips moved as he read. “Threatening an officer with a firearm?” he hollered once he was done reading. “Are you serious? How god damn stupid are you?”
“This man is a criminal!” the arresting officer whined.
“I just watched the recording off of your cruiser. You are an idiot. It's clear there is no crime you can charge him with,” the domineering cop ordered to the mustached man.
“You must have seen the speeding,” the arresting officer pleaded.
“Shut up,” the senior officer demanded. “You're fired. I plan to encourage this man to press assault charges on you. Mihn, you're on suspension. I only just started my shift today and I didn't expect to start it cleaning up after you pissants. Get your act together and figure out who you're really working for or you're going to be the one processed.” With that he left the room, slamming the door.
The white officer's mouth hung agape in elusive protest. Words failed him as he looked to Mihn who had bowed his head in shame. Then he looked to Andy. As quietly as he could, he said, “You'll wish it was us who caught you.”
“The deadline isn't up yet. Tell Graves. I have until tomorrow.”
“I'm not saying shit,” the white man who used to be a police office
r said. He nudged into Andy as he left the room.
“I'll do what I can,” Mihn said, not raising his gaze. “You must deliver.”
“I will,” Andy said. Then he left the room.
As he walked out, the senior officer with the beard approached him with his confiscated possessions. He even returned his firearm with its respective license. At this proximity, Andy could finally make out the name on the badge. “Flynn,” he read aloud.
The man smiled in response before leading him through the maze of offices until they were out of a door on the side. He had one of the other cops retrieve Steven's vehicle from the impound, handing the keys over to Andy. The hitman thanked him as he climbed into the car.
“You know, you can't own all of the people all of the time,” Officer Flynn said before shutting Andy's door behind him.
-Chapter Nine-
True Intentions
Andy pulled Steven's car into its driveway while losing his nerve. He was somewhere between wanting to drink himself to death and kill everyone he saw. Luckily, he was only in between.
He stumbled up the stairs, onto the front porch, and against the door. It was unlocked and Steven was in the shower. Andy made his way to the fridge and poured himself a glass of cheap wine before slumping into the armchair. He left everything turned off and just listened to the water running in the bathroom.
Someone had to go in just a few short hours. He would have to kill Haley Flynn or forever watch over his shoulder for Leroy Graves and the men of Decree. He could run, but where? For how long? With as much ease as squashing a bug, Graves could turn Andy into an international fugitive. He killed so many men, done so many horrible things around the globe. Decree had their ways to dissociate themselves with his actions and leave him facing the law on his own. He had no alibi. He only hoped not to be asked.
Steven popped open the bathroom door, buttoning up a green collar shirt. “Andy!” he exclaimed. “You're back. How – ” He looked at his sunken friend who looked like he was trying his hardest to drown in wine. Steven paused for a second, absorbing the scene. “What's wrong?”
“I've duped you,” Andy said, sniffling. Steven stood in the living room looking concerned. “I'm not who you think I am.”
“What do you mean?” Steven chuckled. He was very off ease. “You're not Andy Summers?”
“No,” Andy slurred. “Not exactly. My real name is Andy Winter.”
“Are you being serious?” Steven laughed. He was certain that his leg was being pulled. “That's not even funny.”
“I'm not joking,” Andy stated. “Haley Flynn? Why I'm here?” He waited for Steven to nod, and gulped. “I'm here to kill her.”
Steven chuckled, cutting the noise off awkwardly once Andy's solemn silence highlighted the laughter and revealed its inappropriateness. The color started seeping away from the data collector's face. “Really?” he asked.
Andy drew his gun and tossed it onto the coffee table with a fling. Steven's eyes bulged out of his head at its appearance. Andy could almost hear the man sweating as his opinion of him was rapidly thrown into question. “Every bit of information you and I have been collecting has been for the sole purpose of finding some believable way to murder her so that it looks like an accident,” Andy explained, finding it hard to keep his voice level.
“Are you serious?” Steven repeated.
“I'm a hitman, Steven,” Andy said after a moment of silence. “A murderer.”
“You've killed people?” Steven asked, having a very violent internal battle between seriousness and humor. Both sides were taking heavy losses.
“Yes.”
Terror took over the man. “Jesus Christ!” He began pacing. “Why, Andy? What the hell are you doing, man?”
Andy looked up at him, his tear-filled eyes squinted in confusion. He had no response. Some part of him wished so much that Steven would hit him. That he'd kick him into the street and spit on him. Steven stood in grief. Horrible news had been delivered and he felt like someone who had just been told someone they loved passed, incapable of exhaling.
“What was my role?” Steven asked.
Andy thought about the wording. “I've said. You helped me find her weakness.”
“And what was that?”
“Traffic,” Andy replied. He had only just now thought of it, but he had contemplated his options over and over. Every night, he fell asleep thinking of how to kill Haley Flynn, right down to removing his own element entirely. Making the scene devoid of evidence. It was his nature.
“What?” Steven breathed. Andy could no longer tell if the man was furious or afraid. Or, perhaps, interested.
“We have a lot of evidence that points to her not being the most capable of drivers,” Andy began. The way he spoke scared Steven. He seemed to be thinking aloud. “Didn't you ever see her drive around?”
Still through disgust, Steven thought. “Once,” he replied. “That was only because she had to go out of town and her brother insisted. I've picked up that he has some weird thing about buses. He hates them.”
Andy brightened up. This seemed to unnerve his friend. “Well, see?” Andy started to explain. “She's driving to the airport tomorrow – in just a couple hours.”
“How do you know that?” Steven asked. He was creeped out by his own interest. “Why wouldn't her brother drive her?”
“No, he's working,” Andy replied. “His shift just began.”
Steven's eyes asked questions that Andy never answered. “So what are you saying?” Steven asked. “What is supposed to happen to me, Andy? Is this Graves' plot?”
The hitman ignored him. Perhaps it was the calming buzz of the alcohol but something soothed him and allowed him to think. It kept the horror at bay while he prepared for it. Beckoned it inward.
“Andy?” Steven shouted. He was shaking in place. “Am I supposed to be killed, too? I know too much. I don't want to die, Andy!”
“You were supposed to stay ignorant.” The assassin took another sip.
“Well good damn work making sure that happened!” Steven cried. Then he became even more pale than he already was. He raised his hands to his mouth, his eyes wide. He started backing away from Andy. “You haven't?” his voice quavered. He stopped and looked down at his feet, unsure of himself. “I mean, you didn't just – did you?”
“She's alive,” Andy started, taking another gigantic gulp. He looked up at his only friend in the city of Lumnin who peered at him like he was a monster. “Can't you see what this means? Can you?” he pleaded.
“Yeah, as far as I see,” Steven spat, “you've gotten me killed. What have you – ”
“I am going to die tomorrow,” Andy said, allowing the heavy tear that had piled up on his cornea to fall off and into his glass. “Me or her. One of us will be killed.”
“Are you still going to do it?” Steven asked. “How? I thought you liked her – ”
“I do like her!” he cried. “But if I don't do it, someone else will. She has to die!” He threw his glass at the wall. It cracked anticlimactically and crumpled to the floor by the television. He turned and walked away. He couldn't seem to be able to look at the rest of the room. Once he had collected himself, he went over and began cleaning up the shattered glass. “It should be me,” Andy demanded.
“What about me?” Steven started. “If they come looking for you or her, they're going to come looking for me! What am I supposed to do? Pretend I didn't know?”
“Yes,” Andy hissed. “Like your life depends on it.”
Steven scoffed at the joke. “Andy, I don't know if I can handle this, buddy,” he said. He paced. “I'm not a bad guy, you know. I'm really not. I'm a lot nosier than I ought to be, perhaps a pervert, but I can't deal with killing someone.”
Andy sympathized as much as he could. “Can you deal with dying?” he asked. “That may be your only choice otherwise.”
Steven sat down on the couch and cradled his forehead in his ha
nds. After a silent pause, he asked. “Can you really do it?” He looked over at his new friend, the man who had deceived him. The man he couldn't label as either a companion or an enemy. Would he be safe if it weren't Andy he had to work with? Wouldn't it just be another hitman? Perhaps Andy was the best person for this moment. “Can you really kill Haley and make it look like an accident?”
Andy sighed. He didn't know that himself. He wished there was some way that the problem would go away from him and there would be no lifeless bodies to see anymore. Nothing horrible to hear about and nothing to regret.
No more funerals for Max.
“Give me your notes,” Andy said.
“Sorry?” Steven blinked.
“Your notes on Haley,” Andy elaborated. “Let me look over them.”
With a long pause of hesitation, Steven went back into his room and rummaged around for something. He came back with a crumpled notebook. It was furled around the edges from constant use. Andy took it in silence and then read over the contents. It seemed like hours before he spoke again, startling Steven.
“Cut the brake line,” Andy said. “That's what I'll do. She won't last long on the freeway.” He closed his eyes in pain.
“That's working on sheer chance,” Steven pointed out.
“That's all I can do,” Andy offered, his eyes moist. He rushed to the kitchen and searched the junk drawer until he found a box cutter. He started moving toward the door.
“Andy!” Steven called to him. The assassin turned. “You're too drunk. I'll drive.”
Grateful, Andy nodded his head. He cocked it to the side. “Why help me from here?” he asked.
“Well, to be honest I'm in a lot of trouble,” Steven started. “We're in a lot of trouble. All I know for sure is that I'm glad you are on my side.”
-Chapter Ten-
Deadline
For the final time, they pulled into the alley behind the Five Point apartments. It was still, the lights in the window that belonged to Haley were on but dim. No movement could be seen. Silence settled in the car before Steven broke it.
A Guardian Angel Page 7
