(2013) Shooter (5 page)
I huffed with mild frustration. "That makes absolutely no sense. That wasn't done by a professional."
"I didn't see the scene, so I wouldn't know. So what exactly makes you say that, Graecia?"
"Whoever did it had no regard for any sort of crime scene cleanliness... they probably left an assload of evidence. It was a massacre." I kept my tone level and professional, trying to sound convincingly detached. I guess it worked.
"That much of a scene, eh?" He raised one gray eyebrow.
"'Bout made me lose my lunch. Honestly."
"Well then that might be something to be concerned about. Hm… that is all." Kendall waved a hand in the standard 'go away' gesture.
I complied, standing in one sweeping movement, nodded at him, and left, closing the office door behind me politely. In the living room, I was met with the inquiring gazes of both Julia and Daisuke.
"What?"
"Sooooo…"
"Sooo what?" I blinked. WTF?
Julia threw up her hands. "Little slow today?"
Then it dawned on me. "No, I didn't get ripped a new one." I shook my head and walked to my room.
For some reason, I didn't feel quite right for the rest of the day, just a little
off.
And I really couldn't figure out why, either. So I settled myself in my recliner chair and flipped on the huge screen and the game system under it. Grabbing the controller and headset, I sat down to a long online session to calm my nerves.
"What the fuck now, NOOB!!" I yelled, a little louder than was absolutely necessary, before checking my volume level. My little online avatar threw a grenade past a stone wall and scored two kills for her trouble.
I happened to glance over my shoulder to find Julia standing there watching. Hadn't heard her creep up. Sneaky bitch.
"Can I help you, Julie?" I asked pleasantly, lowering the volume. "Too loud?"
"Nah, I was just watching. I have to wonder though, what makes you play these? You basically do this for a living."
I smiled a little to myself. "Here, when I kill someone, there aren't any consequences. Think of it as an escape from reality, at least for a little while."
I felt more than heard her snigger. "I guess that makes sense."
"'Course it does. I always make sense."
That earned a laugh. "Go to hell, Grace."
"I'll see you there."
"We can carpool. Stop at Starbucks on the way."
"Sounds fun." Both of us snickered quietly.
Another set of footsteps. Daisuke. "Hey, ladies. Let's go get a drink or five." He clapped his hands and grinned at the both of us.
"Five? That depends on what we're talking about, cowboy." Julia laughed.
"Five Yeager Bombs? Hell, yeah." I put down the controller and headset and stood, stretching. Several somethings cracked, and I suddenly felt much more limber. "Ouch."
"That was attractive." Julia snorted.
"Shut the hell up." I tried to sound grumpy, but it didn't really work.
Daisuke clapped his hands together more loudly. "Come on, before I have to stop a fight. Not that I wouldn't enjoy watching it for a few minutes…"
"Pervert." I managed to grunt.
He ushered us out of my room and out of he building, shouting a brief announcement to Kendall of our intentions for the evening, and receiving no indication that he heard. But we were positive that he did, anyway. He always heard.
We decided to drive separately, just in case we were needed for anything… illegal, later. I took my own vehicle, happily.
The Yamaha motorcycle was my baby. Sleek, black, and really fast. I loved my bike.
I had to go get it from the garage, and I found it there, waiting, pristine as ever, my helmet and jacket hanging on the handlebars. So I quickly suited up, and peeled out of the garage in nearly record time, happy to be able to ride.
So I took the scenic route to our usual dive, along the expressway. Hey, I like to go fast.
I gunned the engine to a halt, too soon, in front of The Brain Bucket: a local skater hangout. The place wasn't a high standard establishment by any means, catering to all those of age who didn't seem to want to get a real job, or just liked the place. Example; Julia, Daisuke, and I.
The bar itself was nothing to scream about, but the bartender damn well knew his liquor.
I caught a couple of skaters eyeing my bike out of the corner of my eye. Or maybe they were looking at me. Either way, I pointed at the one in the middle, glared at all of them, and declared; "Touch my bike and I'll fucking kill you." In my calmest, deadliest tone. It was the one that would either scare the shit out of them or start a bar fight. Either way.
Their eyes all widened in alarm, and I grinned a little and laughed to allay their fears. "Just kidding, guys. But don't touch my bike."
None of them said a word until I walked into the bar, and promptly burst out laughing when I faintly heard them muttering.
"that bitch is crazy…"
"- you think she meant that?"
"Damn, I thought she was hot, too. Not if she's gonna knife me over a bike, though…"
Daisuke and Julia were waiting for me at the bar, already slightly inebriated. I parked it right next to Julia, and flagged down Slam, the bartender.
Nobody knew his real name. Well, I did, but that's a story for another day.
"'Ey, Grace!" Slam slid down the bar, holding my usual. "First one's on the house!"
I accepted the Screwball happily, wondering at the occasion. Slam wasn't generally in such a good mood, preferring to sulk until someone ordered something, or until one of his preferred patrons entered, when he would start a bit of a conversation. "So, what's the occasion, Slammer?"
"It's not that often that I have my three favorite people in for a drink all at the same time. I missed you guys, here. Got nothing but the refuse that all the other bars throw out." Slam grunted, his deep guttural tone caused by a bad fall off of a halfpipe that had given him both his reedy, ruined voice, and a slight limp. "Besides, nobody can put away quite as much alcohol and still walk themselves out of here as Grace."
"Nope." I laughed shamelessly. It was true. I liked me my legal substances.
And it probably helped that I really could walk straight and even drive myself home even when I was slopping drunk. Nobody could quite figure out how, including myself. I rarely remembered getting home, at all.
So I downed the first drink and moved on to the next one fairly quickly. "Yeager shots? You trying to kill us, Slam?"
Julia just elbowed me in the ribs, and gestured toward some random guy in the corner. "That guy's been looking at you since you came in, Gracie. I think you have a stalker…"
I studied my 'stalker' for a few moments. He was a pretty good-looking guy… hm. Too bad he's been staring at me in that creepy-as-hell-I-know-who-you-are-but-you-don't-know-who-I-am kind of way.
I turned back around and tried to ignore it. If I got enough alcohol in me, I could just about ignore anything. That was my intention.
And about three and a half Yeager shots later, I was loose-tongued enough to very loudly tell him to fuck off when he tapped me on the shoulder. He just grinned, nodded once, and swept away, leaving a crumpled note on the table beside one of my empty glasses. Ah, so that's what this is about.
I was still clear-headed enough to open up the note and read it without difficulty, even though the flickering neon Budweiser sign behind Slam was beginning to look hazy.
The note cryptically stated;
'Pleased to meet my newest colleague.'
In tiny, flowing script. Wow, my stalker-turned-colleague has pretty handwriting… and then I caught the little footnote:
Come back here, same time tomorrow. '
Don't worry, Kendall called me.'
And so my stalker had credentials… of course he would, not many people knew where to find me, unless they called through Kendall. And so therefore, I had another job to do. Damn, I thought, as I reached the conclusion at the end of the trail of deductive reasoning. I really hate my job.
That was probably the best thought I'd ever had in my life. Would've helped me quite a bit if I'd thought it up sober.
"I think I may have had a few too many." I grumbled, headache and sickness fully in place. "This sucks."
"Get over it, Grace. At least you got to drive yourself home. I had to go back and get my car this morning." Julia groused, a little grumpy.
"Hm. Come on, ladies, go take a chill pill." Daisuke teased, not hung over on the least, and he'd nearly matched me drink-for-drink.
"What's your secret, Dai?" Julia asked with mild wonder. "Seriously."
"Not telling. I have too much fun watching you two suffer out your headaches." And with that, he gave a cheery little wave and wandered off in the direction of his room.
Julia got a little grumpier. "You know, I really hate him sometimes." And wandered off, too, leaving me alone on one of the red couches, feeling completely trashed. Maybe it wasn't such a healthy idea to go out and get shitfaced on a regular basis.
It was already dark outside; as I had effectively slept the day away, as I generally do when I'd been partying the previous night. And now, I had to haul my butt up, because I had other things to do tonight. Damn.
I wandered back into the Brain Bucket at roughly nine, and the place was about deserted. Nine o' clock on a weekday wasn't the busiest time ever around here. I was trying hard not to look or sound too hung over. I waved at Slam, who grinned at my probably haggard appearance, and ran a hand through his spiky gray-flecked bleach blonde 'do.
"You want something, Grace?" he asked thoughtfully. I almost ran over to the bar when a mint mojito appeared in Slam's scarred hand. Nothing too strong, but it would take the edge off.
I reached for a pocket, but Slam waved me off. "Oh, no. You need it."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Conrad."
He winced. "Oh, how I hate that name. Anyways, your guy's back there." Conrad, aka Slam pointed back to the very farthest booth from the front, and absentmindedly rubbed the long ropy scar on his forearm, evidence of the wreck that gave him his nickname.
"Thanks." I muttered, fixing a grim look on my face, and going to meet my stalker.
He sat in the booth, his back to me. That could either be a sign of respect, or an insult, depending on his background.
So, approaching the booth, the first thing I saw was a shock of dark shiny hair, and the next thing I saw was a pair of clear gray eyes, as he turned in his seat to face me before sweeping to his feet and holding out a hand. He was a lot taller that I remembered from the previous night. And more muscular.
I shoved the thought from my mind and glanced down at the outstretched hand, wary. I knew of four viable ways to kill someone that started with a handshake.
I forced that thought out, as well. He wouldn't do anything here, too public, too much exposure. So I took the hand, which easily enclosed my much smaller one, and shook.
"Reno." He spoke in a deep voice for the first time.
"Grace. You got a last name, Reno?" the question bubbled up as an afterthought.
"Not one with any relevance to our meeting today." He replied smugly, his smile stretching across his face.
"Good." I let go of Reno's hand and allowed myself a small grin.
Giving his whole name would have quickly marked him as a complete dumbass. And I don't work with dumbasses.
Hmm. This guy might know what he's doing.
Reno motioned for me to sit, and I did, keeping one eye on him as he sat as well.
"So," Reno started, "I hear you're among the best around here."
"Perhaps." Was my terse and noncommittal reply. My eyes narrowed, despite myself. Is he kissing up?
"Which means that I don't have to worry about covering your ass." Reno shrugged, his grin still present.
"Do I have to worry about yours?" I grunted.
"I assure you that you don't."
"Good. So what's the news?" 'News' was the term for job information. In a public place, this was standard speak.
The only problem with code was, you have to use code that's simple enough for whomever you're talking with to understand, but not simple enough that a savvy listener would know.
"Uppercrust house party. Host wants it done in a certain theme." He muttered. Any person listening would never suspect a thing.
"Shit." Picky client. Wants it done in a public place, and by certain criteria.
"No joke. Got the address in my wallet, hold on a sec."
Reno never broke eye contact with me as he reached into a jacket pocket and removed an immaculately folded piece of paper. He slowly slid it across the Formica table.
I scooped it up and unfolded it. Written in the same pretty script as the last note I'd gotten from Reno, were the job specs.
"This isn't exactly going to be a walk in the park, is it?" I muttered, as my eyes flicked over the little note. A difficult job, a guy I don't know, who's supposed to have my back. Right.
"Nope. High standard guests. Going to be a great party, though." Reno winked at me once, a cocky expression.
Wow, a vote of confidence in code. That's a new addition to the 'Grace's favorite quotes' list. I couldn't restrain a tiny smile as I sipped my mojito. "Greatest party of the year."
"I got the guest list memorized, so you keep that."
I slipped the paper into a pocket and leaned forward in the booth, resting my elbows on the dented and pocked surface of the table. "So, what's your approach? Me, I'm an indirect kind of girl."
"I prefer to stay in the background."
I think I like this Reno person. We seem to be two peas in a freaking pod. "I think we'll get along just fine."
Reno's cocky grin widened into a smile. "Good."
"Yep. I have one question, though." I trailed off.
"What's that?"
"I've never heard of any Renos anywhere around here. Where do you usually operate?"
"I wander a bit." He answered succinctly.
That answered my question nicely. He was a free gun, would probably do any job needed doing in whatever area he had contacts in. "Ah. So you're one if
those
."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I smiled wickedly. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
"I'll just let that one go." Reno frowned and leaned back in the booth. "Since I think I like you and all."
"You think?"
"The vote's still out."
"Well, you've never seen me completely sober. Maybe you should reserve full judgment until you can see me when I'm not a total wreck."
"When's that?" Reno's pretty eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms across his chest. "I was actually under the impression that you were a drinker. Quite frankly, I wasn't happy about being assigned to this with you."
Ouch. That conversation went south pretty quick. "To tell the truth, this isn't me." My voice went hard, cold.
"Sure looks like you. Shadows under your eyes, kinda looks like you have a problem of some sort. So what is it? Drugs, alcohol, or other?"
"Like it would be any of your fucking business, anyway." That was maybe a little too harsh, but it got the point across. He thinks he can come in here, on my turf, and accuse me, when he knows nothing about me? "Want to know something?"
"Sure."
"It's nobody's problem if I should so choose to go get utterly wasted every once in a while, and just forget who I am for a few hours. It's also nobody's business that I keep myself sober so that I can do my job. I'm not an alcoholic."
"Should I really take you word on that one? Because it is my business if my partner is too damn inebriated to function."
That earned a bit of leniency he had a "You know why I look like hell right now… I always do. I don't sleep. I just lay there and toss and turn and hate myself. But I won't let myself sink so far as to drown myself in that stuff. So no, your partner's not too inebriated to function."
Apparently my tirade earned a smile, because that's what I got. "That works. Although I have to ask what makes it so hard to sleep."
"You mean you actually live with yourself?" I had to snort a little at that one. Sure he does. I just got fed up and stood, ready to leave, when Reno reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Oh, hell no. Bad idea, friend."
I am not in the mood to deal with this right now. Every single muscle tensed in anticipation of a fight.
Reno let go, and scooted away from me, holding his hands up in the air in the gesture of surrender. "Look. I'm sorry. I didn't know."
I forced my frustration out in a sigh through my nose. "Fine. We're even."
"You don't sound like you forgave me."
"I might not. The vote's still out."
And with that, I walked off, leaving Reno with a frown on his face. I waved bye to Slam as I stepped out into the freezing night air. I brushed off the random person who called out at me.
"Hey there. Can I buy you a drink?"
"Naw, man, that's the crazy chick with the motorcycle from last night." His friend elbowed him.
"Oh. Never mind then."
I couldn't help but smile. I leave an impression on people, huh?
After that, my walk was quiet, uninterrupted. Nothing but the sounds of faraway yelling, some music, and police sirens, melding together in the background. Cops never even made me nervous anymore. I could, and often would, walk right up to one and tell them 'good job, officer'. Generally got a smile and a 'thank you ma'am' in return.
Oh, the irony.
But those sirens made me think back a little bit, to my first job with Julie. Those were the days.
"Just kill him, idiot!" Julia had shouted.
I hesitated, my finger on the trigger of the semiautomatic pistol I clutched like a lifeline in my hand. A small man cowered in front of me, his once pristine business suit covered in dirt and grime from where Julia and I had thrown him to the ground only moments before.
I held the gun. I controlled another person's life. That knowledge flooded through me with profound impact, and I hesitated.
For that long five seconds, I hesitated. And our hit picked up on that.
"Hey, look. I-I'll pay you twice what they did!"
I paused another three seconds. Not for the money, but out of pity for the man who had been reduced to groveling for his life by two little women in a back alley. This man who had worked hard most of his life for what he had, and would now be killed over something so simple as a monetary dispute. Oh, the reasons people had hired me.
"Three times as much?" he offered again, more desperate now, when I hadn't budged. "Look, I have a kid-"
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I couldn't let him finish that sentence. I would lose my nerve.
I flinched with every shot, my resolve shattered, my hand unsteadied. One shot had actually missed entirely. The little man before me jumped two times from the impact of the .45 ACP rounds slamming through him. One went through his heart, and he was dead before he'd had the chance to utter a cry. My hands shook violently.