Chapter Thirty-Five - James
“…you need to trust me too,” she whispers. I don’t answer. I can’t answer and besides, we’re too tired to talk about it now.
The house is still cool enough to want her close, so I pull her towards me and place her head on my chest and just enjoy the moment. Things can change pretty quick in my line of work, so the moment is all you have.
She falls asleep before me so I just lie here, twisting her long hair up in my fingers. For a guy who has no boundaries, no rules, and no oversight until after the fact, I’ve played it pretty straight with the Company since I took my number. I do what I’m told. I get the orders and I fulfill the contract. Death is my job. And even though most of the people who received my brand of justice over the years were walking scum and I had no regrets—hell, not even a slight hesitation—none of those killings were personal.
Death is just a job.
A contract is nothing but business.
And I’ve always been on board with the business. But I’m tired of the job. I’m tired of the killing. I’m tired of being flown into places with no knowledge of anything other than my target. I’m tired of making nice with locals, and sometimes the targets themselves, just to get the lay of the land before I blow the whole place apart. Figuratively, you know. I don’t often blow whole places up.
But I have.
I’m tired of making friends, getting people to trust me, and then backstabbing them. How many disappointed looks have I seen over the years? Too many to count.
But Tet, the inner James starts up, did they haunt you? Did you care?
Nope.
Not even once.
I should be haunted by the dead, or at the very least, have a little bit of self-doubt over whether or not what I do is for the greater good. But I don’t. And it’s not because I’m a believer. No, I’m not much of a believer at all. The Company can preach that sermon to me all they want. I will nod and say yes, sir to their face, but I have a built-in bulldozer and its only job is to clear away the shit they’re selling and leave my conscious clean and level.
It’s because unlike Tony, I was trained right. I might be ready to shrug off the dissociation right now, but separating myself from reality got me through.
Why should I have remorse? Does a cashier have remorse for taking people’s money in exchange for goods? It’s just a fucking job.
Harper moans and pulls away from me, the heat of our combined bodies too much, even though the thick adobe walls keep this place pretty comfortable. I let her have her space. She deserves to rest. It’s been a long fucked-up day and it’s not over yet.
I get up and start the shower in the en suite bathroom. Merc’s place is not bad at all. And even though the outside is the shell of an old jail, the inside is clean, cool, and modern. I don’t know how much time he actually spends here, but it looks to be more than just an occasional squat house. He won’t be interrupting our visit though. He’s got his hands full with a personal job.
This place has plenty of feminine touches that tell me he’s had women here, maybe even living here with him at times, but I know for a fact there’s no fucking woman calling this place home right now. Merc has a… checkered past when it comes to keeping girlfriends alive. I’m not saying he kills them. I’m just saying they often meet an untimely end. He admitted this to me himself back when we first met. I dropped that subject quick and he never brought it up again. And I didn’t get the impression he was avoiding it either, he just lost interest.
Sasha is half right about Merc. He’s not the right guy to take care of her. But she could do worse. She could get me as her adopted caregiver, for instance. As bad as Merc is, I’m worse. I definitely would not have left her alone out on the Colorado prairie. But not for altruistic reasons. I’d have put her ass to work. She’s not at a professional level, not even close. But she’s competent. And that makes her an asset.
If she can be trusted. And I’m not sure she can.
I wash my hair real fast, then finish up and wrap a towel around me and put my dirty jeans back on. I have no idea if Harper thought to pack me clothes, but I’m not about to go fish through the Hummer to find out. I leave the shirt off since it’s warming up in here, and go looking for the AC.
I find the modern thermostat in the living room near the kitchen, and turn the temperature down and then make my way to the kitchen to check the food supply. And this kitchen he has, damn. He must cook or something, because the six-burner stove and the French-door fridge are telling me he knows his way around a frying pan.
Inside the fridge is a selection of bottled water, some OJ, two bottles of wine, six beers, all with different labels, and some condiments.
How thoughtful of him to leave us drinks.
I smile at that as I grab a beer, fish the new phone out of my jeans pocket, and kick back on the couch as I play the message again.
“That was not in the plan.”
No, none of this was in the fucking plan as far as I can tell. If it was, I never got the fucking memo. I blame it on the blackout. I bring up the keypad and dial my secretary. She picks up on the second ring. “Law offices of Poslow, Poslow, and Twifter. This is Janet, how can I help you?”
“Janet, Poslow Senior here. Do I have any messages?”
“Yes, sir, you got a call this morning from Mr. Twifter. No message, just wanted to know if you checked in. And Poslow Junior called as well. He left a contact number.”
“Give it.” I key the number in as she talks, then give her a polite, “Thank you,” and hang up so I can press send again. I let out a long breath as I listen to it ring.
Merc picks up on the second ring too. I love consistency. “Jasus fucking Christ, where the hell have you been?”
“Traveling. You think I have hidden wormholes I can pop in and out of to get places or what?”
“Yeah, well, Twifter is not happy, asshole.”
“Twifter can kiss my ass. None of that shit this morning was me. But anyway, we’re here. Thanks for the beer.” I take a swig and let out a long, “Ahhh,” trying to piss off Merc, but that’s when I see the Smurf watching me from the jail cell up on the foyer terrace. “Call you later,” I say, and then I press end on the phone. “What the fuck you doing up there?”
“Who the hell were you talking to?” she snarls back.
“Merc.” I hold up my beer and give her a pretend cheers.
“Obviously that phone call was Merc. Before Merc, who the hell were you talking to?”
“My secretary.” She stares at me and then gets up and walks to the jail cell door. That little shit was sleeping up in that jail cell. What a freak. “Why? I ask her. “You got a problem with me making calls?”
She walks towards the steps and stops at the top. She’s all sweaty and flushed from the heat, and her hair is still wet from her earlier shower. The scratches from the thorn run-in this morning are still there, but now that the dried blood has been properly washed away, they are not so bad. She looks better and worse all at the same time. She looks unstable.
“When you make a call to an associate from a phone that’s supposedly not secure, a phone that had some cryptic message you tried to blame on me, then yeah. I have a big fucking problem.”
“Watch your fucking mouth around me, kid. Or I’ll smack the shit out of it.”
She reaches behind her and pulls out a gun and points it at me. “Is that right?”
“You better shoot me right the fuck now. Because if you don’t, I’ll kill you just for pointing that weapon at me.”
She reevaluates her target and decides on a spot above my head. Smurfette is clever. “Who were you talking to?”
I eye the diameter of the chamber on her weapon and guesstimate .40. “You sure you can handle that thing? It’s got a nice kick to it. And if you miss me, I won’t miss you.”
“I don’t miss. And I’ve been shooting this Glock for a while now. So I’ll happily take my chances. Now, who were you talking to?”
“I already told you. My secretary, checking for messages. And Merc, returning a call.”
“You were checking in. Who’s running this operation?”
“I thought you knew?”
She thinks about this for a few seconds. Gives it some consideration before she answers. “I know who I’m working for. I know who sent you to get me. And I don’t think we’re on the same side anymore.”
“That’s too bad then,” I tell her with a shrug of my shoulders. “I was just beginning to like you. I was starting to hope I wouldn’t have to kill you.”
“Funny,” she says with a coolness that sends a chill up my arm. “I was thinking the same thing.”
My guffaw echoes off the ceiling and I have a genuine moment of amusement. “Looks like we’re at an impasse, then.”
She stays silent, but her hard stare never wavers.
“So let’s make a deal.”
“I don’t make deals with terrorists.”
Another laugh bursts forth. “Kid, even the American government cuts deals with the terrorists these days. So dismount the high horse and listen.”
She waves her hand at me, like I need her personal invitation to keep talking. I ignore her bravado because she’s earned it at the moment, and start picking my way through the minefield. “You have a measurable objective? Or just doing recon?”
“Why would I tell you that?” she snorts. “I must look like an idiot to you. You must think I’m a joke. And that’s fine, you know. Because I like to be underestimated. If those guys out at my grandparent’s ranch had assessed me properly, well, I’d be dead right now, wouldn’t I? So be my guest, Tet. Give it your best shot. But I’ve grown up around every scumbag killer you can imagine. I know how to pick out the good ones. And it only took my nine-year-old self thirty seconds back at the Boise gun show to figure out you were never even in the running. You… are a very bad guy.”
My fists are clenching the entire time she’s talking and by the time she’s finished, my palms are aching to hit something. It’s not what she said that pisses me off. It’s what she didn’t say. But I’m the professional here, so I keep my cool. “Yeah, got it. You still worship the ground Ford walks on. He’s the hero and I’m the villain.”
“You and Merc are both the bad guys. I saw it in Merc too. Before he got my dad killed he was just another asshole. But after the accident I had a lot of time to think it over. He’s not really an asshole.” She pauses. Choosing her words or reconsidering or who the fuck knows what this little monster is doing.
I get impatient. “What is he then?”
“Evil,” she replies with a cold edge to her voice. “He’s evil, just like you. You’re using Harper to get to Nick.”
“Another good guess from the Smurf. But sorry, not the case, kid. I’m not even remotely interested in Nick at the moment. I’m not saying it will stay that way forever, but that’s not my objective. And while I am using Harper for lots of things—sex for one. Comfort. Passion. Friendship. Conversation. Take your pick, because I am using her for all those things right now—I’m not using her to get to Nick because I don’t need to. And I’d just like to make it clear that I won’t be doing anything that could hurt her. So if you’re suddenly feeling loyal to the Lionfish, you can rest your weary mind. I’m on her side.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says immediately.
“I can respect that,” I tell her back. “I can. I’m no one to you. You think I’m scum. You think Merc is scum. And maybe we are. But there’s another level of low beneath me, Sasha. There’s people out there who eat the scum like me alive. Bottom-feeders. And you’re on the verge of scum yourself, so I’d like you to put down the gun, sit on that step right there, and listen to my offer. We can decide what to do about the impasse once you hear it. But you can’t act out of ignorance. Your father taught you that much, I’m sure.”
Her mouth tightens at the corners when I mention her father. It’s pretty clear she does not put him in the company of scum. But whatever. He was an illegal arms dealer working for a shadow global governance. In my mind, he was every bit as scummed up as the rest of us. She steps down, then lowers herself into a seated position as she lowers the gun.
“Good girl.”
“Don’t, Tet. I grew up being patronized.”
I throw her a nod. “Fair enough. You do not know who I work for. It’s not Merc. He’s not involved in any of this, OK? He’s off doing recon on a project you will probably be interested in. Paybacks, Sasha, always come due in our world. And someone got your dad killed, but it wasn’t Merc. We know who did it though.”
“You do not.”
“Shut up and listen,” I scold her like the child she is. “Because I’m not fucking around right now.” I stare her down until she looks away and then I continue. “He knows who did it. And maybe the reason he’s gonna get his revenge has nothing to do with you, but does it matter why he sets things right? Does it matter why he gets his payback? Do you care if the person who ruined your life is dead for your reasons or his?”
She takes a deep breath as she thinks it through. “He’s gonna kill the person who set them up?”
“What do you think happens to people who get caught in Merc’s net, Smurfette?” She visibly shivers. And that pretty much says it all. I’d be shitting my pants if Merc was coming to kill me, that’s for sure. He might not be a trained Company man, but that fucker has no scruples. He never blinks. “So here’s the deal, OK? You’re gonna keep quiet about what you just heard and I’m gonna ask Merc for proof that the job was done.” She starts to object, but I raise my hand and stop her words before they start. “And I promise you, everything I’m doing is good for us.”
“Who’s us?” she snorts.
“The three of us, kid. You, me, and Harper. We’re sorta stuck together. So I’m making you a professional promise right now. All right? Whatever I do from here on out, it will be in our group interest.”
“What if it’s in the best interest of the group that I die?”
Jesus, she has trust issues. I stand and walk towards the stairs. She never moves. I take each step slowly until I reach the top, and then I sit down and put my arm around her shoulder. She flinches, but that’s expected. “Sasha, if you trust me right now, I promise I will get you the proof you need from Merc and I will take care of you until you decide I’m an asshole and you can’t stand to look at me for another second and walk away.”
Her shoulders slump a little and I can almost feel the sadness inside her. “I think you’re lying.”
“So tell me no deal.”
“I can’t. You know I can’t.” She turns her face up to me and she’s got tears streaming down her cheeks. “I think I need you, James.”
“I think I need you too, Sasha. So give trust a chance.”
She wipes her tears and hands me her gun. I handle the pistol, checking the weight, then the chamber—fully loaded. “You been carrying this the whole time?” I ask, trying to lighten up the mood.
“Yeah, that’s my gun. My dad gave it to me last year for my birthday.” She sniffs again. “He even put in a new barrel and got me a suppressor for it.”
“You ever shoot anything with it?”
She nods. “One of the guys who tried to kill me on the ranch. I picked three of them off with a rifle, but this last guy thought he got away.” She turns her head up at me and smiles through her tears. “I hid in his truck cab. Then shot him through the window.”
“Sounds pretty dicey.” I try to imagine that scene and make myself stop.
“It was.” She sniffs again but it’s not the wet mid-cry sniff like it was a few minutes ago. It’s an I’m-over-it sniff.
“So you’re pretty serious about this job stuff, Sasha? Because I really need your word that you will not talk.” I hold out her gun and she stares at it for a few seconds before taking it back. “I could use a backup, kid. I don’t like to get people involved in my jobs unless I have to, but I can’t have you doubting me. Or”—I put a finger under her chin and make her look me in the eyes—“making Harper doubt me. It’s gonna be hard enough to get this shit done without complications. I need you on my side, Sasha. And if you’re on my side, I’m on your side. Got it?”
She nods and swats my finger off her chin. “Got it.”
“Got what?” a wet-from-the-shower, fresh, delicious-looking Harper says from down below. She’s dressed in clean shorts and new tank top, black this time, and she’s got some cute sneakers on her feet. “What’d I miss?”
I stand up and walk down the stairs. “Not much. Just making sure Sasha knows we’re all in this together.” I look back up at the kid and wink. “Right, Smurf?”
“That’s right,” Sasha says as she gets to her feet and comes down to join us. She looks at Harp and produces a smile. And if it’s fake, I’m convinced. “He said we’re partners now. So you know, when we find that buried treasure we’re after, I get a cut. Right, James?”
“Buried treasure. Right, kid. You’re in.”
And then Sasha takes Harper’s hand and leads her towards the kitchen as she talks about food. Her crying jag is over, her sadness tucked away, her smile in place, and her attitude adjusted.
The relief I feel at procuring her cooperation is real.
Sasha Cherlin is not a kid you want to fuck over without a plan.