Bayani rears back and shakes his head fervently.“Impossible,”he signs. He wants to beg John not to do anything stupid, to not put his precious life at risk, but arguing with the man would be fruitless and besides, John has already fallen asleep.
13
JOHN
John napsfor a few hours and wakes to a warm body snuggled cozily in his arms. John could get used to this, wouldliketo get used to this, if the fates allow.
Carefully, so as not to disturb him, John climbs out of the bed and prepares for the night ahead. Some time ago, Bayani told John about the Hand’s warehouse where he was held captive, a place where they often take people to interrogate or dispose of them. John figures that is as good a place as any to find Emile. He hopes his plan goes smoothly and that he’s able to return to the beautiful boy in his bed, but he’s prepared a note for Bayani in case he doesn’t. He won’t have the boy risking his own life, and their window of escape is narrowing with every passing moment.
Before leaving, John walks over to the bed, gazes down on his beloved, and presses a single chaste kiss against Bayani’s rose pink lips. If he’s unsuccessful in his mission, it will still have been a worthy cause. He’d do anything to ensure the boy’s safety.
John needs a soldier’s mindset now more than ever, so he gathers himself and exits the room quietly. He puts the boy out of his head and envisions the night ahead. It’s been a while since he’s done anything like this, infiltrated an enemy compound and taken out its inhabitants, and he must complete this mission alone. This isn’t a warzone either, so the same rules don’t apply. Gunfire is too loud and leaves behind too much evidence, which means this killing will have to be up close and personal.
How does the assassin do it? Kill people for a living? John used to think being a mercenary was a cold-hearted profession, but his stint in the service proved otherwise. Several of the people he served with were just as warm and compassionate as anyone else, and yet, when push came to shove, they acted according to their training, every one.
This is not war, but John is preparing for battle, nonetheless.
John arrives at his destination, a fenced-in lot sandwiched between a bayou and a lesser-traveled industrial road. Surrounding the property is slash pine and swamp, which means he’ll need to avoid traversing the muddier areas so as not to leave boot prints or tire tracks. He parks farther down the road where the grass is thick, tucked in behind some low bushes overgrown with vines, then doubles back on foot, careful to stay on the road’s shoulder.
The warehouses and surrounding parking lots are not well-lit, which makes sense for the Hand’s purposes. The sparse lighting offers excellent cover for John to sneak onto the premises undetected. It’s been a while since he’s had to scale a barbed-wire fence, but like riding a bike, the skill comes back to him. At the top, he uses his leather jacket to protect himself from the wire’s metal spikes, then retrieves it without even a tear to the sturdy material.
With two booted feet on the ground, he surveys the row of identical buildings. At least one of these warehouses has a basement underneath it. The Hand is likely going through the exercise of interrogating anyone who might know about their leader’s whereabouts. John would bet money they’ve already paid a visit to his shop, and that he’s high up on their list of suspects. Before leaving, he was careful to scour the basement so as not to leave anything behind to connect him to this particular crime. He wonders briefly who gave Nightingale the kill order. Was it the assassin’s own prerogative? And the man he’d arrived with at the shop–that man didn’t seem connected with the Hand, and the Le Grand uniform he was wearing was ill-fitting and clearly a disguise. Besides that, the brief interactions between the two men hinted at a more intimate relationship.
I have someone special back home too.
The assassin’s words come back to John as he surveys the few vehicles parked in the lot. Emile’s flashy silver car is among them, a stroke of luck. Silently, John slips between the buildings and makes his way closer to where two men are patrolling. Having had the responsibility himself while in the service, he can appreciate that they are both doing a shit job. One is hunched over, scrolling on his phone. The other is sitting on the ground against the wall, asleep or very near to it.
He could take out both men now, but getting inside might prove more difficult, not to mention if Emile, noticing his guards are not responding, calls for backup. It’d be better to wait until Emile emerges and take care of all three at once.
Three against one is daunting odds, but John has the element of surprise.
John adjusts his ski mask and gets comfortable behind an air conditioning unit. He experiences that familiar craving for a cigarette, can practically taste the burn in his throat and the smoke filling in his nostrils, and so he distracts himself with thoughts of Bayani.
Though it feels dangerous to dream, John imagines them together sometime in the future, when they don’t have to live in constant fear of being hunted and are free to explore their budding romance. John wants to do all the normal couple things–take Bayani out to dinner and a movie or pack a picnic. John wants to woo Bayani properly and make sure their relationship has a solid foundation from which to grow. What if what they share is only some lesser version of Stockholm Syndrome? John doesn’t want Bayani to feel trapped in the way his mother had been trapped by his father.
True love is being able to leave but choosing, every day, to stay.
An hour or so later, Emile emerges from one of the buildings. John is made aware by the one guard who jumps up from the ground and acts as if he’s been watching the door this whole time. The other has tucked away his phone and now has a handle on his gun. Both lack conviction. Emile shakes his head and says something caustic, judging from the men’s chastened expressions, then pulls out his pack of cigarettes. Before he even has the opportunity to light it, John has moved into action.
From its sheath, he pulls out his favorite breaking knife, recently sharpened, and sneaks up on the guard with the phone. He’ll have to execute this maneuver swiftly and silently if he hopes to not alarm the two others. Taking a deep breath, John lunges for the man, wrapping his arm around his torso and drawing his blade across the man’s throat in one brutal but effective stroke. Gripping the man in a bear hug from behind, John drags him back into the shadows and props him against the building like a doll. The man’s eyes go sightless, mouth gaping. Blood spills from both his mouth and the gash in his throat and stains his shirt like a bib. John doesn’t feel great about killing the man, but he must have known this outcome was a possibility when he pledged his loyalty to the Hand.
Poised and silent, John waits for the others to notice the third man is missing.
Not long after, he hears chatter between Emile and the second guard. Footsteps are approaching and the henchman rounds the corner of the building a moment later. Before he can utter a noise of alarm, John has run his blade through his gut. He clamps one hand over the man’s mouth to muffle his cries and lays him down on the ground gently. John waits until the man has stopped breathing and John is certain he’s dead before releasing his mouth. Emile will likely approach now with his gun drawn, so John sprints to the other side of the building to surprise him from behind.
Except that Emile has anticipated the move, and John is now confronted with a gun pointed at his forehead, cocked and ready.
“Hello, Butcher,” Emile sneers. “Have you come here to confess?”
“No, but I have the boy, and if you kill me, you’ll never know where I’ve stashed him.”
Emile’s smile is full of evil promises. “I’m not going to kill you, John. Not right away at least. I’m going to take my time in deconstructing you bit by bit.”
It’s now or never. John would rather take a bullet to the head, than be slowly tortured to death by Emile and risk giving up Bayani’s location. Before Emile can make another move, John chops at his arm, forcing the gun away from his forehead. A shot goes off in the quiet night as John tackles Emile to the ground. They struggle there on the pebbled concrete. John feels the muzzle of the gun shoved against his gut and thinks this might be the end, but no, it’s only Emile’s elbow. John rolls so that he’s on top of him, then slams Emile’s wrist against the ground so he’ll release the firearm. When he finally does, John kicks it away. With the slender man pinned underneath him, John reaches again for his blade.
“You don’t want to do this,” Emile says, gasping for breath. “My father will kill you.”
“Your father is dead,” John says, then drags his knife smoothly across Emile’s lily-white throat with the same ease as fileting a tenderloin. John pants for breath while life slowly bleeds out of his adversary. Emile gasps, choking on his own blood, until his body stops thrashing and his eyes go blank.
