Castling (10 page)

Stalling
, he poured malt scotch into a fat glass while his senses quested, gauging the danger. He heard nothing, smelt no gunpowder or chemical residue, felt no pulse of hidden heartbeats, saw no indication, no suggestion that the lone stranger looking out his window was anything other than just that.

Alone.

Like him.

Sean relaxed, sipping his
whiskey, happy to indulge the intruder with some chit-chat before snapping his neck. Or opening his throat. Or stopping his heart. Sean hadn’t quite decided yet, but the night was relatively young.

“So we’
ve met?” he opened, tilting his glass in a welcoming gesture.

“We have.”

“I can’t place you” the criminal admitted, coolly making his way for the cutlery drawer.

“Well, you a
re getting on in years...” Rook teased as his mark was unable to find anything sharper than a wooden spoon “Besides, you’ve been busy.”

Smirki
ng, Sean pushed the drawer home. He propped himself up on the kitchen counter. His feet dangled, heels bouncing off wooden cabinet.

“Well
if I hadn’t, I’m guessing I’d be spared the house call? And its tedious small talk...”

Having fun,
Rook slurped at his glass, wagging a finger at his perched target,

“Oh
, come on! I think I’ve earned a few minute’s catch-up. Can you even remember the last time you were ambushed?” Rook didn’t really need to clarify what was happening. But he had a question in need of answering before the evening’s entertainment could begin in truth.

“Just about, though I don’t recall them ever being so... sedate. Go on then, jog an old man’s memory; where did we meet?”

Rook spooned some froth from the
top of the glass, let the sweetness linger on his tongue. For the moment at least, his withdrawal was satiated. His head was clear, his limbs were relaxed and his heart rate was scarcely even elevated.

Rook
reflected on such moments of serenity. And their inherent absurdity. He was as content now, moments away from a confrontation with the continent’s most capable killer, as he was decades past, in the rubble of a communist dystopia.

“Cuba.”
he responded eventually.

Sean
put his beverage down to better snort his derision.

“Listen
, just because
you’re
naive enough to think coming into my house without back-up was a good idea, doesn’t mean
I’m
a gullible old crone.

I remember Cuba.

Wild times! Made a name for myself that day, you know? Put a scalpel through Cracker’s eye and kicked him off a building. Not that it killed him, mind... or slowed him down all that much. But, the world watched me do it. Worked wonders for the old reputation.

You wouldn’t recognize Havana now
, young man. It’s nice, sterile, filthy rich. A different place. None of the smoke or rubble or toppled buildings. None of the screams...

I’m disappointed.

You went to the effort of learning my name. I doubt that was cheap. But if you wanted me rattled, the least you could do is pick an event I’m
unlikely
to remember. Yes, it’s been almost twenty five years, but I made my bones at Havana’s little street party.

And y
ou’d have been what? Eight years old at the time?”

“Nine.”

Silence engulfed the apartment. Sean’s memory churned, digging through a lifetime of disregarded brawls and forgotten rivalries. His expression leapt as realisation finally dawned.

“Rook?!”

“Sean. Long time.”

‘
Lancet’ leapt down, scotch still clasped firmly in his grip, “My God. You filled out!”

“It’s
all diet.” Rook grinned sheepishly.

“Isn’t that a coke float?”

“
Diet
coke float.”

Rook
raised the murky brown foam for another swig. Chuckling, Sean gulped his tumbler’s remainder, sauntering back for a refill.

“I heard a dirty rumou
r you collected so many heads that night, C.A.M.L. offered you a job on the spot. Are you here at their behest? Because I haven’t been to Central America for years.”

Rook waved away the accusation,

“No, no. Once Cuba dusted itself off and threw its resources into that peacekeeping meta-human league, they were content to let my contract... expire.”

“
Well I’m not surprised. You were an antisocial git. Hardly the poster child for super-human cooperation...”

“I wasn’t that bad.
” Rook insisted, a sudden uncertainty creeping in.

“Oh yeah?!
Tell that to whats-his-name, the Australian in the trench coat, that ponce everyone loved... Angle... Axel? Axel!”

“I can’t.”

“And why is that Rook?” Sean teased, “Is it because you hit him so hard he went deaf?”

“Okay, maybe I was
a little
antisocial.”

“
Ha!
Bad
is the only word that travels in our circles, Rook! Which is why I suspect your newest employer struggles with the basic tenants of irony; sending someone like
you
to lecture
me
on morality is a little rich, no?”

“
I’m not here to lecture you, Sean” he smoothly assured his mark. The man’s greying eyebrows hooked.

“Oh bless, are you
really
playing the empathy card?

You
understand how I feel, eh? You want to get me help, is it? No doubt the very same help that gave
you
a renewed purpose? So I give up my wicked ways all will be forgiven?!

You needn’t waste your breath. This isn’t my first house call.
Europe, China, Africa, they all tried to get me on board, threatening then flattering. I’m sure you’ve noticed forgiveness isn’t all that hard to come by for individuals as...
talented
as us.

Still
you’re due some credit, at least. You’re here alone, unarmed, talking man to man. That’s dignified. Brain dead, but dignified.

But honestly Rook, a
re you still so desperate to play the hero?”

Rook’s reply was immediate,
explicit.

“No
pe.”

Their eyes locked
and Sean understood. Rook wasn’t there to lecture him, to bribe him, to strong-arm, threaten or flatter him. Rook was there to murder him. In his own home.

Decidedly un-heroic.

“Well, well, all grown up... good for you. So, before we redecorate, what did you want to talk about?”

Rook swirled the dregs of his coke float, eyeing the brown foam staining the glass’ edge.

“I want to know the why.”

Sean’s flinch was almost imperceptible. A cybernetic hand rubbed the nape of his neck as he paused, sighing
.

“
I don’t normally discuss the why...”

“
Well, let’s just say I’m doing a survey. So indulge me” Rook insisted, marching around to find a wall he could lean his shoulder into.

“I had a boy.” Sean began, croaking,

“
Probably would have been about your age now....” he paused, eyes glazed, then took another long swig. He swallowed, “I had a partner, a wife back then too. But we had to travel a lot, as folk of our stature are wont to do.

Long story short, my son
... he had the misfortune of being born in Beijing. And there is
no
point trying to fight those conscription laws. Trust me, Rook. It can only make matters worse. So, the day he turns five, a couple of suits show up at the house, and they take...” a haggard breath escaped him, “they take my son.

They pumped him full of that same poison everyone was pushing so hard back then. S
ame poison they gave you and three hundred other children. And my child, well, he wasn’t
you
was he? None of them were.

So you
already know he didn’t live through it.

Because
none
of them did.

It hit me pretty hard.
But my wife? It-“

Rook dinked his glass with a fingernail, interrupting,

“Can I just stop you there, please?! Sean, I don’t have all night. So, if you’re not going to take this seriously-“

The mercenary
threw his head back and howled, giddy laughter bucking his frame. His arm whipped out and snagged the bottle’s neck, pouring its golden contents into his glass.

“
Oh alright! Couldn’t resist, but I have it on good authority that my little fabrication is both endearing and sensitive.”

Rook sighed, shaking his head,

“Of which I am clearly neither. Come on, Sean, fess up! I’m just interested in why...”

He let the suggestion
linger. Sean finished the thought for him,

“
Why... I’m such a shit?”

“Essentially” Rook confirmed with a wink.

“What do you want me to tell you? That I’m cruel? I’ve proved that on countless occasions, long before my first...
lancing
.”

“I
reckon we’re beyond euphemisms at this point.” Rook groaned.

“I remember you being more fun, young man.

Rook, there’s no secret trauma to me. No twisted-but-originally-benevolent code of honour for you to exploit. I’m neither complicated nor misunderstood.

I am
just really,
really
good at killing.

And I
want people to know it.”

Rook mopped at the inside of his glass with a finger, scooping foam into his cheeks, rubbing it into his gums,

“So just because daddy didn’t praise you enough as a-”

“
Oh, shut your face! Are you a shrink?!” Sean interrupted, “It’s just you’re not dressed as a shrink. You’re dressed as an idiot who breaks into people’s homes and asks them to explain their motivations before they beat you to death!”

“That sounds like very specific attire...”
Rook whispered to himself, glancing down at his clothes.

“I’d love to stand here and tell you the only opinion that matters is your own. But
so far, you’ve seen through my little fibs. So I’ll be candid: Reputation is the
only
thing that matters.

Everyone wants to be known for something. Doesn’t really matter what that something is
. That’s why some folk get paid to pocket balls with a tapered cue and why some cashiers actually pride themselves on the ability to scan barcodes faster than their co-workers.

Everyone,
everyone,
wants their peers to think them impressive, useful, valued.

Now
, as you might imagine, I’m no comedian, I stink at footie and I can barely drink a single pint of larger without skipping to the bathroom like a girl.

But I am
simply
exceptional at killing. And the world knows it.

In the circles I travel in, it tends to make my life easier.
”

Rook looked
contemplative. Brow furrowed, he licked the glass’ tall rim, cleaning off the sugary crust. Sean continued,

“
We’re quite similar, Rook. You’re here to make a name for yourself, too. Maybe you’re out to prove to whatever fool put you up to this that you’re the best at fighting.

O
r the best at loyalty.

O
r the best at getting beaten to death by a man twice your age.

Whatever your all
eged motivation, and I honestly
could not care
one jot
as to what that is, you are only here to get a leg up in your peer group.

And there’s nothing wrong
with admitting that. Makes life a lot easier actually. Take it from someone who’s been kicked out of as many groups as you have, just for being good at something ugly.

Reputation, Rook! It precedes you.
Does most of the hard work for you.”

Rook scratched at
his scalp, sucking in breath between his teeth,

“
You say we’re quite alike but I feel obliged to point out a relatively major dissimilarity between us...”

“Do enlighten me.
” Sean smiled, pacing.

“
Well technically, I’m
orders of magnitude
better than you-”

Rook
didn’t bother finishing his jibe. Lancet was already sailing across the wooden floors, artificial fist clenched, cocked, and aimed squarely for his unguarded throat.