Fear Gives Men Wings: Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

         I released my finger from the trigger. Gebbins was lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes had rolled back in his head and his chest had stopped heaving. The job was complete; time to get paid. The only witness was his mistress and she was bleeding out in her room. Even if there had been others that had seen me, my disguise was heavy enough to distort my true image.

         The sirens were getting louder, closer. I turned and sprinted down the street and around the corner. The rain was finally letting up. The streets were slick but that didn’t affect my pace. It was late, but it wasn’t so late that there weren’t still people awake. I had to make sure I ditched anything that would put my finger on the trigger.

         Moving quickly, I tossed the glasses down a storm drain, took off the pants and jacket and stuffed them into separate trash bins. The hair dye would be easily washed out in the morning, removing the gray and returning my hair to the natural brown that it was. The street was quiet as I moved stealthily along, the rubber-soled sneakers masking much of the noise from my footfalls. No cars passed and few lights were on in the apartments I passed. As I sprinted further down Highland Street, the sirens and flashing lights dissolved into the night.

         I made my way across Valley Forge Bridge. It was usually congested with traffic, but at this hour only a few cars passed; people returning from a long night of doing whatever. Standing at the center of the bridge, I disassembled the gun and threw the pieces into the Schuylkill River. The light, long-sleeved thermal and gray sweatpants I had on underneath my original outfit were enough to protect me from the chill brought in by the wind after the rain.

         At the end of the bridge there was a bus stop. It was illuminated by a white street lamp, sitting in the dark, alone. I sat down on the metal bench. The overhang that was supposed to be clean was anything but. It was covered in graffiti and stickers, advertising everything from hot phone sex to missing dogs. I saw the sticker I was looking for. It was small, black lettered on a white background.  It read: Call James Clark to get money fast! The number was in the name.

         Across the street from the bus stop was a pay phone. I walked over and inserted change into it.

         The phone rang twice before I heard it picked up. “Clark?”

         “Yeah, who’s this?” The voice on the other end sounded tired.

         I didn’t care. I wanted to get paid, immediately. “The grass has been clipped. Iron Shield bar, one hour. Bring Benjamin.” I placed the receiver back on the hook and took out my handkerchief. Shielding the phone with my torso, I wiped the phone and the numbers clean. I walked back to the bus stop just as the bus arrived. I stepped on, sat down near the front and slumped to the side. I pressed my face against the cool glass of the window as the orange glow of the street lamps passed by.

         Twenty minutes later, I got off at Easton Avenue. The Iron Shield Bar was a block and a half down the road. I walked the distance, keeping my head tilted slightly down, but my eyes were searching for anything out of the ordinary. The bar was the only place with lights on. The fluorescent sign over the entrance glowed audibly as I approached. A shield and the name of the bar were emblazoned on the sign. It was a Monday night and the place was more than likely crowded, hanging out late after the big game. Zero chance of an ambush, though I had a feeling Clark was smarter than that.

         I was a half hour ahead of my meeting. I took a booth in the right corner of the place and order a beer. It was only a means to keep all prying eyes away from me, so that I could keep mine on them. The bar was dimly lit, the owner’s idea of ambience. The bar ran the length of the room and with red-topped stools in front of it. Behind the counter was a young-looking girl, maybe twenty three. She wore a low-cut white blouse that showed as much cleavage as possible. Somehow I knew she got harassed all nightly by the patrons.

         It seemed like most of the patrons were regular. When I had entered none had looked my way. They just kept their eyes on their beers, or on the pretty little thing behind the counter. They were no threat to me. I sat back, watching and waiting. The nightly news was on a loop. I listened to see if the cops had gotten any details on me.

         A pretty brunette was on the screen, speaking in a voice of velvet. The words flowed out as if she didn’t have a care in the world; even as she relayed news on death and robberies. “A local man was murdered tonight, in the 300 block of West Lansdale. Dave Lansing has the story.”

         A thin-face man appeared on the screen. Blue and red lights flashed behind him as he spoke. “Thanks, Gloria. I’m standing on Highland Street, the scene of a grisly shooting of a man allegedly connected to the Russian mob. I spoke with Police Chief Carl Watson earlier.” The channel was changed, cutting off the interview with the police chief. Damn.

         Precisely an hour after I made the call, a man in a perfectly tailored suit strolled through the entrance. His hair was jet black, slicked with gel. His face was perfectly trimmed, no stubble, no nose hairs sticking out, not even bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. His suit was pin striped, three piece, probably Italian. It was as black as his hair, with a white undershirt and gold tie. He had a gold handkerchief stuck in his left breast pocket. He lingered in the doorway, scoping out the place. Our eyes met and he glided over. He slid into the seat opposite me. His teeth were a brilliant white when he smiled. It seemed he had more teeth than a normal person would.

         “Jimmy Clark,” I said, smiling a bit. “For a shark, you clean up nicely.”

         “Raymond, good job out there. Gebbins was a loose end and you tied it up perfectly. The message has been sent.” He smiled.

         I wanted to bash out all those pearly whites. “I don’t see Benjamin with you.”

         “Right to the point, eh? I think I’ll get myself a drink first, since you did wake me up.” The white flash split his face again. He flagged down the waitress and ordered a rum and Coke.

         What a dick. I wanted to get my money and get out and he has to get a drink for himself? It was childish. “Clark, I don’t have time foe this and I don’t like repeating myself.”

         “Raymond, calm down. I got your money but it isn’t on me. Let’s stay here and chat for a bit. The boss like what you did to Gebbins. Fine work, a professional, he said.”

         The waitress came with his drink. Clark looked up and smiled again.

         I was tired and fed up with his charade. “Clark,” I leaned forward, my words icy. “Give me my goddamn money and let me get the fuck out of here.” I didn’t like the fact that he had me cornered in the booth.

         He held up his hands, palms forward. “Alright, Raymond, if you insist. Thought we could try and be civilized about this but….” Clark pulled a money clip thick with bills from his jacket pocket and placed a twenty on the table. “You owe me for these, Ray.” Clark smiled again.

         Walking out of the bar, Clark reached into his jacket.

         I grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back. I pushed him forward and slammed his chest into a parked car. Air shot out of his lungs with a loud ‘Ooooof!’

         “What are you doing, Ray!?” Clark shouted. “I don’t even have a gun on me! Just getting my keys!” In the hand I had pinned behind his back, he jingled the keys.

         I released him and he turned to look at me, rotating his arm, trying to soothe the pain. “That’s what you get for holding out on me. Next time, bring the money in with you.”

         “It’s a precautionary, Raymond. Just in case you decide to kill me, you wouldn’t have gotten the money.”

         “Why would I wanna kill you, Jimmy?” I smiled widely this time.

         “I know you have a good memory, Raymond, so you don’t forget what happened in Norristown.”

         “Who says I won’t kill you right now, take your keys, unlock whatever is locked and get my money and your car?”

         “You are a violent man, Raymond. Maybe that’s why the boss likes you.” Clark smiled. “If you killed me now, you wouldn’t get the money because it isn’t in the car. It’s somewhere safe. We need to go for a drive.”

         “Clark, I don’t like games, especially ones that aren’t part of deals.” I backed up, wishing I had kept the gun.

         “Raymond, please, I’m a changed man. What happened in Norristown is in the past. I’ve forgiven and forgotten, can’t you?”

         “Give me back those years of my life and I will.”

         Clark smiled. “Come with me, Raymond. The boss wants a meet and greet, that’s all. We have another assignment for you; double your contract for this one.”

         “When do I get paid?”

         “On site. Don’t worry, Raymond. Short drive to the warehouse, owned by us, of course. A sit down with the boss. You’ll get the next assignment, your promised money and an advance on the next one. Think of it as a preferred customer agreement.” Clark gestured to the passenger side door. “What have you got to lose?”

         “If you cross me again, Clark, I won’t let you live.” I snarled, opening the car door and falling into the seat.

         “My man,” Clark smiled, entering the driver’s side door and firing up the engine.

         The car was a Porsche Carrera, midnight black. Clark was well off working for the mob, taking a piece of the pie here and there. It only made the man more of an asshole than he already was. He walked around in his fine suits and drove his fast car but the fact of the matter was everybody wanted him dead. The only reason his heart kept beating was because he was a decent middleman.

         The Porsche slid out of the parking lot, moving fluidly and quickly into the night. Clark kept his mouth shut during the ride but I could feel he wanted to say something about the car. The ride itself was smooth. Going down Easton, Clark made a left onto Line Street. It was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of the orange streetlamps. I stared out the window as mammoth cranes filled my view. They were monsters looming in the dark.

The warehouse Clark had said we were going to was in the middle of a large construction area. A chain link fence blocked our path as Clark pulled the Porsche to it. A small guard booth was on our left and a burly man dressed in black stepped out of it. He had an MP5 H&K slung around his massive shoulders and a pistol in a holster strapped to his hip.

Clark rolled down the window as the man approached. “Tell the boss that Clark is here. I’ve brought a customer for a withdrawal.”

The guard nodded and walked back to the booth. He picked up a black telephone, listened for a second, spoke, nodded and placed the phone back on the hook. The man got up and nodded to Clark again and unlocked the gate. Clark eased the Porsche through the gate and parked in front of a small trailer. The windows were black and I couldn’t see any movement from the inside.

“What is this, Clark?” I said, indicating the darkened windows.

“Don’t worry, Raymond,” Clark smiled, killing the engine and stepping out of the car.

I slowly stepped out of the car. Suddenly, a black bag was thrown over my head. Huge, strong arms grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms to the sides. I could hear Clark say something about old times before a heavy, blunt object was smashed into the back of my head. The black inside of the bag became blacker.

I awoke in darkness. I thought the bag was still over my face but I couldn’t feel anything. A spotlight shone directly in my face. I squinted hard, trying to get my eyes to focus in the blinding light. The lights went out and I sat in darkness again, this time with little, dark purple dots in my eyes.

“What the fuck is going on?” I shouted to the darkness. I was answered by another flash of light. “Clark! If that’s you with the light, you are a dead man!” I struggled mightily but found that my hands were tied to the arms of the chair I was sitting in. I tried to kick but my ankles were also secured to the legs of the chair. I started to rock back and forth, hoping to snap some part of the chair that might help loosen my binds, when a smooth voice called out to me.

“Easy, Raymond. We are doing this for our own protection. As was evident tonight, you are a very dangerous man.”

“Clark, when I get free, you’ll be the first I kill.”

Clark chuckled. “Would you like to place a bet on that, Raymond?”

“I’ll wager your life.”

“Enough!” Another, much stronger voice shouted.

My eyes were adjusting to the darkness. I was sitting with my face toward a wall. A giant lamp was in front of me. I could feel the heat emanating off of it.

“I enjoyed your work tonight, Ray. Very…discreet. And I believe a man of your quality deserves to be paid.”

The boss that Clark was so fond of. He had said a face-to-face, but I only saw wood paneling. “Who are you? Why all this?”

“My name is none of your concern, Ray. What should be your concern is the money I owe you. And, like Clark said, you are a very dangerous man. This is a precautionary for us. Besides, it wouldn’t be in my best interest if you knew my identity.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re an assassin, Ray. If you knew who I was and what I do, it would not be to my benefit. I have a large bull’s-eye on my head and you could pull the trigger for whatever price you wanted from the highest bidder.”

“Good point.” My eyes were fully adjusted. The room I was in was paneled from floor to ceiling in wood. I couldn’t see any windows, electrical outlets, nothing. How were they powering this damn light then? Looking to my left and then to my right didn’t help me either. The walls were the same, nothing on them, and no windows. “So, you promised money?”

The boss chuckled. “Yes, a man always needs more money, right Ray?”

“In my line of business, it’s always good to have something to fall back on.”

“Admirable. Anyway, I don’t have any time left to trade words. I must return to my day job. In a minute, your leg bindings will be cut. Freeing your arms is up to you. Once you are free, you will find a briefcase behind you. It contains the agreed upon amount of cash, an envelope with all you need to know about your next hit, plus a down payment. Nice doing business with you, Ray.”

“Yeah, it was a pleasure.”

The light was flicked on. I squinted and turned my head from the light. I felt the bindings loosen. I kicked my legs and freed them from the ropes. The light remained on my face. I heard a door close behind me. An engine started up and the car roared off. Then, it was silent.

I assessed the situation. My legs were free but my hands were tied to the arms of the chair. I tried to stand but I was sitting too far back in the seat to stand up properly. I bent at a ninety degree angle and placed my feet on the floor. My face was parallel to the floor. I turned my back to the light and strained my neck to look up. The light shone on a silver briefcase. The boss had told the truth about the case, but the contents of it would tell me whether he was a liar or not. I looked around the room for something to smash the chair with.

The room was small, entirely paneled with wood and had one door. The only things other than me, the chair in the room were the light and the briefcase. No window ledges, desks, other chairs, nothing. It was just an empty room, probably out in the middle of nowhere.

The chair was light, probably made of wood. I put the feet of the chair against the wall and began to press down. I began to add more and more pressure, hearing the wood begin to crack. Using the last bit of energy I could muster, I slammed the legs against the wall. They exploded in a shower of splinters. They had broken off but I was still tied to the chair. Looking for something else that could pry me loose; I glanced at the door. The handle was silver and hooked inward. I waddled over to it and tried to squeeze the handle underneath my wrist. The handle slid about and inch down my wrist and caught onto the first loop of the rope. The cold steel pressed against my skin as I bent my knees. The handle began to turn downward. I took a few small steps forward and slammed my shoulder into the door. The door sprang open and I stumbled out. I fell sideways and landed on my shoulder. The arm of the chair broke and I had one hand free. I ripped it away from the rope and untied my other arm.

Freeing myself from what was left of the chair, I sat up and took a deep breath in. The night’s cold was giving way to the warmth of the approaching morning. My eyes adjusted in the dim light and I found myself in a junkyard. Rusted cars, old tires and useless engines surrounded me. The building I had fallen out of was not a building at all but a small trailer, barely bigger than an average SUV. The door was still swung wide open. It hung there by one hinge. The light that had been shining on my face was now pouring through the doorway. I sat there, soaked in sweat, sucking in the morning air. The sun was beginning to make its ascent, turning the sky into a pinkish-purple.

I stood and brushed the dirt off me. I walked back into the trailer. The silver briefcase was glowing in the spotlight. I walked up and turned it on its side. Flipping the locks up, I opened the briefcase. Benjamin Franklin smirked back up at me. Cold, hard cash. The only thing I would accept. I looked through the briefcase and found all the contents were there. Something different caught my eye. It was a magazine, Time, with a black profile of a man on the cover. The profile was outlined in white. The title read: Who is Leon Brand? The question mark fit perfectly into the center of the outlined face. I flicked through the pages until I got to the article on Brand. It was dated two weeks earlier. I scanned through it. Self-made millionaire through a meteoric rise in the ranks on Wall Street. Allegedly connected to the mob; friends deep within the government. He had never been seen in public, though. The article had no pictures of the man, just places where he had allegedly been seen. Not even a picture from childhood. Nothing. A ghost. Why was this magazine put in with my pay? I shrugged, closed the case and walked out of the trailer.

The way out of the junkyard was drawn by the tire tracks left by Clark’s car. I followed the trail for fifteen minutes before I reached the entrance of the junkyard. At the entrance sat a guard booth with a guard inside. I walked past the window and nodded toward the guard. I received a nod back from him. As I passed, the guard pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. I walked out onto the street and stopped. It was empty, and the sun was rising behind me. The buildings that lined the street in front of me had thick bars over the windows, ugly black teeth that kept everything out. I started moving forward when a black sedan screeched around the corner. It pulled up next to me and the same burly man that I had seen when I arrived at the construction site with Clark stepped.

“Sonofabitch, look who it is.” I smirked toward him.

The man pulled a nine millimeter pistol and pointed it at my face. He spoke in a Russian accent so thick I needed a knife to dissect what he was saying. “Get into cah, drive dis cah, an’ only dis cah. Ve vill know iv you drive diverent cah.”

“Whatever you say.” I walked around the hood of the car and stepped in front of him, hands up and out.

“No vunny biznez.” The Russian said, tossing the keys onto the front seat and backing up. He kept the gun level with me as I slid into the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition.

“Dasvidaniya, comrade,” I said as I put the car into gear and sped away, leaving the burly Russian standing there in the breaking light. I sped along the streets as the sky was yawning and the sun began to show its face. Early morning commuters looking to beat the rat race had begun to clog the streets but I was in no real hurry. If the boss was smart, and I knew he was by all the precautions he had taken with me, he’d have given me a good timetable to complete this next job.

I arrived at my apartment complex just before eight. Pulling into an open spot, I noticed a white, unmarked van sitting ten spots down and two rows back from me. Real subtle. But maybe that was the point. Screw covertness, being extremely overt was on the menu today. I stepped out of the car and pretended to drop the keys. I knelt to pick them up and gave a quick look underneath the car. A red blip flashed once. A small black box was attached to the underside of the car. A GPS tracker. So much for taking the bus. The Russian was serious when he said they’d know if I wasn’t taking their car out for a spin. I walked to the front of the apartment complex and pushed through the revolving door.

The place was nice enough for me. It was an old building; built in the late 1920’s right before the Great Depression, it had somehow managed to stay open and standing since then. The lobby was carpeted with a green felt that had gotten very thin from years of weighted steps crushing it. The building had been taken over by a corporation who wanted a chain of these types of old buildings for nostalgia purposes. Fact was, they took away all the nostalgia when they moved in. Out with the typewriters and penning into the logbook. In with swiping cards to get into your room. They had also added ten floors to the building to accommodate all those new nostalgia-seeking people.

I made my way down the large hall to the rickety elevator that was the original model from when the place first opened and one of the few things that hadn’t been changed. I closed the gate behind me and pressed the button for the ninth floor. The car lurched upwards and slowly hummed along until it reached the top and let out a small ding. I pushed the gate to the side and stepped out. The hallway to my room was carpeted in the same felt as the lobby. The walls were covered with new wallpaper that tried its best to emulate the design from the original four floors. Room 916 awaited me. I walked up to the door and looked at the top of the frame. The little piece of Scotch tape I had left stuck to the door and frame had been ripped.

Someone had been in the room while I had been away. I tensed, wishing for the second time I had kept the gun. The briefcase would be my only weapon. I tried the handle. It was unlocked. The intruder was still in my room! I pressed my ear to the door. I could hear the muffled sound of someone moving around. I turned the handle slowly until the door gave to my pressure. The curtains on the windows were opened and the morning sun was pouring through. I pushed the door open a bit more. I could see the living room through the crack in the door. It looked undisturbed. I pushed the door open fully and stepped softly into my apartment. Nothing was out of place. Everything was just as I had left it. I closed the door quietly behind me and walked toward the kitchen. I stopped when I saw a sliver of skin behind the wall that separated my kitchen and living room. I took one step, lunged around the corner and grabbed a thin wrist. A woman’s wrist. With one sharp pull I wrenched her in front of me. For the second time in less than twelve hours, I had a gun pointed in my face.

My reversal was almost instantaneous. I dropped the briefcase, then snapped both of my hands forward, the sides of my palms becoming straight edges, and smashed the woman’s wrist on either side. The gun went flying out of her hand and skittering across the room. My hands latched onto the wrist and I pulled her close. She was trembling.

“I’m sorry, Ray. I didn’t know it was you. You look so different.”

“What are you doing here?”

She tried to wrap her arms around me but I pushed her away. I walked over where the gun was and picked it up. It was a Glock 23; probably loaded with .40 Smith and Wesson rounds and could definitely have blown me into the afterlife. I took out the clip and popped out the bullet that was in the chamber. I took the pieces and placed them in the kitchen table.

“How did you get your hands on the gun?” I asked, looking up at her.

She was leaning against the dividing wall, rubbing her wrists. Her eyes were beginning to well up. “It was under your pillow. Isn’t that a little cliché? She smiled.

I had to admit, it was cliché, but I didn’t care. I glared at her. But I couldn’t be mad. She was so damn beautiful. The way she was standing against the wall, her big, brown eyes shimmering with tears; she was too beautiful to stay mad at for long. “What are you doing here, Michelle?”

“I missed you, Ray.” She took a step toward me. “When you didn’t call--.”

“I was busy.”

“--I decided to come here.” Another step. “What’d you do to your hair?”

I pressed my palm out. “Listen, you can’t do that again, okay? I could’ve killed you.”

She took another step to me. I could smell her perfume, feel her warmth. She reached out and caressed my cheek. “I had the gun.”

I took her hand in mine and pulled her closer. “Not for very long.”

She took her other hand and put it on my other cheek. She leaned in closer.

I ducked under her arm and twisted it behind her back.

“Ow!”

I pushed her forward and she stumbled into an open chair by the kitchen table. I grabbed the gun off the table, slammed in the clip, pulled back the chamber and pointed the gun at her. “What are you doing here, Michelle?” This time I emphasized every word.

“I missed you! What did you think? I wanted to see you. Geez, what’s wrong with you!”

“I told you to stay with your mother. You know you can’t just come here whenever you want!”

She shifted uneasily in her seat, then hung her head and said softly, “Sorry.”

I clicked the safety on the Glock and put it back on the table. “It’s okay.” I reached out and brushed her chestnut hair out of her face. She looked up at me. Her face glowed in the morning light. My hand crossed her round cheeks, wiping away a tear, then moved down to her pointed chin. I had to crack a smile. I couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny?” 

         I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m hungry, are you?”

         She laughed. It was a loud, I-don’t-care-who-hears laugh. “You, a cook? Now I think I’ve seen everything.”

         “Michelle, baby, that cuts deep. I learned a thing or two from the Parisians when I was there.”

         Again, the laugh. “Ok, let’s see what ya got.”

         I walked over to the fridge. “Hopefully, I have anything. If not, then we’ll go out.”

         “If you say so.”

         I opened the fridge and it was empty. Well, not exactly empty. It had assorted condiments and three-week-old milk that had begun to turn a pale green. “Looks like we’ll be going out. Any places in mind?” I didn’t mind going out, especially with her. Common sense would say not to take her out with me because of the surveillance they had, but I figured if they had done their homework as thoroughly as I knew they had, then they would already know about Michelle and it was a forgone conclusion that she would be a liability. 

         “Are you gonna change you hair back? It looks dumb and you look old.”

         “That’s the point.” I looked at myself in the mirror in the hall. The gray in my hair was still in there pretty good and it did make me look at least 15 years older than I actually was. I ran my hand through it and flakes of gray started to fall down onto my shoulders. The rain from my previous night’s work had effectively dried the dye in my hair. I walked into the bathroom and took off the thermal and sweatpants. Bruises had formed on my shoulder and a dull pain was forming near the back of my head. The ropes that had bound me earlier had left a faint mark that would fade soon.

Michelle walked in a gasped. She touched my shoulder and I winced. “Oh, sorry, what happened to you? This looks like it hurts.” She poked my shoulder again.

“Ah, yeah, it hurts a bit and I think you should stop poking me.”

“What happened? And why did you dye your hair gray? What have you been up to?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m gonna grab a quick shower and then we can get some food, okay? Make yourself at home.”

Michelle started running her hand across my chest and then moved slowly south. “Can I join?”

I pushed her hand off. “No.” I stepped into the shower and she walked out of the bathroom, slamming the door.

Ten minutes later I was standing in my bedroom, brushing out the rest of the gray flakes from my brown hair. The steam of the shower had failed to push away the headache and it was now on the top of my skull. I took some Advil and put on a sandy Armani suit with a slate tie. The Glock 23 went into my waistband. She was sitting on my bed, playing with the fringe on the hole in her jeans. “Why are you bringing the gun?”

“This city is pretty dangerous.”

She laughed, stood and straightened my collar. “Ever heard of an iron?”

“A what?” I replied.

         She sighed. “Exactly. Ray, how did you pull a girl like me when you have no sense of style?”

         I looked her up and down. She was wearing tennis shoes and holey jeans, with a yellow T-shirt that read: I got your lemonade right here! A lemon with a face on it was underneath the words. Her black bra shown through the thin shirt and the curve of her breasts made the words larger than they normally were. “I don’t think you have a sense of style either.”

         She laughed, then wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me close. “I love you, Ray.”

         I unclasped her hands behind my back and put them at her side. “I know you do.”

         She stomped her foot and made a pouting face. I smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

         Twenty minutes later we were on the corner of Broad Street and Hancock Ave., sitting in a coffee shop, named Joe to Go. I had done the normal counter surveillance routine during the walk there but was surprised when I found that we weren’t being followed. Had they switched tactics, overt to covert? I didn’t want to take any chances and picked a table in the corner of the shop just in case. Michelle tried to protest but I let her know that I wasn’t having it. She sat in front of me with her arms folded across her chest and her chin down. “Why can’t we sit outside? It’s a beautiful morning! We’re sitting in this stuffy place when we could be sitting outside, enjoying the fresh air!”

         “Too many angles.”

         “What? Angles? What are you talking about?”          

“Never mind. What do you want?”

She huffed out some air and didn’t reply.

“Fine, starve. I just need some coffee.” I stood and walked to the counter to order when a man in a black suit with a charcoal tie walked in. I could see from the bulk in his jacket that he was armed. Probably law enforcement, maybe a government agent? He walked up to the counter and ordered something. Then, he looked my way. I made that I was looking at the menu behind the counter but I could feel his eyes on me. I walked up to the counter and ordered. The man was behind me but I could feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I took the paid slip from the barista and turned, bumping into the man. As I bumped him, I pushed his jacket open to reveal a gold badge attached to his hip. Definitely law enforcement. Too early to tell if he was here for me. Play it smooth. 

“Excuse me.” I smiled and made eye contact.

“It’s ok.” He grunted to my back as I walked to the table.

Michelle looked up at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”

“Nah, thought I knew him but turned out to be someone else.”

         “Someone else? How could you not tell the difference between that guy and someone you knew? Do you know someone with alopecia areata?”

“No. I just know a few bald guys.”

“Yeah but he was all bald. Not even eyebrows!”

I shot her a look. “Keep your voice down, Michelle. You know it’s probably a sensitive thing to him.” The man had taken a seat on the opposite side of the room, back to the wall. The counter was V-shaped and the tables were arranged along the V. I watched the man from my corner over the pots of steaming coffee. He was entirely bald, just as Michelle had said; alopecia areata she called it. I’d never heard of it.

The coffee came with a plain bagel and cream cheese. Both went down in a heartbeat. My eyes were still on the bald man when he reached into his pocket. I tensed, sweeping my hand slowly behind my back and wrapping my fingers around the Glock. But the man pulled out a cell phone.

“What was that?” Michelle had been watching me the whole time.

I needed to stop being so paranoid. It wasn’t the first time I’d killed someone, but this time it felt too easy; something felt wrong. “It was nothing, I had an itch.”

She stared at me for a second, before changing her gaze out the window. The sun was poring in and her auburn hair was lit up softly. Her face was slightly tanned and round; it glowed in the morning sun. I reached out to touch her hand.

She got up quickly without even looking at me. “I think I’m gonna get something to eat.” Michelle glided away and I was alone. I could feel the man’s eyes on me, though. I glanced over slightly, searching him out in the corner of my eye. He was talking on the cell phone now, using his hands to punctuate points, but his face showed little emotion. And he was staring right at me. I cheerily returned his stare, raising my empty coffee cup in toast, one he did not return. His eyes stood out on his face. The color in his pupils was missing. Only black dots surrounded by white. His eye turned to slits after I toasted to him and he ran his thumb across his neck like he was slicing his own throat. Just then, Michelle filled my view.

“I thought you said you didn’t know him?” she was blocking my view of the man. A mistake.

I grabbed her around the waist and pushed her to my left.

The man was gone.

“What? What is it, Ray?”

I didn’t respond, instead I heard the clang of the bell above the entrance. The man in the black suit slipped past two women in running gear. I watched him disappear around the corner before focusing my attention back to Michelle.

She was looking at me with a furrowed brow. “You’ve been acting very weird lately, Ray. It’s making me nervous.” She sipped from her coffee cup.

I watched her for a second, then stood up and looked at where the man had been sitting. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He had left nothing on the table and pushed in his chair as well. He was quick, I admitted, quick enough to make his escape in the five second delay that Michelle had caused. I wished I had gotten a better look at him. Nothing from the first scan had set off alarms, apart from his condition, but I was beginning to seriously doubt he was law enforcement; especially after that throat slicing incident. I sat back down slowly as Michelle got up.

“I’m gonna go, Ray,” she said, shaking her head. “When you get back from whatever planet you’re on, give me a call.”

“Wait, Michelle.” I grasped air instead of her arm; she was out of reach. I watched her auburn hair bounce out the door and around the same corner the bald man had gone around. I sat in the coffee shop, sipping on another coffee for fifteen minutes before my phone rang. The caller ID said it was Clark.

“I’m not in the mood, Clark.”

“I don’t care, Raymond. Have you read the dossier yet?”

“Haven’t had the chance, but if you had been keeping tabs with your boys, you’d know that.”

“What boys, Ray? We have nobody on you.”

The metallic sound of his voice sent a chill through my body. “What are you saying, Clark?”

“What are you saying, Raymond? I think you need to get some rest. You sound tired and obviously, your brain is very tired. Call me when you read the dossier.”

“Wait, Clark! What about the Russian, with the car? You’re saying you know nothing about him?”

“Oh, Vitaly? Yeah, I know about him, Raymond. But that’s all we got on you. Whoever else you’re seeing is somebody else. Get some sleep, Raymond.”

Someone else? My mind was on a carousel from hell. Who else would be watching me and tailing me? I hadn’t had a run-in with the feds since Norristown but that was years ago. My gut had a feeling and it was telling me that the bald man had a part in all this. I just didn’t know what part he was playing.

I finished the coffee and decided that the walk home wasn’t going to cover it. I took three different cabs, changing after a couple of blocks of circling my apartment complex and making sure that no one was following. I went up to the level where I had parked the car from the Russian. The white van that had been sitting in the lot was not there this time. I walked up to the car and looked under it. The GPS was still in place. Whoever else was tailing me did not put the GPS on the car. I straightened up and unlocked the car. I sat in the front seat and checked the glove box. It was empty but I felt around for any hitches or lips in the fabric that could have been removed. There were none. I checked the backseat, under and between the cushions, then under the driver and passenger seats and still found nothing. Whoever had been in the van had decided to not bug the car. Who were they? Paranoia was running rampant. Clark said I needed some sleep. I hadn’t slept in at least thirty hours. I walked back into the complex and up to my room. 

My mind still had a death-grip on the carousel as I plopped down on my bed. Someone other than Clark’s goons had been watching me. Endless questions passed over me, hanging in my thoughts like a dense fog. The bald man and his throat slash. The guys in the white van. All questions, no answers. I drifted off into sleep.

I awoke showered in a golden light coming through the dusty slits of the shades. I blinked my eyes into focus and snapped up, wheeling the Glock in front of me. There was no one in the room. The clock read 6:30 p.m. I placed the Glock on the bed, then stood and walked over to where I’d left the briefcase. The silver case reflected the sunlight as I placed it on top of the table and clicked it open. The magazine was on top where I’d left it, with Franklin and the thin manila envelope underneath it. I pulled out the dossier and snapped the briefcase shut. The manila envelope had two pieces of paper in them, one of them being a photograph. The photo was a blurry black and white, taken from a distance. Not that it mattered. I knew exactly who I was looking at.

The bald man from the coffee shop.

My veins froze over, the warmth from the waning sun lost, as I put the picture down and took up the other paper. It was a bio of the bald man. The list of aliases consisted of one name: The Ghost. It seemed appropriate. His height and weight were listed at six foot even, two-hundred fifteen pounds. The paper said he was an American, roughly forty-five years old, thought to be ex-Special Forces, having done stints in Afghanistan and Iraq before switching to a career as a gun-for-hire. A gun-for-hire that knew who I was and who I was after. The tables had been turned before I sat down. At the bottom of the bio was a statement addressed to myself: Raymond, The Ghost has been contracted to eliminate the mayor at the Inauguration Gala. You are to let this happen, then eliminate The Ghost. The Mayor has decided to hold the gala outdoors, at the town center. He will be making a speech at 3pm. The Ghost has already laid plans to pose as a security officer at the Warrington Hotel, where he has rented a room. It is room 707. You will have to find your own way into the hotel, eliminate The Ghost after he kills the mayor, then make your escape. Use any method necessary, your pay will not be affected. We will contact you when the job is done and you will be paid accordingly.

On paper it was simple enough. The firepower needed for the job was minimal, even unnecessary. A garrote would be the easiest way; quick, quiet and clean. The Inauguration Gala was on Sunday. I had tonight, then the next four days to get acquainted with the building, to get equipped, and to get ready. Though the job seemed easy enough, I didn’t want to make it seem too easy, especially when I had more questions than answers. Killing the ghost after he kills the mayor seemed pointless. They could’ve just done a follow-up contract with me. The name Leon Brand was still floating around up there.  Questions without answers were bad business. I called up Clark to see if he could fill in some blanks. 

“Let’s hear it, Raymond.”

         The calmness of his voice piled on the suspicion. “I don’t like the contract.”

         “What’s not to like, Raymond? It’s a cake-walk.”

         “That’s the thing, Clark. It’s too easy. What’s the catch?”

         “No catch, Raymond. Just a quick paycheck for you. Listen, I got some other work to take care of. We’ll be in touch.”

         The line went dead. I slammed the receiver down. Something was wrong. I needed to get to the bottom of it before it was too late.