(2013) Shooter (6 page)
I stood there, on the verge of tears, when I heard the sirens.
"Come on, let's move." Julia's voice was fuzzy, background to the mental battle raging in my head.
I just killed a man for money.
I have to eat.
I can get an honest job.
There's no going back. Not now, not ever.
I made my choice.
There's no going back. That last thought echoed like a bullet's ricochet, and I allowed myself to be pulled about ten feet away before my sense had rushed back and I ran the rest of the way to the getaway myself, out of fear of those sirens. The fear of being caught.
I'd nearly tripped over my own feet in my haste to escape the justice that followed along with those sirens.
The memory ended with a snap as I came back around, alerted by a sound in the alleyway immediately to my left.
Whimpering.
Common sense told me to keep walking. Instinct told me to investigate.I had a bit of a compromise between the two, and allowed myself a glance.
One male. One female. Female is on the ground, whimpering. This doesn't look like a friendly hookup.
My suspicion was confirmed by a cry for "HELP!"
"Shut up, bitch!" his kick connected, and earned him another whimper.
That did it.
One of my pistols cleared the holster silently. I held the gun at about shoulder height, took careful aim, and fired one round.
Bang.
The male figure fell to the ground in a heap, and the female screamed in alarm, but I'd already set off at a sprint, back to my ride home. Good deed done, now let's get the hell out of here.
Those sirens were starting to make me jumpy.
"Why are you so sweaty, Grace? What happened?" Daisuke accosted me nearly as soon as I entered the house.
"Nothing, Dai. Nothing." I shook him off and went straight to my room. Just like a shifty teenager trying to shake off her parents. And thankfully, Daisuke knew when not to interfere, and he left me alone after that. But Julia didn't. She knocked once, though, in her defense. But then she barged right in, which sort of ruined the politeness of knocking first.
"What's wrong?" Julia asked calmly, as she perched herself at the edge of my bed and crossed a leg over the other. Apparently she was willing to wait for her answer/explanation. However, I was feeling stubborn and didn't want to give her one. After all, one of us had to give in first, and it wasn't likely to be her.
But I wouldn't give in that easily. And so she decided that she would attempt to coax me into talking by starting the conversation.
"I've noticed something about you, lately."
"What's that?" I grunted, not particularly in the mood for psychoanalysis. I'd just killed someone I hadn't been paid to kill, and that was bothering me, even though it really shouldn't.
I refused to meet Julia's gaze, but I could feel it boring into the back of my head as I shrugged my weapons off and hung them in my closet. She answered very bluntly. "You're slipping, Gracie."
That halted me in my tracks. "Slipping? What do you mean?"
"I mean; you're not doing your job the way you need to be."
I kept my temper in check. "How's that?" still not looking her way, for fear, I suppose, of seeing the truth there.
"What happened to you?" she sounded sad.
That was a good question, actually. What had happened to me? Especially on that whole Holtz fiasco. I put both of us in harm's way for someone I don't know and jeopardized the whole job. Not that we'd been paid, anyway, but still. "I don't know."
"If you went rogue, someone would have to stop you, and it would most likely be me. I don't want to do that."
"If I went rogue? Aren't you getting ahead of yourself, there?" I snorted.
"Am I?" I finally glanced over at her to see an arched eyebrow and a disapproving expression.
"Yes. You are. I swear." I sighed. "I'm just a little off. Nothing a little down time won't fix."
Finally, I allowed myself to catch her eye, and that told me that she didn't believe a word of my bullshit. Not that I really blamed her, because I didn't even believe myself.
"Grace." Julia's tone was stern, now. "You're acting like you did when I first met you. You're jumpy, emotional. Something's shaken you."
"Damn. Nothing gets past you, does it?" I just gave up and flopped on the floor next to the bed. "God…"
"I don't want anything to happen to you." I felt Julia's hand on my shoulder.
"I know." Was all I could really say. I did know. I knew she was trying to help me, when truthfully there was no help she could possibly offer. Things would happen the way they would, and that was that.
Hopefully they would happen in my favor.
Julia just frowned. "Maybe you should stay with your sister for a while."
"I can't do that. She'll be sick of me within an hour." I tried to joke in order to alleviate the tension.
"I'll see you when you come back, Gracie." Julia swept to her feet and left me in slightly stunned silence.
"What the hell?" I grumbled, and picked up my phone to call my sister.
Dialing the number, I waited, but not for too long, as Constance picked up after only one ring.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Con. I hope it's not too late."
"No, I'm just surprised you're calling at a normal hour." I could hear the smile in her voice. "What's new with you?"
I thought fast for a reason I would need to stay at Constance's for more than a few hours. "Hey, my apartment's being fumigated. Could I crash there until they're done? It'll only be a day or two."
"Oh yeah, sure, Grace! That's fine." She sounded a little more excited that necessary, like a girl waiting in anticipation for a sleepover. That's probably what it was.
"Thank you, I was worried I'd have to sleep in a box for a while."
"Pfft. Like I would ever let you sleep in a box."
"I don't know. Would you?" I teased.
"What kind of older sister do you think I am?"
"The greatest kind, of course." I decided to kiss up a bit. Couldn't hurt.
"Ah, now, stop trying to butter me up." She laughed. Hey, my sis has about as good of an eye for bull as I do. "But yeah, you can stay for as long as you like… might have to sleep on the couch, though."
"I'm still young, I'll bounce back." I laughed, though I wasn't looking forward to the couch. Her couch was kinda lumpy and hard. Better for her husband's back, that way, but not for mine. Oh well.
"Not for much longer, though. Going to hit the big three-oh, pretty soon, huh?"
"Don't remind me." I grumbled.
"Aw, don't be like that. We're going to throw you a party, to celebrate your entry into full adulthood." Constance giggled like an exited schoolgirl.
"I love how you how you seem to think I'm still a kid."
"You'll always be little Gracie to me."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Connie." I said without much enthusiasm, which earned me a laugh and a goodbye.
I hung up the phone and tossed it on my bed before a thought occurred to me. I have a job.
Poking my head out of my door, I called, "Julia? I kind of- "
She cut me off from the couch, book in hand. "I know. Taken care of."
"Uh, well okay…"
I stepped lightly out of the cab in front of my sister's house, glad to be free of the weed-smelling cabbie. He'd kept grinning at me from the mirror every few minutes, and I'd really wanted my good gun. It was a comfort thing, and he was making me feel really
un
comfortable.
But I was completely unarmed, save for a small Kahr conceal-carry pistol in my shoulder holster, with only space for one gun. I wouldn't come to Constance's house armed to the teeth. It was rude.
I fixed a frown on my face and stomped up the driveway to a little sidewalk that led to the front porch. Passing an old porch swing, I knocked twice on the door and looked around, waiting for my sister to answer. Her old restored green Malibu sat gleaming in the driveway, but Ray's monstrous old truck was gone, as he was off on a trip.
The front door swung open, and I found myself nearly strangled by a very excited Constance.
"Oh, it's so great to see you." She hugged me tightly, and I returned it, equally happy to see the one person I was closest to in the world.
"Hey, sis." I mumbled.
Constance broke the hug and held me at arm's length, examining me like an anxious mother. She tutted several times.
"What?" I asked defensively, slightly self-conscious.
"I think you've gotten skinnier." She said with slight amazement. "And still have those dark circles… and the blue streak. I swear, you could still pass for seventeen."
"I'll assume that was a compliment." I said gloomily.
Constance was, basically, me… in six years. Thirty-five, with some slight smile lines forming, and she was about three inches taller than I was. Much more mature looking. Where I dressed as an angry teenager, she wore clothes more appropriate to our age group.
"Of course it was, sweetie. Come in, it's cold out here."
Constance ushered me into the house and had me on the couch with a mug of cocoa in my hands in less than ten minutes, with all of my stuff put away in fifteen. Like grandma on steroids.
And that's basically what she had been to me all my life. A mother figure.
Our parents/parent had given us both up for adoption when I was born, and Constance was six years old. They never had said why, just left us there with a kindly old lady named Frances at the adoption agency. Constance didn't like to talk about them, and I didn't really blame her. She was the only one of the two of us that was old enough to remember them.
It didn't bother me that much.
And as soon as Constance turned eighteen, she got legal rights of guardianship over me and moved us out of foster care.
And here we both are today. A hitman and an accounting consultant.
Whatever went wrong with me?
"So what do you want to do?"
"I dunno." I shrugged. "I kinda liked that idea you had before."
"Takeout and a zombie movie? Sure. Let's go, Grace. We're taking my car."
"Well, we really don't have another way to get there. I took a cab. Gas prices are outrageous." I frowned.
Constance grinned and stood up and fished her keys out of her pocket.
"Ugh. That means I have to get up." I groaned, and Con laughed and hauled me off the couch by the arm.
"Ah, crap. You been working out?"
"No. You're just tiny."
I rolled my eyes and scooped up my coat and hat and followed my sister outside into the cold.
About a half hour later, we were strolling out of the Red Dragon, fried rice and noodles in hand.
I was laughing hysterically, and Constance looked rather sour.
Starting when we were ordering; and the little Asian lady at the counter had asked, completely innocently;
"This is your daughter?" and pointed to me, smiling. She really hadn't meant to make Con freeze with a very pained look on her face.
"This is actually my sister, Grace."
I'd bitten my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
"Oh! Lovely to meet you, Constance talks about you a lot." She looked a bit embarrassed as I nodded and grinned.
And so we left, Con still looking as though someone had actually insulted her.
"I don't really look that old, do I?" she almost demanded.
"'Course not." I snorted.
"That didn't sound like you were very convinced."
"I mean it." I stifled the rest of my laughter and hopped into the Malibu.
"Seriously?" She pouted.
"Yes,
Mom
."
Constance just scowled at that and pulled out of the parking lot. And we were back at her house in about fifteen minutes, bad movie and bad food in hand. Which led us in front of the TV and on the couch, where we stayed for the rest of the evening, laughing our asses off at the terrible special effects and whatnot.
Which led to me being passed out on Con's living room couch when she went to bed, and I vaguely remember her tossing a quilt over me and slipping a pillow under my head. Just like a mother would do.
But I still tossed and turned like a madwoman all night.
Until I was roused by a scratching sound at the back door, which I almost immediately dismissed as Constance's yellow lab, Prometheus (don't ask). Then I remembered that he sleeps in a kennel at night, to keep him from tearing things up.
So… what's making that noise?
I soundlessly slipped off the couch and out of the blanket and dropped to the floor with a quiet thump, and reached for my bag, beside the couch. I pulled out my gun and crept toward the noise.
Checking the chamber. Loaded, nine shots. Remember that.
One almost silent click. The weapon's ready to go.
I crept toward the kitchen, where the back door was, still hearing the noise.
The door popped open, and I froze, not daring to move, until a dark figure moved tentatively inside.
I slipped inside the little alcove that Con used to house her cleaning products. Hopefully the intruder didn't see me.
I heard boots on the linoleum flooring of Con's kitchen. He was getting closer. I chanced a tiny peek around the corner, and was rewarded with the knowledge that the intruder had a gun. He'd been examining an envelope on the table, and hadn't seen me.
My pulse quickened as adrenaline chased away the last of the drowsiness as I ducked back into my hiding place. Someone's broken into my sister's house. He's really going to wish he hadn't, if I have anything to say about it.
Hopefully I would have the chance to say something about it.
I slowly drew myself up to my full (though not considerable) height and listened.
He was coming my way, going toward the living room, where I'd been sleeping, not five minutes before, which would lead him right past me. That works.
Step. A little closer. The click of the slide of a pistol, held out in front of him.
Step. My heart pounding in anticipation. I heard it as though it were a grandfather clock, ticking away the seconds, and gaining in speed.
Step. There. He was right next to me, on the other side of the drywall.
I threw all my weight into a vicious kick upward, connecting with the hand holding the pistol, which went skyward, bouncing off the ceiling and thumping to the carpet.
I'd disarmed him.
Unfortunately, that was when things went downhill. I think the burglar/rapist/murderer was proficient in at least one kind of martial arts, as he returned my kick with an open-hand strike to the cradle of my shoulder, knocking me off balance before a knee connected with my abdomen, bringing me to my knees on the floor with a cough and a quiet grunt of pain.
I focused on catching my breath and standing again, and holding my gun, the only real hope I had in fighting this guy. After all, I'm not very big.
I must admit, I was wheezing from that last blow.
I shot to my feet with slightly more power than I meant to and aimed a punch at him, barely brushing his shoulder as he dodged it, boxer-style, and returned my feeble strike with another sweeping kick that knocked my legs out from under me and throwing me to the floor.
Got to get away. It was my only chance of minimizing his size advantage at all.
I threw all my strength into scrambling back, and putting my gun up to aim. But when I was flat on my back, I didn't have enough leverage to fight him off when he grabbed one of my ankles and slid me across the linoleum flooring, and I slammed into the cabinets, shaking the items inside, a mug fell right next to me, shattering. My head hit the wood, and my gun discharged accidentally as stars danced in my vision.
I somehow managed to scramble to my feet and flip on the light so that I could see. But then he could see better, too. But that was a risk I was going to have to take in order to defend myself.
My attacker was wearing a mask, so I couldn't see his face. Not that I was too concerned with identities at the time, but it might be handy in case I survived this fight.
I didn't have time to react before my assailant crossed the kitchen in one stride and caught me across the face with an impossibly hard punch, spinning me around about one hundred and eighty degrees, and pushing me into the wall.
I felt a strong hand grab me roughly by the back of the neck and hold me there, against that paisley wallpaper that I had secretly hated for years. I coughed and spluttered, blood welling up from several loose teeth, splattering the wall with crimson.
A thought bubbled up. I'm going to die right here. Right now. What a shitty way to go out, huh?
Those fingers tightened, and I was finding it difficult to breathe. My neck popped. He lifted me a few inches, and my toes were no longer touching linoleum.
I decided I'd might as well try to fight back.
Flattening my palms on the wall for leverage, I pushed with all my little might against that hand, but it didn't give, and I couldn't get my feet under me to get away.
The edges of my vision started going black as oxygen stopped moving to my brain, and my thoughts went hazy.
I heard the soft whisper of a knife leaving its sheath. This is going to hurt. Or maybe not? I truthfully hoped for the latter, knowing what he would probably do. Either slit my throat, which would be efficient but messy, or, depending on how long the blade was, slip it in-between my ribs to reach my heart.
Dude; just get it over with, already. Give me that much, at least.
"Let go of her!!" Constance's voice came from what seemed like a mile away.
Ding.
Those fingers loosened and then dropped away entirely, and I stumbled, but kept my footing as I heard a masculine grunt behind me, and I spun around to look at the attacker and found Constance holding a saucepan and looking terrified. She met my gaze for the tiniest fraction of a second.
My attacker growled in frustration and turned to deal with my sister, and a sort of animalistic rage welled up inside me.
Who in the hell does he think he is, going to hurt
my sister
?