Dagger

Coupling Night had been the last straw. I’d hoped to keep Malchevsky near enough that I could easily spring the trap when I was ready, but far enough away that he wouldn’t get close to Whitney. There was even some concern for Tiffany in my plans, although she had been routinely dragging him in and defying our wishes. She was hell-bent on being rebellious. She’d exposed her own sister to danger, whether it was knowingly or not, and now it was my turn to take things in hand.

It had been eating at me ever since we’d bought the house. I’d had a glimpse of what life could be for us, and that’s when I realized that Malchevsky had to be out of circulation for us to move in and live in peace. I had to carry out my promise to Tim and take care of Whitney at the same time.

When Malchevsky had gestured so lewdly to Whitney at the Coupling Night, the bell had rung. There was nothing holding me back. I wished I could have told Whitney before I left, but I knew she’d try to stop me. The only way to handle this was to disappear and explain it when I came back.

Malchevsky left without waiting for Tiffany. He knew his cover had expired and that I’d be on his tail. I’d had my security people tap his phone, put tracking devices on his shoes and belt, his car, and finally plant bugs throughout his apartment. The man was more trackable than a hurricane on radar—and I held the keys.

I’d rented a shoddy apartment directly across the street from his. I could watch him through the window. Over the past few days I’d surreptitiously stocked the apartment with food supplies, a cot, a camera with a telephoto lens, and the Dear Santa envelope Tom had sent me. Inside was the evidence I needed.

I’d been planning to keep an eye on Malchevsky for a few days, getting to know his habits so I could decide on a good time to confront him and take him in. There was no way I could have been prepared for the activity in his apartment. Roughly twenty people could be seen entering and leaving his apartment in any one day. I knew he was most likely dealing drugs there on behalf of his Russian Mafia friends.

There was one person, though, who concerned me. Tiffany was a regular, but she generally appeared just after dark and left first thing in the morning. That was predictable.

***

The day when I’d decided to take down Malchevsky had come. Common sense told me to hand him over to the police and get out of the way, but it was important to me that it was done by my own hand. My plan was to catch up to him outside his apartment and invite him for a beer, suggesting that there was a better deal on the table if he promised to leave Whitney and Tiffany alone. That made it strictly a man-to-man proposition, and I knew he could appreciate that. He’d know that I’d found where he lived, and if he refused, I’d shut down his apparently lucrative business.

I watched for a long time to make sure no one had gone up. I tapped his cell number and when he answered, I said simply, “It’s Dagger. Meet me downstairs.”

He said nothing, his mind likely whirling as he considered his possible options. I disconnected before he could propose an alternative. I didn’t want to discuss alternatives—he needed to feel trapped.

I went down to the street and hung back in the early evening shadows next to a nearby building. My trained senses were on high alert. I could smell the sun-heated asphalt of the street and heard two crows arguing in a tree nearby. I noticed the faded spatter on the sidewalk where some drunk had puked. I heard his building door close and he came out, his stance defensive and his head cocked to listen for whatever might be approaching.

“Hello, Malchevsky,” I said, coming up behind him. He swung around, his shoulders hunched forward into a fighting stance.

Keeping one hand in my pocket, I held the other up, palm facing him. “Don’t worry, I’m alone. I have another proposition for you. The last one fell apart. Let me buy you a beer down at the corner and we can talk about it. All out in the open.”

He cocked his head, trying to find the angle in what I was offering. “What kind of deal?”

“Don’t want to talk about it out here. It’s better than the last one. You forced me to raise the stakes.” I could see the glimmer of pride in his eyes. I was verbally allowing him to dominate, and men like Malchevsky couldn’t resist that power.

“Okay… we’ll walk,” he agreed, and I gave him the go ahead sweep of my arm.

The sidewalk was wide, intended to allow bikes to ride side by side. We kept to our individual edges, but even so the tension between us was palpable. The bar was only five houses down the street. There’d been no logical reason for him to drive. It was how I had it planned.

“So, what’s the deal?” he asked again.

I shook my head. “Not here, at the bar.”

“I don’t trust you. You may have friends in the bar,” he muttered, and as I opened my mouth to deny that, he struck.

Malchevsky’s hand came out of his pocket, a blade in his balled fist. He raised his hand and came down at me in an arm’s-length arc. My instincts had been on alert and I jumped clear, but he caught my left arm, slashing through my coat and into my flesh down its entire length. I flinched from the pain, and blood began spurting, shooting over my clothes and down my leg. I couldn’t risk the time to look downward, but I suspected he’d hit an artery.

I had my own dagger in my pocket, and it flashed out, catching him in the jugular. I’d never been a cut-and-thrust kind of guy—with a knife I aimed to kill. He went down, his eyes jittery and rolling around as he realized his fate. His hand came up to staunch the blood draining from his neck, but in a matter of moments, his eyes went still and cold. My job was done.

That was also when my world went black.

***

I could smell coffee, and I heard a river of murmuring voices flowing around me. My head and arm hurt, and I kept my eyes closed, sorting out where I was and what was going on. Eventually, I realized it was a hospital and the coffee was close by—someone was in the room with me.

I cracked my eyes slightly, letting them acclimate to the light. I was drawing blanks on how I’d come to be there. All I knew was there was pain. I let sleep take me back to where it was quiet and safe.

The next time I awakened, the room was dark, save for the glow of a television screen suspended from the ceiling. There were women screaming at one another in the show, and their shrieks hurt my head. I lifted my hand to rub my temple, but it was restrained by several wires and leads, apparently connected to medical monitors.

A shape moved in the corner. It grew larger as it came toward me. I watched, my sense of alarm growing. It was a woman, about thirty, with splotchy bleached hair and a nice figure. She slumped as she walked, and I knew she’d been around. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. “How ya doing, Dagger? Are you in a lot of pain? Let me get the doctors,” she said, her eyes filled with an odd concern.

“Who are you?” I heard my voice rasp. “Do I know you?” She certainly wasn’t dressed like a nurse.

My question surprised her because she straightened up, that odd look still in her eyes. “You don’t know? You don’t remember me?”

I shook my head, but it made the pain intensify, so I whispered, “No.”

A sly grin crossed her face just before it returned to pseudo-concern. “I’m Tiffany, your fiancée. Don’t you remember me?”

My fiancée? Why didn’t I remember her? Surely to God I would remember someone I was going to marry? Apparently not. “What happened to me?”

She leaned closer. “Do you remember Malchevsky?”

I shook my head and waited.

She was thinking, I could tell by the delay of her response. “He was some jerk who had it in for you. I saw the whole thing. I was in your apartment when you went down to your car and he jumped you, sliced you with a knife. That’s why your arm hurts. You lost a lot of blood and passed out, and I saw your head bounce off the sidewalk when you fell. That’s why your head hurts. The doctor said you might have a small concussion, but nothing that won’t resolve itself. But before that you stabbed Malchevsky back, in the neck—killed him. The police came, but I vouched for you that it was self-defense. There might be some charges, but I don’t think so. The cops seemed to know him, and they acted like he was no loss and they were glad to be rid of him. So I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Good,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, touching her hand to my brow.

“We were going to get married the next day, you know. We bought a house along the lakeshore, north of here. Nothing elaborate—the wedding, that is. Justice of the Peace, and that’s all we want. So at least there wasn’t any big event to cancel, and soon as they spring you from here, we’ll go get it done. I’ll look after you from now on, especially during your recuperation.”

“Okay,” I whispered, but I was buying time. I didn’t feel anything for this woman next to me. I wasn’t about to marry someone I didn’t recognize, but I’d play along until I figured it out. I had a niggling worry about something muffled in the back of my head, but it wasn’t this woman. She didn’t even look like someone I’d be attracted to, but I must have been. I went back to sleep.