Ramen Assassin

by Rhys Ford

  “You just like him because with him around you don’t have to cook.” Kimber smirked.

  “No, although that is awesome,” he conceded. “To tell the truth, he makes me feel safe—not physically, but that too, but like inside—and I haven’t felt that way in a long time. Maybe never. My biggest worry is I feel more for him than he feels for me, but I’m not ready to poke at that.”

  “From where I’m standing, he likes you a lot,” Kimber replied. “He keeps saving your life, so I guess that’s got to count for something.”

  Packing didn’t take long. Mostly, he’d needed to go back to the bungalow, wanting to put the events into some perspective and, in a way, say goodbye to Sera. The brief phone call he had with her mother was long enough for Trey to know he wasn’t welcome at her funeral, and he’d shouldered the blame for Sera’s death willingly. His father made some noise about monetary compensation, a material salve for his conscience, but her family hadn’t wanted a dime. Nothing the Bishop family said or did would bring back the vivacious, beautiful woman who’d been a good friend to him, and now Trey truly understood what he’d lost. It hurt not to have her there to tease him or to admonish him when he went running at two o’clock in the morning.

  The only thing he could hope for now was to help bring the person who’d killed her to justice and not get himself killed in the process.

  A car driving up through the gravel caught Trey’s attention, pulling him from the excavation of his refrigerator. Kimber put down the garbage bag she’d been holding open for him, folding over the end so they didn’t have to smell the rotting head of cabbage he discovered in his vegetable drawer. He was about to get up from his crouch when Kimber put a steadying hand on his back, murmuring for him to stay there, safely hidden behind the broad island.

  “Were you expecting anyone?” She reached under her jacket, probably for the gun in her holster.

  “No,” Trey responded, trying to straighten up, but Kimber pressed harder. “It’s probably the old lady next door. She’s really nosy and—”

  “Stay down,” she insisted, drawing her weapon. “Right now, I’m not trusting anyone. And that includes nosy little old ladies.”

  “Hello?” The front door creaked open, and tentative footsteps on the front stoop crunched through a bit of gravel the gardeners couldn’t sweep away because the house had been a crime scene. A tanned older man with a flowing mane of gray hair stepped through the doorway, his eyes lighting up when he spotted Kimber. “Ah, Detective Bishop! I don’t know if you remember me, I am—”

  “Stuart Gilder,” Kimber finished. She kept her weapon to the side but took her hand off of Trey’s back. “We’ve met a few times. You’re the Mathers’s lawyer. David, or so it appears. We still haven’t worked out all of the details on that. You’ve been a hard man to get ahold of. Funny, you turning up here.”

  “I actually spoke to your sister Scooter just a little while ago, and she told me you were here. Since it was on my way home, I thought I would stop in and check up on your brother.” From Trey’s vantage point, he saw Gilder take a step forward. Then the man turned, his hand on the interior knob. Kimber shifted, blocking Trey’s view, and he pushed at his sister’s thigh, his legs cramping. “I thought Trey was with you. Did you come alone?”

  “I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” Kimber replied, keeping her right side canted back, hiding her weapon. “I left quite a few messages at your office, and every time I tried to find you at home, I was told you were out. The last I heard from you was your voicemail telling me all of us inherited from the Mathers’s estate. I would’ve thought you’d be eager to get ahold of me.”

  “About that,” Gilder said pleasantly, but there was something in his voice Trey didn’t like. “There seems to have been a mistake. From what I can see, you won’t be inheriting anything. I’ve worked far too hard to let any of you take what’s mine.”

  “Fuck!” Trey’s chin hit the floor when Kimber shoved him down. “What the hell?”

  His lip ground against the slick surface, a bit of grit working its way over his tongue, reminding him he hadn’t swept properly in weeks. He was about to get back up when Gilder began firing the gun he’d been hiding behind the partially open door.

  Before Trey could fully comprehend what was going on, he was back on that fateful day he lost Sera.

  Except this time, he was going to lose Kimber too.

  The gunfire was less erratic, but in the close confines of the front room, every shot shook the walls. Scrambling to stay behind the island, Trey caught a bit of tile shards across his cheek when a bullet aimed at his head struck the floor next to him. Sliding alongside Kimber, he pulled his legs up, unsure about what to do.

  Kimber returned Gilder’s fire, popping up over the counter to get off a shot, when her body jerked and she tumbled back down. Trey reached for her, but she shook him off, reassuring him she was okay.

  Trey didn’t believe her.

  His sister glanced at him, her eyes tight with pain. Her shoulder was wet, her dark gray jacket turning maroon along her arm, and she switched her gun to her left hand, peeking around the island to fire. She shook as she took aim, resting all of her weight on one knee, but the blackened hole in her arm seemed to be swallowed up by the amount of blood pouring out of it.

  “You’ve got nowhere to go,” Gilder yelled across the room. “I’ve got two guns here and a man outside going around the back. You’re not going to get out of here.”

  “There’s no way you’re going to get away with this,” Kimber shouted, nudging Trey back with her foot when he crept forward. “Someone’s probably calling the cops right now.”

  “It won’t take me that long to kill you,” Gilder said. “Kiss your brother goodbye, Detective. Because when I’m done with you, everyone is going to think you killed him when those men who shot at him the first time showed back up. It’ll be very sad. Trey killed by friendly fire and you eating your gun in remorse.”

  “Like anyone’s going to believe that,” Trey muttered under his breath. Checking his pockets, he cursed, remembering he’d left his phone on the coffee table by the couch. “Let me see if I can get to the landline.”

  “You move one inch and I’ll clock you over the head.” His sister struggled to reload, her hands shaking. “Stay down and wait right here.”

  “Shit,” Trey said with a grin. “Kuro! I’ve got something that can help.”

  “Kuro is not going to come rescue us,” Kimber growled, slamming the clip in finally. “Crap, he’s moving around. Stay on the opposite side of the island. Do not approach him.”

  There were sounds coming from the bedroom, of something crashing through probably what was left of the outer wall. Kimber stiffened, tilting her head up toward the noise, but Trey was already on the move. Digging through the cabinet on the side of the island, he found what he was looking for, the flat paddle cast-iron skillet Sera brought and Kuro used to cook the duck on. He’d cleaned it as best he could, hoping to return the pan in pristine condition when he saw Sera again, but they’d both forgotten about it, wrapped up in the investigation.

  It’d been too long since he picked up the skillet, and Trey nearly dropped it on the floor, needing to grab it with both hands to get it out of the cabinet. There were now shouts coming from the other room, and he froze, conflicted between continuing around the island and staying at Kimber’s side.

  Gilder made that decision for him. The man rushed the kitchen, both of his hands gripping deadly-looking guns, his fingers pressing against the triggers repeatedly, shooting up everything in front of him. As Trey squatted at the edge of the island, he saw Gilder’s eyes go wide when he spotted Trey, then the lawyer’s closest gun swept to the left, aiming straight for Trey’s head.

  He’d learned some of the stupidest things on a television set. Trey knew how to jumpstart a motorcycle, do card tricks, pratfall on a banana skin, but most of all he’d mastered the perfect fight roll. It was something silly the stunt people
showed him, how to tuck his body in until he resembled an armadillo, then come back up as if he were shooting a phaser at a hostile alien. It was a cliché he’d enjoyed learning, making a game of spotting the maneuver in every action film he’d ever seen.

  It was exactly the skill needed now, and instead of coming up to shoot a phaser, he instead flung the six-pound flat cast-iron skillet straight at Gilder’s head.

  Much like he’d also learned how to throw a knife in the general direction of someone’s body.

  The skillet wobbled as it flew, but he had enough upper body strength to make it go exactly as far as it needed to.

  The shoulder still ached from the graze he’d taken on the day of the shooting, and something popped when he finally let go of the cast iron, but elation struck him before the pain did. The skillet hit Gilder in the throat and the man’s head snapped back, his flowing silver hair ruffling around his face like tinsel caught in the wind. Kimber took advantage of the distraction and stood up and punched three holes through Gilder’s chest.

  Gilder gasped, staggering back with his arms flung out on either side, a mockery of a crucifix hanging in midair for a split second before he tumbled to the ground. It seemed to take forever before he hit the floor, and the back of the bungalow sounded as if there was an army of men rushing toward them.

  Trey scurried over toward Gilder, grabbing one of the guns from the dying man’s hand as soon as it was in reach. Everything he knew about weapons was more for show, but he didn’t have time to debate with Kimber about anything other than keeping them alive.

  “Kick the other one over towards me,” Kimber mumbled, her normally strong voice hoarse and weak. “He’s not dead yet.”

  Trey kicked at the gun, seeing it go wide, but Kimber stopped it with her foot. After edging around the island, Trey waited, hearing his sister struggling to breathe a few feet away from him. Fear turned spit in his mouth to a cloying viscosity he couldn’t seem to swallow, and his lungs were full of the scent of blood and gunpowder, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off of the front door.

  “No matter what happens,” Kimber choked out. “I’m proud of you, baby brother. You did good today.”

  He didn’t have time to answer her. To be fair, he couldn’t find any words to respond, but life wasn’t giving him the chance either. The archway separating the bedroom from the front space suddenly filled with a large, mean-looking man, his hand wrapped around one of the biggest guns Trey had ever seen, its black muzzle pointed straight at them.

  If he lived past that moment, Trey knew he would be able to describe every inch of skin on the man’s face. A bristled mane of coarse auburn hair seemed to sprout straight from his skull, the ends growing heavier a few inches away from his high forehead. His eyebrows were darker, a pair of deep brown bushes growing over his narrowed dark eyes, and a thick beard obscured most of his lower face, but there was enough to see of his ruddy features to embed him into Trey’s memory.

  The man was massive, larger than the staff member at the gym who’d betrayed them, and when he saw Kimber rise up from behind the island, her left hand quaking from the weight of Gilder’s gun, he grinned malevolently, his yellowed teeth peeking out from behind his cracked lips.

  “Oh, I’m going to have fun with you before I kill you,” he said, his words thick with an accent Trey couldn’t recognize. “Right after I kill your baby brother.”

  “I don’t think so,” Kuro said, kicking the front door open the rest of the way.

  As gunfights went—and Trey had enough experience over the last few weeks to have an opinion on gunfights—this one seemed to be much shorter than any he’d had the misfortune of being a part of before. It wasn’t something he mourned. All in all, a short few seconds of gunfire seemed to be exactly the right length, especially when it was Kuro doing the shooting.

  Trey didn’t know until right at that moment that brains didn’t fly as far as blood did when bullets went through a skull.

  If anything, it took the bearded man a long time to fall, much longer than Gilder, and oddly enough, the world seemed to be getting fuzzier, its sounds drifting away. He heard Kuro calling his name, then felt the shock of Kuro’s warm hands on his arms, feeling almost as if Kuro set his skin on fire.

  Then he was pulled into Kuro’s embrace and the world snapped back into normal, screeching and caterwauling with the sounds of police sirens and the murmur of Russian spilling from Tatiana’s mouth as she stroked Kimber’s hair.

  “Glad you could make it.” Trey laughed, deeply inhaling Kuro’s masculine scent. “I ran out of skillets to throw. I was going to have to toss the toaster next, but how was I going to get him into a bathtub full of water?”

  “I don’t understand a thing coming out of your mouth,” Kuro said. “But I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “Thanks for saving me,” he murmured, tightening his arms around Kuro’s waist. They were on the floor, curled up around each other, and Trey had no intention of moving. “I thought I was going to die. I thought we were going to die.”

  “Never,” Kuro whispered, tilting Trey’s chin up with his fingertips. Brushing his mouth over Trey’s lips, he deepened their touch into a soulful kiss, soothing the jitters in Trey’s belly. “I made you a promise to keep you safe. And when I make promises, they’re good for a lifetime.”

  Epilogue

  “IT’S KIND of funny, me moving into a place two blocks away and I’m still over at your house having dinner,” Trey pointed out, giving Yuki a stroke along her spine as she walked across their laps to get to the other side of the couch. “Of course, not that I’m complaining. I’ll take you making me pad thai over a microwave pizza any day.”

  “You also don’t have any food at your place,” Kuro reminded, scratching at his cat’s head. “I’m not sure that loft even has a kitchen. I didn’t see it behind all of the boxes we carried up the stairs. Next time, make sure you find a place with a working elevator.”

  “The building was cheap, and the elevator guy was trying his best. Besides, I only have one flight of stairs. You live three stories up.” He groaned, stretching out his legs. If there was one thing that made the meal perfect, it was being able to lean against Kuro after he was done eating. “If ever I can’t go on a run again, I’m just going to go up and down your stairs a few times.”

  “So long as you stop by periodically to give me a kiss, then that’s okay,” Kuro murmured, pressing his lips gently on Trey’s temple. “Is your dad going to rebuild the bungalow?”

  “He offered, but I think it’s best if it’s torn down,” he replied. “And honestly? I think it’s time for me to move on. I’ve been walking in circles for the past couple of years, and I think it’s time I made a few decisions about what I’m going to do with my life.”

  “What did you decide?” Kuro’s fingers trailed up and down Trey’s side and he worked his shoulders back, nestling into the crook of Kuro’s arm. “Other than not buying food ever again so I have to cook you dinner every night.”

  “It’s actually not a bad plan,” Trey said, tilting his head back to look up at the man who’d been with him through the worst times in his life. “I was actually thinking about going back to work. Maybe seeing if someone will take a chance on me. Other people have made comebacks. I kinda miss acting. I also kind of miss being in gunfights that aren’t real, but mostly I just miss acting.”

  “I caught the first episode of the show you were on when you were a kid while Kimber was in surgery.” Kuro laughed when Trey grimaced at him. “Don’t make that face, you’re good. And that show was pretty brutal. In a way, it sort of prepared you for the Mathers thing.”

  “Everything I did was make-believe. Gilder… nothing in the world could have prepared me for him.” He swallowed the bit of sour coming up from his stomach, refusing to allow the dead lawyer any space in his life. “He kills one guy and convinces another to get surgery to look like his twin only so he can help build up a company just to drain it? He played hot potato wit
h Robert’s body for years because he did need his fingerprints, then has David killed because he was cracking under the pressure of being Robert. That’s crazy.”

  “David apparently believed you really were Robert’s son.” Kuro shrugged. “You start to get older and regrets begin to creep into your head. Maybe he thought he needed to make amends. He went off the rails with starting to change Robert’s will and holdings and there wasn’t anything Gilder could do but kill him. Guy was probably just hoping you were still too far into the hole to care who managed the company.”

  “But why not go out and start your own company? Gilder, I mean. He should have taken what money was there and gone. Why all of this elaborate planning just to kill me?”

  “Because everything was in a trust from Mathers’s father.” Kuro gave in to Yuki’s nudging, using his other hand to scratch at her nose. “He was trying to find a way to crack into the bulk of the estate, thinking David would go along with anything he said, but eventually, every man has his breaking point, and David couldn’t handle being a part of his brother’s death. You’ve got to remember, every time they needed identity verification, they had to thaw out Robert. It’s one thing to kill a man, but it’s another having to face the fact you killed your own family, especially when the man who helped you murder your brother insists on you being there every time his body is needed for something.”

  “Best way to make sure he’s implicated, right?” Trey shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever kill someone. I mean, I guess I tried to kill Gilder with the skillet, but I was protecting Kimber. I don’t know if I could just shoot someone.”

  “For some people it’s harder than others,” Kuro replied, grunting slightly as Yuki trod back over them. “Sit down, cat. You’ve got very sharp little feet.”