(2013) Shooter (16 page)
I remembered that Scott Allan had been one of they key cocaine and methamphetamine traffickers in the city, and a competitor had wanted him gone. I'd been only too eager to oblige. There had been quite a bit of cash involved, and this was a time when I'd been short.
I'd purchased my bike with that payoff. Hm.
I also remembered that Scott had a brother. Connor.
Well damn. That job's come back to bite me in the ass pretty hard, huh?
"Now I know exactly who we're looking for."
"Do you?" Daisuke asked, mildly surprised.
"Yep." I pulled my Blackberry out of my pocket and fired a quick email to Kendall. Hopefully, he wouldn't fall off his seat at the surprise of actually receiving something from me. That had never happened before.
Daisuke gunned up the engine and pulled off from the curb before I received an email back, telling me the address of Connor Allan.
That was fast
… I thought.
Does he keep that sort of thing on file?
That was an odd thought.
"Now I even know where we're going." I read the email off of the screen before handing the phone over to Daisuke. He looked it over for a minute.
"That's not much of a drive…"
"Good thing we've still got the guns in the car. That way we don't have to go back home." I grinned. Soon, maybe, this would all be over. Then I could go back to my old, but still fucked up, life.
We soon found ourselves in the middle of downtown, surrounded by expensive high-rises, office buildings and the like. Perfect manicured landscaping and obnoxiously extravagant architecture.
I think I'm going to be ill
.
This place was too… shiny. After the dirty grit of the area around my place, this was just… strange.
Ugh..
.
"Let's just get this over with." I mumbled. "I'm tired of it."
Daisuke glanced over and smiled, a look of empathy, but there was pain in his eyes. A pain that I couldn't name, one that seemed out of place. "So am I."
Something's wrong
. I knew it in my gut, but I couldn't muster the courage to question him now when he'd done so much for me. Just like I wouldn't openly accuse him of keeping secrets before. Just the thought of it made me feel like a complete jerk.
Something's bothering him, and I don't like it
.
I smiled back.
Nothing would be wrong anymore, after we were finished here. Nobody would be trying to kill me, and everything could go back to it's normal level of fucked-uppedness. I just had to take down Connor Allan.
I always made these things sound so simple in my head.
The 'Connor House', or the title I'd assigned the target's residence in my head, was a swanky townhouse address in the upper North End of the city. It was dark out, but it looked like the lawns were manicured, the shrubbery was nice; not too expensive, but set at an angle that created a nice little path down the middle…
Not really, I'm just a fan of Monty Python.
Heh
.
I noticed that one entire wall of the second level was glass… through it, I could see what looked like a bedroom.
What's the likelihood that's bulletproof?
So was it either vanity or the love of the view.
Either way, it might be what kills Mr. Allan
.
So calmly, I could contemplate the death of another person…
Did that make me a monster?
My focus switched to the ground floor; locating all of the entries and exits, all the ways I might get in without raising a ruckus. There would likely be a sophisticated alarm system in place, to prevent the entrance of burglars… stalkers… assassins… other undesirables. The list tends to be extensive.
There were three different doors, one of the glass sliding variety that led out onto a patio. I wouldn't take that one if I could help it.
The windows were much more numerous, ranging from large bay ones to smaller foot-by-foot ones.
So many entrances… it was almost as though he'd laid out a huge welcome mat emblazoned with the words;
Please come murder me in my sleep!
Don't worry, Mr. Allan. I plan to
.
Well… maybe not in his sleep.
"This almost seems too easy, Dai." I muttered, shattering the tangible silence that permeated the cab of the BMW. It wouldn't have surprised me if he'd fallen asleep. We'd been here for three hours already. "I'd really hate to walk into a trap or something."
I'd meant that last afterthought as a joke, but apparently sarcasm didn't register with Daisuke today. He went all tense, like a coiled spring, and answered tersely. "I doubt that there's a
trap
waiting, Grace."
My eyes narrowed in the darkness. "What's wrong, Daisuke?"
He shrugged, answered perhaps a little too quickly. "Nothing."
"What is it?"
His dark eyes met mine for a moment before dancing off again to rest on something else. "I'm just anxious. Don't mind me."
Well, I was anxious as well, so it seemed like a decent enough explanation… whatever. I had more important things eating at my brain at the moment.
Plus, it wasn't like Daisuke had ever let me down before. I wouldn't insult him by not trusting him now. Besides, my list of allies was too thin for me to go about alienating anyone.
Especially when he said he loved me… did he really mean it?
I mentally slapped myself.
Stop it. Just do this one last thing, and then you can go back to wallowing in self-doubt
.
"So… let's get moving, then?" I tossed a crooked grin at my potential boyfriend, who grimaced and went to help me out of the car.
Three or four minutes later saw us creeping along a hedge like shadows, moving as silently as death in the night (ha-ha). My good hand was wrapped around the grip of my pistol, and the other was held close to my body, for fear of catching the bulky sling on anything pointy. Making noise was not on the agenda tonight.
Only then did it even occur to me that he might not even be home. Oh well.
With any luck, we'd be in and out like a whisper, our task accomplished.
My shoes crunched on a dry fallen leaf, and I flinched at the unexpected noise. Making a note to avoid those, I then continued after Dai, who was roughly five feet in front of me, creeping along toward the side entrance.
That one was the most practical.
The nighttime colors blended together into one solid, oppressive, smothering dark. I'd always hated the night. It reminded me harshly that there were people
just like me
out there, using the darkness to further their intents.
Daisuke came even with the bleached white side door, stepping off to one side and gesturing for me to take the other side. I did, contemplating how we'd open it. Preferably the quiet way, but that's just me…
"Can you pick the lock, Grace?" Daisuke whispered. I smiled in the blackness.
Thought you'd never ask
.
I scooted over and knelt before the chic doorknob (even the hardware was designer), producing a penknife from my coat pocket. I slid the blade into the keyhole and set to work, jimmying the pins in the tumbler, trying to get them into the correct alignment. Daisuke moved around behind me, to look out or to give me some extra space. I didn't really know which, nor was I concerned at the moment. I was concentrated solely on that lock—
--So it shocked me immensely when a cloth was shoved over my mouth and nose, pressed down, and held there. I dropped the knife, and a surprised intake of breath brought the sickly-sweet odor of chloroform to my attention before my vision went hazy, my senses dulled by the chemical soaked into the rag.
What in the bloody blue fuck?
Was the only thought that managed its way through my mind.
Another breath, taken before I could think better, and I was thrown into unconscious black oblivion.
My mind was fuzzy, much like a badly tuned set of rabbit ears. The reception was terrible, and nothing much got through at all. I was mired in an anesthetic fog, sleepy but halfway aware at the same time.
I could hear what seemed like a dull roar of sounds, all melting together into a single, discordant note. It was making my head hurt. Slowly, these noises distinguished themselves from one another, disconnecting and now reaching me as separate entities.
Speech.
Laughter.
And… a Haydn concerto?
I'd never had much of an ear for classical, so I could have been wrong. But that's what it sounded like.
So who was laughing like a drunken idiot?
Whomever it was doing all of that guffawing, they sounded far-off from me. Everything sounded misty and surreal.
I figured out that I was lying face-down on a soft surface, hard and flat but plushy at the same time. Was it… carpet? A rug?
Where the fuck am I?
It seemed a very pressing question, now that I was fighting my way toward full consciousness. I knew that something was very deeply wrong, but couldn't remember what.
A groan escaped my lips as I opened my eyes and was assaulted by bright lights.
The place went silent and still, except for that classical music, and I froze, only my eyeballs moving, trying to discern my position.
Several faces swam in my vision, only one of them immediately familiar. I blinked and wrenched my eyes all the way open, not liking what I found.
I was lying on an area rug, the fabric a very tasteful cream color. All of the colors in the room were neutral, excepting the few nice paintings and the hardwood flooring outside of the reach of the rug, which was a beautiful mahogany.
I knew I'd never been here before.
Shit
.
A calm, drawling tone made me jump.
"Ah, you're finally awake. Just in time, too… I would have hated for you to have to skip the party, Miss Pryor."
I tried to reach for my pistol, but it seemed that my hands were, quite literally, tied. All I earned from the voice was a laugh and a disapproving
tsk-tsk
.
"Must it always come to violence first? I quite prefer to sit and talk, myself… but maybe I'm just a hopeless pacifist."
I knew who that was. Some instinct told me so.
My tongue was thick as I tried to form words. "What do you want, Allan?"
"Ah… it speaks." Connor Allan laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound, loaded as it was with ironic spite. "I believe it's obvious what I want, Pryor, though you may not like it very much."
Fucking hell
.
How did I manage to get into this mess?
I thought back… the rag, as I was picking the lock.
But who… No!
Daisuke had been the only person around at the time. But why would he knock me out and bring me here?
Well, isn't it obvious, Grace? He's double-crossed you. He played you, like a perfectly tuned violin…
The nasty, sarcastic voice of my conscience taunted me. I knew it was true, just as I knew the sky was blue and just as I knew how to snap a human neck in thirty-three ways. But I still couldn't admit it to myself… I couldn't let go of that denial.
And the whole 'I love you' ruse was a nice touch, don't you think? Got you all nice and trusting…
No. He wouldn't have betrayed me like that. There's got to be another explanation.
That's what it all boiled down to, wasn't it? Daisuke hadn't meant a damn word he'd said, and now had happily handed me off to a man who obviously planned to kill me.
That nasty, sarcastic voice piped up again.
I wonder how much he's getting for you…? I'd at least hope it was a good sum, for all the work he's put into his little act. Sure had Julia convinced too… unless she's in on this as well?
Julia would
never. I asserted, but my common sense kept going.
Grow up, Gracie. Look around you. How many friends have you got now?
None.
Face it, you're alone
.
Allan's next words interrupted my inner war. "Pick her up, would you? I'd like to speak face-to-face."
A set of strong hands hefted me by my shoulders, placing me upright, on my knees. I wobbled slightly as I looked behind me.
It was Daisuke.
"Don't you
fucking
touch me." I hissed. If looks could kill, he'd have spontaneously combusted right there on the spot. I jerked my shoulder from his grasp.
I'm not a total idiot. I wouldn't sit there in denial and believe that he hadn't turned coat, when it was so painfully obvious.
But seeing him there, on the other side, not tied up like me and taking orders from Allan drove the weight of his treason straight home. It bit like a knife in the chest.
A jagged, rusty knife, twisted to cause the most pain possible.
"Grace…" He muttered, his eyes pleading. For what? Forgiveness? Understanding? Empathy? I very nearly laughed in his face.
Fat fuckin' chance, buddy-boy
.
I pointedly tore my gaze away from his and made myself stare at the hardwood paneling.
"Are you having second thoughts, Daisuke?" Allan chortled, obviously enjoying this a great deal. "You may always leave."
"No need." He grunted blankly. I flinched and shut my eyes against the tears that threatened to well up.
As I sat there, I managed to force words through my clenched teeth, biting off every syllable with as much venom as possible. "So, Connor, other than Dai here how many people do you have on the payroll?"
My voice was flat, cold, devoid of any emotion, despite the turmoil in my head.
Allan answered, his tone matching mine. "Well, you personally saw to Mr. Carson first. Then there were the four on Trivisidero, dirty cops, whom Daisuke here handled well… I must say… and then there are a few hired guns about to make sure of my personal safety. It wouldn't do to have any crafty little assassins like yourself sneaking around to do me in. So you see, I'm quite secure."
I glanced behind me. Surely enough, there was a tall, nondescript man in black leaning casually against one wall, an assault rifle slung across his person. He contemplated me as I stared, exuding cool professionalism.
"He must have cost a pretty penny, huh?" I jerked my head in the merc's direction.
Allan shrugged. "It doesn't matter. He does his job. So, Miss Pryor… back to business."
I shrugged as well. "Whatever. It's not like I have a say."
"You were the one who killed my brother, Scott." He stated plainly.
"Yes." Well, I wasn't going to deny it.
"So now that I have you here, I'm obviously not going to just let you go with a slap on the wrist, am I?" he almost sounded rueful. I stared him in the eye, my expression hard and unreadable.
"No, I don't suppose you are." I answered his rhetorical question.
Allan walked closer, studying me with a thoughtful look. He asked;
"Are you afraid?"
As if I would give you the satisfaction
. "No." I answered. And I wasn't.
Hurt? Yeah. Pissed-off? A lot. Scared? Not at all.
"I wonder if you're lying to me…" Allan wondered aloud, still studying me. I gave him no response. "But it matters little."
"Because you're going to kill me, right?" My tone was flat, inflectionless. I wasn't capable of feeling at the moment.
Allan shrugged. "Yes. I am. And it won't be pleasant for you."
Connor Allan had to be at least as cold as I was, to discuss this so calmly. He may have even been a sociopath. I never found out.
Several minutes passed, in which time nobody moved at all.
Getting impatient, I blurted out; "So are you going to fuckin' do it or not?"
All I earned was a lifted eyebrow. "Are you so eager to die?"
Sarcasm was all he earned from me for that stupid-ass question. "I've always been a little bit of a masochist."
I could tell Connor thought I was insane. He just regarded me with this cool impassivity that set my teeth in edge. He might have been wondering why I didn't beg forgiveness. For my life.
The answer was simple: I would not beg like a dog on my knees for mercy. I would not do anything but stare down my death and maybe even welcome it. Maybe that would be my mercy; the ending of my life.
Peace.
If that's what I was getting, then let it come, and all the quicker, if you don't mind. I'd never liked to be kept waiting.
Like a flash, one leather loafer connected with my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I bent forward, gasping for breath.
But I wouldn't beg.
Allan wrapped a hand in my hair and jerked me upright, uprooting several hairs from my scalp. I winced, but glared at him all the same. He pulled back his foot again and kicked me across the face, the ball of his foot catching my cheek. My head snapped sideways and my neck cracked painfully.
But I wouldn't beg.
He kicked me again, and I felt my nose break. Blood flowed freely from the wound, staining the cream rug like wine.
"Are you finished yet?" I asked blearily, blinking up at him. My head was swimming again, as though I was drunk.
That quip earned me a jab to the breastbone, knocking me backwards. My breathing was labored, coming in gasps. Had he broken a rib?
I lay on my back, on top of my arms. My wrapped left arm was screaming protest. So was my face, my chest.
And I didn't care.
I could see Allan's furious expression as he aimed another blow at me, this time in my side, causing me to curl over in pain.
"Are
you
finished yet?" He spat, almost beyond words.
All I saw next was the sole of a leather shoe as it came down on my head, splitting my lip and holding me jaw-down to that carpet.
But I wouldn't beg.
"Why won't you just give up, huh? I'll keep hitting you and hitting you until you die a terrible, painful death. You can choke on your own blood for all I care. Or you can beg, and I can end your suffering nice and easy." Allan whispered.
So all I had to do was beg, and I'd be ensured a fast and expedient trip to the Light, huh?
For some reason, I found that incredibly funny.
Horrible, choking laughs issued forth from my ruined chest. They sounded much more like wheezes, coughs, coming from someone who was dying from suffocation. Blood from both my lip and my lungs sprayed the carpet around my head.