CHAPTER 08 - BARRETT
I stood in the window, watching the street below as cars whizzed by, going about their business. The drivers inside their warm aluminum cocoons didn't know that each of them was being watched by a highly trained mercenary who'd spent years becoming very, very good at picking out the person in the crowd with malevolent intentions and neutralizing them, often with extreme prejudice, before they could harm anyone.
I chuckled as I wondered if any of them felt any slightly increased tension, if the hairs on the back of their necks stood up for no explainable reason, right as they passed though the lens of my scope.
Probably not. Most people were blissfully unaware of the world that moved on and on around them, content to sit at their desks and in their cars and on their couches, willingly or passively ignoring the system that had sprung up around them.
The system that employed people like me to do dirty jobs.
There were times that I envied people who could do that. Once my eyes had been opened I couldn't close them again.
A van pulled up, and my breath hitched as I peered through my scope and watched the driver execute a lazy left turn onto a side street before relaxing, letting the slight tension dissipate from my shoulders and upper arms.
Relax, Barrett. This was a cake walk. Nothing was going to happen. I didn't even know why I was here — this kinda gig didn't really need someone with my particular, uh, skills.
A week had passed since the night with Mallory at Club Vapor, and Tate Norman had me doing routine security stuff, keeping track of various company assets. He never specified what was going on, what we were preparing for.
I might have known that's how he would play it - Tate Norman's style had always been to keep his cards even closer to the vest than his father, which kept the people working for him in line because without seeing the larger picture, they couldn't be sure improvising would help the overall plan.
It was...frustrating, to say the least.
The traffic hit a lull for a moment and I couldn't see anything coming my way for a couple minutes more. Across the street the guys unloaded the truck in broad daylight, casting furtive glances left and right every few seconds, as if at any moment they expected to be set upon by legions of police and federal agents.
It was a bold move, I had to say, conducting a deal like this outside, and just moving containers from the truck to the storefront without much of a care in the world.
I had to hand it to Tate, he didn't think much of law enforcement, and it showed in his methods.
The slack in traffic made my mind wander, and of course, as it had so many times in the last week, I started thinking about Mallory - wondering what she was up to and what she'd thought of our brief night together.
I tried to shake the thoughts away and get back to work, but I already knew that subconsciously I was still watching the truck below as the handlers unpacked it, and that for a few minutes at least nothing was going to get in the way.
I hadn't left a way for her to get in touch with me, but despite that, a part of me wondered if she'd turn the corner and bump into me every time I was walking down the street. It seemed impossible that in a huge metropolitan city like Meridian, two people who had no reason to run into each other would collide like that, and my conscious mind knew that, of course.
But that didn't stop me from standing up a little straighter and breathing in deeply each time I came to a corner, and I caught myself exhaling and sighing each time after I didn't find her walking toward me, a huge smile on her face.
I stood up from where the scope sat in the windowsill, noting that the job was almost done — the handlers were moving the last package into the storefront. Shaking my head once again at the sheer brazenness of Tate's tactics, I looked around the room of the small studio apartment we had rented out a month earlier just for this overwatch purpose.
It was deliberately sparse — just enough furniture to suggest that someone, at some point, may have considered living here, or at least spending one night here. Not much more than a table and chairs, a barely stocked kitchen, and a futon. I wasn't even sure if there were sheets in the closet.
The Norman Corporation had apartments like this all over town, handy to lay low in, and especially useful for watching over deals in progress as well as the movements and actions of potential enemies.
This was all new, of course — old man Norman would never have operated like this.
I packed up the small amount of gear I'd brought with me, mostly snacks, and after looking around one last time to make sure I had gotten everything, I left, satisfied the apartment looked just as un-lived in as it had when I'd entered a few hours earlier.
A job well done.
As I walked down the stairs to the ground floor, my phone buzzed. I sighed; I already knew who was on the other end. After looking around to make sure no one else was around to overhear, I pulled my phone out and answered.
Tate's voice echoed through the speaker. "Barrett? Any issues?"
I had no idea how Tate was able to stay so on top of his operations, clandestine or not. Didn't he also have a legitimate company to run? "No issues, Tate, we're just finishing up. I'm heading back to the Towers now." I got to the building's lobby and out the door onto the street, looking up to see the sky slowly start to darken as the evening approached.
"Change of plans, Barrett."
I stopped, still across the street from the van. The handlers had already piled back in and I could see the driver looking at me, a question on his face. I waved at him to wait, and he shook his head, clearly not pleased that this operation was taking longer than he expected.
Even though we looked totally legitimate, it wasn't great to be this out in the open. Law enforcement in Meridian wasn't that much of a joke.
"Oh? What's up? Something wrong?"
"No, no, nothing of the sorts. I'm moving up the schedule."
"Is that a good idea?" I knew as soon as the words came out that Tate was not thrilled at my questioning his decisions.
Tate paused, and I could tell that he was trying to contain his displeasure. "It's the decision I've made, Barrett."
"Alright, Tate. What do you need me to do?"
"Bring Marconi in."
Now it was my turn to pause. This was a huge shift in the plan that Tate had sketched out in brief for me more than a week ago. Marconi was one of Norman's biggest competitors, and had an even bigger network of wrong-side-of-the-law stuff going on beneath the surface of a legitimate business.
"You sure about that?" I tried one last time to encourage Tate Norman to arrive at the same conclusion I had — that our timetable was good as it is, maybe even a little ambitious, and that we still needed time to lay the groundwork for what was essentially a coup Tate Norman was planning to execute against the rest of the organized crime world of Meridian.
"Just do it, Barrett. Bring him to me tonight."
"Alright, Tate," I said softly into the phone.
"I'll have a car outside his house at 8pm waiting for you".
"I understand." After that, I hung up, glaring at the screen as I put my phone away. I looked around, again sure that no one had overheard my side of the conversation. It wasn't as though I'd said anything incriminating, I just wanted to make sure.
The guy in the truck was looking at me again, his hands in the air asking why I was taking so long. I shook my head and waved him off, and he threw his hands up a little higher. I could hear him cursing at me from across the street, and a few seconds later the truck pealed off, rumbling down the street back to the garage we parked our vehicles in.
My watch told me I didn't have much time to waste if I wanted to get to Marconi's house and, uh, convince him that Tate Norman wanted to speak to him in person. After pulling out my phone again, I pulled up Marconi's address before requesting a Lyft to drop me off a mile away, in an out of the way area.
While I waited for the car, I opened the digital copies of the files Tate had on Marconi, including photos of the grounds of his house.
An hour later I was on the grounds of Marconi's mansion after jogging from the Lyft drop off point toward and down the long cul-de-sac, stopping in front of the gate to his driveway. It took only a few seconds to climb over after looking around for cameras. Marconi was a lot more confident in his security than he should have been.
I crouched down low and crept toward the house, noting that only a few lights were on — either the family wasn't home or most of them had gone to sleep. There were no guards around, which triggered my paranoia sensors.
This was too easy.
I didn't want to risk breaking a window to get in, so I circled around the house to see if this was going to be my lucky night.
Holy shit.
There was an open door around the back.
This was definitely too easy. I figured if things were going my way, I might as well play them to the limit, and I snuck into the house, making sure to stay out of sight as I hunted for Marconi.
I finally found him in his study after systematically searching the rest of the house. The light in the study was low - Marconi faced away from the door at his desk, pouring over something. I could see that he was dressed in a robe, like he was going to bed soon.
I reached into my loose jacket and pulled out my weapon before slinking forward and softly placing it just behind Marconi's head.
"Don't move, Marconi," I hissed.
***
The car was exactly where I thought it would be, and twenty minutes later Marconi, blindfolded, gagged, and his hands tied together, lay in the backseat. The driver and I sat up front, and I looked back at him to make sure he was still alive every few minutes.
We pulled in to Norman Towers well after the close of business, around 7:45pm, and down into a special level of the garage that included an executive elevator that only serviced floors where the Norman family had their offices.
Marconi didn't resist as I pulled him from the back of the car and led him in front of me toward the private elevator. He didn't say a word, and despite the blindfold and gag, I couldn't detect a hint of fear on him, which was impressive for a man in his situation.
I figured that living a life straddling both sides of the law for a long enough time made it easy to realize that someday your number would be called, and when that happened there were a couple ways you could face the reckoning that was to come.
I had to admire the guy for his composure even if everything else about him was vile.
The elevator chimed as it arrived on the eighth floor. Without much prodding from me, Marconi stepped forward, and I directed him into Tate's office.
Tate looked up as I pushed Marconi inside, a mask of pure glee showing on his face as his target arrived. He jumped up, practically giddy with joy.
Off to Tate's right, standing in almost complete shadow, was a man I'd seen around a few times before. I didn't remember his name, but I did know that where he went, death soon followed.
This meeting was already getting out of hand, and no one had said anything yet. I felt my muscles tense all over, and I was reassured that I could still feel my gun pressing against my chest.
I hoped I didn't have to use it.
"Angelo!" He shouted, coming around the desk and almost running toward us, taking Marconi's arm and leading him to one of the chairs in front of his desk.
Marconi tensed up as soon as he heard his name, and I knew at that moment that he was scared — scared of Tate Norman and scared of what was about to happen.
Tate rested against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms under his chest and looking at this helpless prey before him. "Angelo, Angelo," he said, almost sad, shaking his head. "Look what you've gone and gotten yourself into..." He leaned forward. "Oh, that's right! You can't see! Here, let me help you with that." Tate reached out and flicked his wrist, and Marconi's blindfold fell down around his large neck.
"That's better, now, isn't it?" Tate took his place back against the desk. "Well, now that you're here, Angelo, perhaps we can have a little conversation." He leaned forward again, watching Marconi struggle against his bonds. "Right, right, you can't speak either."
Tate reached out and pulled the gag out of Marconi's mouth, tossing it on the floor. Marconi sputtered and coughed, clearly in distress at having the gag in his mouth for so long. It took him a few seconds to gather his voice.
"Tate! You sack of-"
Before Marconi could finish Tate reached up and backhanded him across the mouth. "We'll have none of that, now, Angelo," Tate said, settling back down. "This is a civil conversation we're having, and I won't have you dragging your gutter talk into it, understood?"
Marconi didn't say anything, but even I could feel the hatred in his eyes as he looked up at his tormentor. "Get on with it, Tate," he practically spat out. "Don't do me the indignity of pretending."
The smile on Tate's face grow deeper and somehow even more evil. "No, Angelo, you're right, you do deserve a little more respect than I've shown you so far," Tate said as his voice dropped to a whisper.
Tate walked around his desk, and I watched him reach into a drawer and pull something out. I sucked in a breath as I realized what it was.
A small hammer.
"Tate," I said, stepping forward. "This wasn't part of the plan." Marconi was only here for a talk. There wasn't supposed to be any violence.
"Stay out of this, Barrett!" Tate yelled back, sneering at Marconi. "It's so tough to find good help these days, don't you agree?"
Marconi said nothing, and Tate just laughed like he had made the biggest joke ever.
I had had enough. I walked forward with a purpose, planting myself in front of Marconi. "This isn't right, Tate," I said, grabbing the hammer still in Tate's hand. "We don't have to do it this way."
Tate snarled at me, getting right up in my face. "Of course we don't have to do it this way, Barrett," Tate hissed before swinging the hammer at me. It was easy for me to jump out of the way. "But I WANT to do it this way!"
I pulled back, seeing the fury in his eyes. "I won't have any part of this, Tate. You'll have to do this on your own."
"You think I can't? Is that what you think?" Tate moved toward me, almost shaking with fear. Marconi and I locked eyes, and he shrugged at me. "You and my father, you never believed in me! You never thought I had what it took!"
I stood like a rock as Tate got in my face again. "If you were any other man, I would kill you," he snarled. "But my father never stopped telling me how helpful and useful you were."
I knew that if I let Tate know there was zero chance I'd let him lay a finger on me, he'd blow up and I'd have another mess on my hands.
"You enjoy yourself, Tate," I said, turning and walking away from him at a steady pace. I didn't even look back — after so many years I knew Tate Norman pretty well.
"I'll do that, Barrett. Take the night off and we'll start again in the morning."
As I got to the door I heard Tate speak again, addressing Marconi, his voice much more measured and calm than it had been a few seconds earlier. "Now, Angelo, where were we? I do apologize for the interruption. I assure you, it won't happen again."
When I closed the door to Tate's office I exhaled sharply, glad to be out of that room. I knew Tate was going to hurt Marconi - and I think Marconi could tell that way before I could.
I could feel a light bit of sweat on my skin as I walked through the office on the way to the elevator.
The Norman Corporation had adopted one of those newfangled glass walls design — everything was glass and transparent so you could pretty much look out over the entire floor from any one point. Of course, that didn't apply to Tate Norman's office, which still had real walls. Good example you were setting for your employees, Tate.
All around me was darkness, except on one side of the building, lights hovering over a lone cubicle. Who could be working so late? I stopped, turned, and walked closer to the light.
Almost as soon as I did, whoever it was in the cubicle stood up. I melted into the darkness, moving fast enough that they didn't see me, but I could still watch them.
It was a woman. She was gathering some papers together and looking around at her desk, picking up some things and putting them into her bag. I shrugged and I had just turned to continue toward the elevator when something made me look again, closer this time.
Holy shit.
It was her.
It was Mallory.
I gripped the wall to keep myself steady as I watched her. Mallory worked at the Norman Corporation? What kind of a coincidence was that?
Wait...was it a coincidence? The gears of my mind turned over and over as I considered this. Had Tate planted her, put her there in Club Vapor for me to find? Was she supposed to seduce me?
I had no end of questions and very few things that could be considered answers, but now didn't seem like the right time to talk to her. I had no idea what her reaction would be.
And plus, I was still coming down off the incident with Tate back in his office.
No, now was the wrong time to talk to her. I knew where she worked, I knew I'd run into her again.
Mallory started toward me, and I immediately sprinted to the elevator and called it, getting in and closing the door just as she rounded the corner and came into view.
As the elevator descended to the ground floor, all I could think about was her. I'd managed to clear my mind of her through throwing myself into my work, but now that I had seen her again, there was nothing that consumed me more.
The one thought that echoed in my mind — as much as I wanted to see her, to talk to her, to kiss her, and do disastrously naughty things with her, I knew one thing: I was no good for her.
She was a normal person, working a normal job, with a normal life.
What was I? I was an ex-soldier, a mercenary, a hired gun.
I woke up each morning knowing it could very easily be my last.
How could I let her get involved with someone like me?