Where Loyalties Lie

11

Chapter 4 Tamir When I was growing up, my mother used to say that nothing good happened after midnight. It was her way of defending the strict curfew she placed on us. I didn’t understand as a kid, but after two decades of dealing with some of the worst scum on the planet, I realized she knew what she was talking about. What was it about the cloak of darkness that set all manner of nefarious activities into play? Even when those deeds took place inside, where the degree of moonlight or sunlight was irrelevant, they still usually occurred in the hours closest to midnight. Granted, the rule didn’t apply to some of the more modern criminal activity, but as for most traditional criminals— thieves, rapists, and murderers—the hours between ten p.m. and two a.m. were particularly sacred. What did that mean for me? A f****d-up sleep schedule. The silver lining? It gave me just enough of a window to accompany a certain mysterious brunette home from her shift at the restaurant. I’d known something was off about her but never imagined she’d have a bounty on her. There was no question in my mind that I had to learn more. Since it was my job to be observant, I’d noticed once, in the past, she’d come to class wearing a Jalisco’s name tag. It was a small restaurant not far from the studio. The perfect place to observe Emily in her daily life. I’d only meant to watch her for a few minutes to see what I could glean from her interactions at work, but when she clocked out for the night, I saw a perfect opportunity to get her home address. People’s homes were always the best source of information. She was a far cry from a normal target, which meant I wasn’t going to rush into any judgments about her. Evil hid in the daylight just as easily as the darkness. If her secrets were even uglier than I’d suspected, I would turn her in for the fifty-thousand-dollar payout. It would be a disappointment, but if her crimes fit the punishment, that was her own fault. Just because I was intrigued by the woman didn’t mean she wasn’t flawed. I would do my research and find out why she was being hunted. If she deserved having a price on her head, I’d bring her in just like I would any other target. If the bounty was unwarranted, then this became a far more complicated situation. In order to make a decision, I needed to learn everything I could about the woman who called herself Emily Ramirez. As far as I knew, I was the only one to locate her, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way. I would need to gather information quickly. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only item on my agenda for the evening. Taking care of Chad McDonald, my most recent job, was far more pressing. I followed Emily home, making note of her address, then rerouted myself back uptown to The Mark Hotel. When I read where Chad would be staying, I had chuckled at the irony. He wouldn’t be able to appreciate the humor in his choice of accommodations, but then, he had no idea he was in the crosshairs of one of the most sought-after hitmen in the country. It was probably best that way. People tended to panic when they knew, making them less than dignified in their final moments. I normally required a much longer time to prepare for a hit, but Chad was a moving target. He rarely stayed in one place for long, and the Omega had provided ample information for a quick transaction. Plus, the fifty-nineyear-old pharmaceutical executive was hardly a threat. Prosperity and privilege in the flesh meant he’d probably never broken a sweat outside of the gym in his entire life. He was never married but had a wealth of friends who adored him—or who they thought he was. As it turned out, Chad had a secret life. More than just a closet homosexual. Darker than any pornography addiction. Chad had a proclivity for little boys. His perverse interest had budded and blossomed over the years until he had secured an intricate network of connections who supplied him with the objects of his desire. During his stay in the city, he had an appointment with said connections that would last well into the night. As we already established, nothing good happened after midnight. Myself included. Wrapped in a full-length coat with a blond wig peeking out beneath a golfer’s flat cap, I casually strolled through the hotel lobby. When I arrived at the room number I’d been given, I used a device attached to a replicated hotel key card that wiped the coding from the lock such that any key could gain entry. When I was in the service, we used a far more advanced version that reprogrammed locks to accept our key in addition to the assigned key card, making it seem as though the lock was still functional and untampered with. In this particular case, I wasn’t dealing with a political assassination that would be analyzed with a high degree of scrutiny. Erasing the lock programming was sufficient. Once I was inside, the wait began. That was the worst part of any job— the boredom. It wasn’t anxiety or any last-minute misgivings about what I was about to do that grated on my nerves. It was the endless minutes bleeding into hours of forced attentiveness. I could hardly sit back and play Words with Friends on my phone when my mark could come through the door at any moment. Once I was set up, I had to keep my muscles coiled and my reflexes on guard in preparation of attack. No, I wasn’t burdened with a sour conscience or forced to question the moral justifications of my actions. I did what I believed was right—end of story. I’d been a killer for a majority of my life, surrounded by some of the vilest humans on the planet. I’d seen evil and knew what it looked like, how it moved and where it hid. If I performed my job appropriately and determined a man was evil, I would not entertain any doubt about ending his life. The world was better off without him, and I stood by that decision. I’d experienced self-doubt in the past and learned that it only brought about misery, and that was true of anyone in any profession. Unlike some of my jobs where I lay in wait for hours, Chad did me the favor of calling it an early night. He let himself inside, humming softly like a chittering mouse, oblivious to the snake coiled nearby. When he passed the entry to the small kitchenette, I lunged for him. It was almost too easy. Chad had no self-preservation skills or survival instincts to rely upon. Instead, he froze in shock, making my job almost effortless. I came at him from behind, clasping one hand over his mouth. The other hand held an instrument to his neck that used ultrasound waves to inject medication without breaking the skin. It was important not to leave any signs of foul play. Within seconds, the stiff form in my arms softened as the medication worked its way through his system. I carried him to the bed, making sure not to leave any bruises. At this stage, Chad was still conscious but unable to move a muscle.