BRODIE
OUTSIDE THE DONUT SHOP,ISTOOD IN FRONT OF MY MOTORCYCLE AND DRANK MY COFFEE, TRYING NOT TO BE OBVIOUS IN MY PERUSAL OF THE WOMAN INSIDE.Jessup Falls was a small town, and I hadn’t seen her around in the month or more I’d been here. I’d have remembered her, for sure. She was a right stunner.
I’d need to be moving on soon. I was surprised Donegal hadn’t called with something for me to do, other than that one quick job in December. I liked it here, though, had found myself settling into the slow pattern of days and the warm hospitality of the people. I was an outsider, but people were neighborly. The old men who seemed to live in the diner where I took meals periodically had moved from nods to lively discussions of the weather and women.
It reminded me of the little village I’d hailed from in County Clare, with its lakes and hills and foliage that was dead now but would soon be turning to green. A pang of longing hit me and I turned my attention back to the woman inside.
She was short and slender, leanly proportioned rather than boasting the usual curves I appreciated. She had an ass, though, that looked right for gripping. I’d always been a bit of an ass man. And that hair. It reminded me of that pretty bird in that Game of Thrones show…the one with the dragons. All silvery like the moon. And though it was pulled back at the moment, I could tell it was long enough to wrap around my hand several times.
One final swallow of my coffee and I tossed the cup, landing it in the bin a few feet away. I straddled my bike, taking my time with my helmet and watching as she finished up her order and accepted the box of pastries. I had no reason to linger. She was easy to read and I could tell by the flicker of her eyes that something about me made her uneasy.
And yet, I found myself prolonging the seconds it took to put my bike in gear and pull out of the lot, consigning her face to memory and hoping that she wasn’t just passing through.
She was one I needed to know.
The vibration of my phone against the mahogany nightstand awakened me. The sound slipped wraithlike between layers of sleep, one layer thick and dark and the other thinning with the morning sun peeping through the crack in the drapes.
Fucking voyeur, that sun.
I roused myself enough to sit and reach for the phone, the sheet slipping to my lap.
King: assignment in your secure email
I sighed and thumbed the email app, looking for Donegal’s message. Donegal was “King” in both text and email contacts, as he was the undisputed head of the east coast Irish mob. When Donegal messaged, you listened.
The only problem was, I was getting tired of listening. Killing people was growing old. I’d been serving as an enforcer in King’s army of Irish since I was in my teens, specializing in distance contracts. The runners, distant threats, and the occasional contract for someone connected to King through business…while the men I handled undoubtedly deserved the justice I dispensed, there was no joy in it. I’d never dreamed of becoming a killer by trade.
I didn’t know how not to be who I was, though. King had taken me in when I was a scared shitless thirteen year-old just come from Ireland, no family anymore and the threat of retribution hanging heavy over my head. I’d messed with the wrong people, but fortunately they’d been Donegal’s enemies as well as mine. My uncle had no problem taking me in and grooming me to do properly what I’d done in anger and grief: kill. I became as near to a second son as I could be, secure in my position within the family.
I owed him, and one didn’t walk away owing Donegal Gallagher of the East Coast Irish.
I found the email and opened it, entering the code to access the message. It was an encrypted file, sent via a secure network. King took his security seriously, as someone was always sniffing around for information or a weakness that might profit them. A way in, a way through, the location of a stash, the identity of a key player. It was all carefully guarded.
It looked like this assignment was a contract established by a friend or connection Donegal needed to keep happy. I scanned the email’s contents, ignoring the sensation of heaviness in my gut. Guilt had no place in this business. The people I killed were not innocent people, not by a long shot.
This target was a woman, though, judging from the name, and I didn’t like killing women. Which was not to say I’d never killed one. Around five or six years ago there’d been Valencia Mendoza. I hadn’t minded putting her down. One of the few women who worked for the MS-15 gang, there wasn’t much that bitch wouldn’t do. I’d been contracted to take care of her after she’d fucked up and included a senator’s daughter in a shipment of women and children. She had been a vile woman, and I hadn’t been sorry in the least to end her miserable life.
But this girl…I shook my head. There’d better be a damn good reason for sending this to me.
Emery Lane Bishop, age twenty-three. Jessup Falls, Virginia. Accident required.
A photo accompanied the brief message and my breath punched out on a soundless whistle as I opened it. It was the chick from the donut shop last night, dressed in a military uniform rather than the loose sweats she’d been wearing hours earlier. Her platinum hair was pulled back in a severe bun, but the style accentuated the fine, classic bone structure of her face and her huge green eyes.
Emery.The name suited her. It was pretty, unique. The thought of killing her made me want to puke.
I found back to my text messages and opened King’s.
Me:what did she do?
A reply came not even sixty seconds later.
King:not for you to worry about
Me:you know I don’t do women and children
King:You do what I tell you.
“Fuck.” I tossed the phone down and pulled my hands through my hair. I needed a reason. Maybe it was stupid, considering my line of business, but I had always been able to justify my kills. They were by and large uncomplicated mob hits. Would the world be a better place without this or that person in it? If the answer was an inarguable yes, then I didn’t give my actions another thought. Callous? Maybe. I preferred to think of it as my code, the only personal one I had the luxury of adhering to. I wasn’t a good person. I wasn’t an evil person, either.
