A Drop of Moonshine

PrologueThorn Hull forced some of the smoky, wet air into his lungs. The taste of bile wouldn’t go away despite swallowing time and time again. His hand shook as he used the back of it to wipe his mouth. There wasn’t anything to clean away, he hadn’t vomited, but he didn’t want Kannan Dhar, his mentor, to notice any weakness. It was his first solo mission, his examination kill—he was ready, had already pulled the trigger several times, but Kannan had always been there to ease his mind. To guide. To prevent things from getting out of hand. He would’ve preferred it if he could have terminated the case numbers in the dark without them knowing what was coming, but it wasn’t how it worked. The law stated you had to inform the person their death had been authorized. Thorn didn’t have to reveal who had applied for it unless the client wanted him to, but he had to inform them it was government-approved. Scratching the reaper tattooed on his right hand and forearm, he turned into the alley behind Kathy’s old cafe. “How’d it go?” Thorn pretended the voice hadn’t startled him. “Good. She’s dead.” “Hmm.” Kannan brought the cigarette to his lips and dragged in a breath. The tip glowed brighter in the dim light. “It’ll get easier, son.” Thorn glared at the dirty cobblestones. It was already easier. After his first kill, he’d cried himself to sleep. After his second his hands had refused to stop shaking. His eleventh shouldn’t bother him much—and it didn’t. It was…If he closed his eyes, he could still see her hands tremble. She’d been beautiful once, still was in a way. Her eyes had been warm when she’d first opened the door. He’d informed her he was from the Liquidation Bureau, and her ex-husband was using his one authorized kill to eliminate her. At first, her lips had twitched as if she was about to smile, then she’d seen the tattoo. “Did you call it in?” Kannan dropped his cigarette on the cobblestone and stepped on it. “No…I-I thought I’d do it in the cafe.” Thorn touched the phone in his pocket. They’d given him a cell phone, a new model. If he wanted to upgrade, he’d have to buy it himself, but the first was on the Liquidation Bureau. Growing up, he hadn’t known anyone who could afford to have a cell. “Do it now. It’s bad enough we eat with gloves on, they don’t need to hear any of that shit.” Thorn nodded and pictured Kathy, the cafe owner, with her silver-gray hair and tired eyes. Kannan was right, he didn’t want her to know he killed people for a living. Her smiles and the way she ruffled his hair were the closest he’d come to motherly affection in years, and some days it was the only thing warming his soul. The signals rang through, and an impersonal voice answered. “Yes, hello, this is agent 2630. Case number 2222-96235634 has been terminated. A cleaning crew is needed on the Old Boulevard—” He held his breath for a few seconds. “—twenty-four, two floors up.” “Apartment number?” “I…erm…” Thorn rolled his eyes and kicked at a small stone on the ground. “Can’t you see it in the case file?” “I need the apartment number, agent.” Thorn gave the dirty brick wall the finger to avoid shouting at the fucker he imagined sat in a nice and clean office and never had to see tears well up in anyone’s eyes or hands start to tremble as they realized what Thorn was. Kannan plucked the phone from his hand. “Apartment 734.” Then he handed the phone back to Thorn. f*****g know-it-all. Thorn finished the call and waited for Kannan to criticize him. Seconds ticked by one after the other, but Kannan didn’t speak. “I know I need to remember the apartment numbers.” Kannan sighed. “I know you do.” “But you’re not gonna tell me I need to remember the apartment numbers?” Thorn’s heart did a double beat. Why wasn’t Kannan lecturing him? “You’re on your own now, kiddo. I’ll always be here for you but, from here on out, you need to take responsibility for your actions.” “But you remembered the apartment number.” Thorn never could. It didn’t matter how many times he read the file before heading out, numbers never stuck. He’d been repeating the case number a zillion times. There was no way he could remember both that, an address, and an apartment number. Remembering he was 2630 had taken weeks despite introducing himself as it almost every day. “Because we prepared together. I wanted to make sure you were ready.” Thorn gulped down a breath. Ready. Was anyone ever ready to become a full-fledged killer? Thorn was as ready as he’d ever be—not having a choice made it easier. He could kill for the government or suck c**k for a living. The latter might be easier now while he was sixteen, lots of customers to be had, but where would he be in ten years? Twenty? Nah, Kannan had picked him off the streets one cold, rainy night with the promise of a better life. Back then, his mom had still been alive. On one hand, it had been hard to leave her, on another it had been a relief. He’d spent his entire life on the streets, had watched her trade her body in exchange for food…for him. He hated her for it—hated her for being weak, hated her for letting people treat her like she had no value, hated her for giving birth to him when he had no chance of having a better life than she had…And he loved her because she was his mom, and she sacrificed herself over and over again so he wouldn’t have to starve. He sucked in another breath. “I’m ready.” Kannan grinned, his nicotine-stained teeth flashing in the dusk. “I know you are. How about some coffee?” Thorn’s phone beeped. He opened the text, almost laughing when he saw the numbers added to his bank account. Never had he owned as much money as he did now—had never known anyone who had as much. The woman’s panicked shriek from earlier when he’d pulled his gun faded in comparison to the warm glow spreading in his gut. “Yes, coffee, and perhaps something to eat.” Thorn put away his phone and headed for the mouth of the alley. Kathy’s was still open. Kannan chuckled and followed him toward the cafe. * * * * The dark had fallen while they’d been eating, and Thorn shivered as the cold crawled in under his thin jacket. Kannan was moving slowly by his side—so much older today than yesterday. Thorn wondered how many apprentices he’d guided in the art of killing. Would Thorn be the last one? They came around a street corner, and Thorn heard a whimper from inside a narrow alley mostly hidden behind a small mountain of trash. The whimpers went over into muffled sobs accompanied by grunts. “Leave it.” Thorn should have listened to the warning, but he couldn’t. Whatever was going on in there wasn’t good. Someone was hurting. He’d been on the streets too long not to know what rape sounded like, and every time he heard it, a tornado roared in his ears. “Hey, what’s going on in there?” He jumped over a black garbage bag, shook Kannan’s hand off his shoulder, and took a quick step into the dark. Farther in, yellow light from a rusty wall lamp fell on a boy pressed face-first against the brick wall. He couldn’t be more than twelve, and behind him, an old man with black oil smears on his skin stood with his trousers around his ankles. Tears trickled down the boy’s cheeks, his dishwater-blond hair hid some of his features, but the dead look in his eyes had the tornado in Thorn growing. He pulled his gun. “Step away from the kid.” The man snorted. Thorn didn’t know what came over him, he didn’t remember moving, but within seconds he stood by the man’s side, the muzzle of his gun buried in his stubbly cheek. “I said, step away from the kid.” “Son.” Kannan’s voice was calm and controlled. Thorn pushed the gun more firmly against the man’s cheek until it couldn’t go any farther. He pictured the barrel resting against his teeth with only a thin layer of flesh between the two hard surfaces. His finger was slowly squeezing the trigger. The woman from earlier hadn’t done anything near as revolting as this man, yet she was dead and he was not. There was something terribly unjust about it. “Son.” He ignored Kannan. “Thorn. Let the man go.” Kannan put a glove-less hand on the man’s shoulder, deliberately displaying the inked reaper. Kannan never took his gloves off unless he was performing a liquidation, and he never spoke Thorn’s name where anyone could hear it. He’d removed the gloves for the man to see what they were, and it made the tornado inside quiet a fraction. A tremble slowly built in the man, and he took a step back, pulling up his trousers as he did. He looked from Kannan to Thorn and back to Kannan again, then he ran. The sound of his heavy boots echoed against the brick walls. “Are you out of your f*****g mind?” Kannan’s fingers dug into his upper arm as he dragged Thorn out on the street again. “Haven’t I taught you anything?” He shook Thorn before letting go of him. “What if he has you killed? One kill! Everyone gets one kill. We’re in the risk zone as we are. No one likes the Death Squad, we’re a necessary evil. You have to be careful or your name will be up next. I, for one, do not want to see it in my file.” The Death Squad was what people called the Liquidation Bureau when they didn’t think any agents were listening. Thorn glared at Kannan; a bit surprised by the flush on his cheeks—nothing rattled Kannan. “I should have let that asshole rape a little boy? That’s okay, you think?” “No, it’s not okay, but it happens every day. You can’t go around waving your gun simply because the government gave you one. Reputation is everything. There aren’t many black-haired little punks on the Death Squad in this city, and as soon as they know your name, it might end up on a liquidation application.” Kannan had spoken his name back there. Why had he? He was always strict about not mentioning their names. Thorn believed it was why he often called him son, so no one would know his name. He huffed and tried to shake off the anger still bubbling in his veins. “I should have killed him.” Kannan shook his head and put the gloves back on again. “You need to learn how to blend in. If you want to live, you need to lay low, be quiet, and do your job.” Thorn kicked at a paper cup on the sidewalk. The cracks in the asphalt created a pathway of dark spider webs all the way to his run-down apartment. A few more cases and he’d be able to find himself a better place. He glanced at Kannan—perhaps he should find himself a new pair of gloves too.