My Own Greater Good

My Own Greater Good

“You have the money?”

“Don’t lose your rag, Logan, I’ll get you the money.”

Carlos brushed by me, clipping my shoulder as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket. I didn’t flinch, I just glared daggers into the back of his head. Scumbag’s going to pay, whether in cash or with something more precious. But he was going to pay.

The beeping in my own jacket pocket told me that I was needed in the office.

Oh well. Play hard, work hard, I supposed.

My office building, if you could call it that, wasn’t far. Head Quarters, for being the intelligence center of all of Western Europe, could not have chosen a more non-descript building for their main base. Fogged windows blinked from the dilapidated gray walls, staring at me as I approached the entrance.

I strode into HQ, raising my eyebrows at the receptionist. She rolled her eyes, and our obligatory interaction was done for the day. God, this place was a drag.

I swiped my card and stepped back to let the steel doors swing open with an industrial hiss. The workday was already well under way, from the looks of the men who huddled over their computers behind the glass walls. A few, in stained half-buttoned shirts and loose ties, looked like they had been there all night. Ah, the benefits of clawing my way up the hierarchy; I could come and go as I pleased.

I strolled down the hallway, hands stuffed in my jacket pocket. A bloke juggling a stack of file folders stumbled out of my way, nodding as I passed.

“Koust, there you are,” a gruff voice behind me said. White poked his head out his door, and beckoned me inside.

His office was as spotless as his employees’ shirts were not. His pencils, all sharpened, were lined up next to stacks of stark white paper, all identical heights. His own appearance complimented the room, neat and tidy, with his combed salt and pepper mustache, black coat smoothed over impossibly broad shoulders, and a white silk tie knotted neatly around his neck. I nudged a pencil, just to see something in the room out of line.

“Koust, I—”

“I hear you’ve been assigning people to the base in Havana. If we’re expecting trouble down there, I’d like to be there to supervise.”

White met my gaze, unwavering. Then he sighed, staring instead at his pencil arrangement. He pushed the errant pencil back into rank.

“I need you here, Koust. I’m sending Fischer to supervise the base in Havana.”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes again. The old bastard didn’t trust me.

“Well, then. I’ll be in my office.”

I stood up, and made for the door.

“Logan,” White called from his desk. I paused, just out of shock of hearing my first name. “Take it easy, will you?”

I stalked back to my office.

Damn that old man, he knows.

But how could he know? I played over our recent encounters. I hadn’t let anything slip, not a clue. How could he know?

But I couldn’t deny that he was slowly squeezing me out of his plans. Me! His second in command! He must know something.

Every time I saw him, he watched me with that goddamned knowing glint in his eyes and that irritating purse of his lips. He was judging me. Judging me for using means other than his means to eek out a living. A bloke needs money, White! And it’s no different than the means than you use. You justify manipulating government as being for the “greater good.” So why can’t I manipulate people if it’s for my greater good?

I slammed my fists on the stacks of paper that cluttered my desk and rose from my chair. I needed to worry about my own good. And that meant getting my money.

Time to pay Carlos a visit.

I loosened my tie as I walked from my office. Down the hall lined with exhausted workers and through the steel doors. I ignored the receptionist’s curious glance as I walked into the open air outside HQ.

Carlos was the doorman for a sleazy apartment complex, the type that shouldn’t need a doorman. Dingy brick walls, dented mail-slots, and a crooked stairwell slanting from the lobby. Carlos reclined in his sagging chair next to the dented mail-slots, mouth lolling open.

“Wake up, slug. Your time’s up.”

I loosened the gun from my belt and kicked the leg of his chair.

Carlos tipped off the chair with a yelp and landed in a heap. He stared at me and the gun I was stroking before scrabbling to his feet and barreling head first into the nearest door. With a sickening crack, the lock gave way and both Carlos and the door tumbled into the room.

My slow, deliberate steps followed him into the room.

The apartment we broke into was small, with a kitchenette taking up any discernable foyer, and a beat-up couch defining the living area. Carlos clawed his way across the shag carpeting, trying to make it out the back door. I stepped on the back of his legs and kicked him on his back.

His eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at me, cheeks paling to the color of curdled milk. “Logan, mate, I’ve got the money. I’ve got it. I’ll get it. Hey mate, I have a family, come on why are you pointing that at me man I’llgetyouthebloodymoneydon’tshoo—”

I sneered at him and cocked the gun. He’d had his chances, and getting money from a dead man was easier than waiting around for this scumbag to pay his dues.

I pulled the trigger right as I heard the back door kick open and a woman’s shriek. Before I could even register a face, I was diving across the room, pinning her to the wall, and shoving the muzzle of my gun against her cheekbone. She was a small thing; she wilted in my grasp and stared at Carlos’s corpse with eyes like saucers. She must live here. Would I have to knock her off too?

My ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps charging up the hall—quick, heavy, and measured. I knew who was going to bust open the door before they reached it.

Sure enough, White filled the doorway, and then filled the entire kitchenette before barreling into the living area. Johnson and Greenam, White’s bodyguard and head of security respectively, stood on either side of the doorway, angling their guns across their bodies. Their eyes switched between Carlos and the girl I had pinned against the wall, but White’s eyes zeroed in on me.

“Koust! What are you doing here?”

I met his accusatory stare. “I got a call about strange behavior here, White, and came to investigate even though I was off duty. I just got here a moment ago, right when this chit pulled the trigger.”

White finally broke our staring contest, and instead analyzed the girl. He pursed his lips, and met my gaze again. “I’ll take the girl in to custody. Koust, escort Greenam here back to base, and wait for me in my office. We need to have a word.”

I nodded, though I had no intention of going back to base.

As we exited the apartment complex, I whipped out my cell phone and checked an imaginary incoming message. “Bugger. I’ve got to run; wait for me in White’s office, ok?”

Greenam nodded at me, and continued down the sidewalk. Gullible bastard.

Carlos was predictable. I knew just where to find his stash. Distrustful of banks, his money was stuffed in a sock under his mattress. He was short two-grand.

His family would have to make up the difference.