So I don't make the same mistake next time.
I left the hotel room before Mind, that's one. I left her alone with my coffee, that's a big fuckin' two.
She refused my company on the hit against that corporate guy. Maybe that should be Two?
She took a cab regardless of my warning about the sniper that tried for me. It's obvious now. She knew she had nothing to worry from the sniper. That look on her face in the cab wasn't her being On. She was composing herself. Readying herself to si t and lie in my face, stalling me until whoever wanted me caught showed up.
I can't believe I let her drug me...again. We'll have serious words later. She can fucking forget Valentine's Day this year.
Ok focus, where am I? Figures. Usual bare stone room, one small ass window way up high, maybe eleven feet. A twin sized mattress on a box spring, one single 60 watt with a pull chain, solid steel door with a rectangular slit halfway down the middle.
Not even a goddamn teevee. Just once I'd like to wake up after an abduction in a nice room with satellite teevee and a queen sized bed.
Water. I hear water dripping inside the walls. Why's that important?
Footsteps outside the door, but they continue past.
Lightbulb's too high to reach without a ladder, like the window. Won't be getting out that way. Window's barely big enough for a kid. Basement? Factory cellar? Evil underground lair on a remote island owned by a rich madman?
Naaaah, this doesn't look like a basement.
Feels like standard cuffs holding my wrists behind my back. Like that's a problem. Need something small and metal to pick 'em though. They took my fuckin' jacket. I love that jacket.
Getting to my feet is no big deal. The hell is in my shoe? Feels like a pebble or something.
I start to toe my right shoe off when the cell door swings open and some big ass Samoan thunders in and knocks the wind outta me without a word. I hit the ground again and he leaves. I hear several locks fitted back into place. Six of them. Didn't hear them when he entered. Probably watching me from some hidden cam.
Shit. I think he bruised some ribs. Asshole. Fat boy's gonna have to die special when I get out.
The floor's cool enough to pass out on for a few.
I hear water dripping inside the walls and the barely audible hum of the light bulb above but no other electronic noise. More than likely no cameras in the room. So how did fat boy know to come in? Or was it just a random check meant to throw me off and keep me worried? C.O's do that in prison. Lame trick.
Enough resting.
Back up on my knees. Better to keep my feet hidden from view of the door and work my shoe off. Something small and metallic clinks to the floor.
Check the door, listen for movement. Nothing.
On my back and wriggling towards the sound of the little metal thing until my fingertips come across it. A nail, about an inch long. Simple little nail.
The water dripping makes me think of her in the hotel room drinking from a cup.
Mind. Sneaky bitch. How far ahead had she planned this? Turned me in for the money and left me a way out. She knows me. Still, she's not girlfriend material.
A nail.
Picking the cuffs is about as difficult as turning a doorknob. I keep my hands behind my back regardless, and wait.
No idea how much time passes. Got bored counting Mississippi. Lost track after seventy-five.
Big Samoa storms in again. I take his legs out from under him with one kick. He cracks a tooth on the floor. I shove the cuffs in his mouth and stomp on his neck. It snaps, he chokes, not sure which happens first.
I save the nail. Tuck it into the Change Pocket of my jeans.
No gun on him. Hundred-ten bucks in his wallet, ID says he's called Manni Kahulea from Jersey. A Hawaiian from Jersey? Whatever. Ring of keys on a belt loop. Take those. Decent sized knife in a sheath on his boot. That'll do.
Out in the hall there are six other rooms like mine. Stone walls, 60 watts spaced evenly apart on the ceiling. Cobwebs, sound of dripping water. Which way is out?
Stairs at the far end. Might as well.
I can hear footsteps and voices from the foot of the stairs. Sounds like two guys. I creep up, knife ready, until I can see them without them seeing me.
Four guys. Two are staring at past a rows of windows at a clear blue sky while the other two are in the center of a sunlit room bullshitting about women. A seagull sails by one of a dozen windows. Must be a beach nearby.
Soooo, two with their backs to me and two in my line of sight. They've got MP-5's and 9 Millies on their hips. And me with a fucking knife. Khaki uniforms. Military, but who's military? Not Army or Marines. The caps make me think of South American militia, like Hollywood militia from some generic Latin American country. If this were a movie they'd all answer to some guy with four stars and a thick mustache and cartoon Spanish accent. Probably a scar from an alligator fight he had as a youth.
The two talking shit about who they claim to have fucked look like buddies. One's built like a linebacker, all neck and belly. The other one's my concern; short, lean, feet planted firmly apart. He's battle ready. The other one's just muscle, probably owns either a T-Bird or a giant pickup. Sounds Southern so throw in a Confederate flag somewhere in the house he inherited from his parents and we got us a Good Ol' Boy who's used to beatin' on guys smaller than him in bars for fun.
The short guy could know martial arts or be some kind of Eclectic fighter, like me. He'll be a problem. The two with their backs to me watching the skies are bulky six footers. Brawlers or boxers, nothing to write home about. Boxers ain't shit in street fights so we watch the little one.
At the other end of the room there's a door. No choice but to go through this one. So who dies first? Gotta be Short Man. If he's the fighter he seems to be he can keep me busy long enough for the other to pop rounds and my t-shirt ain't bulletproof. Wonder if one of them is my shoe size? Gonna have to lose mine. Too slippery. Socks gotta go as well. Haven't fought barefoot in a while. Fuck.
I dip back a few steps as The Linebacker and Shorty wander in my direction. With a gun I could take all four down before anyone knew what to do.
Back to the wall I hold my breath as Shorty stops a few feet above me. All he's gotta do is glance down and this could be over in a second.
Linebacker's yapping. "...got new wheels on my truck last week, some serious fuckin' huge ass mags..."
Fuckin' knew it.
"Yea, how much you pay for the set?"
"Got a sweet deal from a buddy o' mine from high school. All four ran me hunnert twenty bucks. Hunnert-twenty for 20" rims man!"
Wonder if he fucks his cousins regularly?
Shorty; "Shit that is a good deal. I seen some twenties in a magazine, set of four, for two-fifty."
"Naw man, you come see me when you need some new wheels an' I'll introduce you to my boy!"
Scraping of bootheels on the ground. Their voices sound further away. Their backs are to me.
Linebacker: "So where the hell's Manni anyway?"
Shorty: "He went to check on..."
I hurry up the stairs, barefoot, reach out, and slash Shorty's calf open. He screams and falls backward as Linebacker fumbles with his weapon.
"Shit, Carlos, fucker's loose!"
Carlos swallows my knife and I snatch his rifle out of the air.
Linebacker cocks his a second too late and takes six shots to the chest.
I slide past him as the other two turn to fire at the wrong spot. Their fire is wild, unfocused, nervous. These guys are grunts and poorly trained ones. Whoever bought them paid for height and body mass rather than skill and training.
Carlos, Shorty, is gurgling behind me. Linebacker's bleeding out fast, eyes already glassing up and pinned to the ceiling.
The two by the windows die with holes where their noses used to be, brains sliding down glass, salty ocean air pouring in from behind through the shattered glass.
A slug in Carlos' brain pan stops that damn gurgling.
Ok now, let's see who wears an eleven...
Best I can do is a ten. Figures. Fuckin' big goons with little bitch feet. Another MP-5 or two makes up for the water blister I'm gonna have later.
Quick glance out those windows. A beach, an ocean...get the fuck outta here? I'm on a remote island? This just gets better an' better.
Carlos' keycard opens the door at the far end of the room.
Metal hallway. Harsh white lights lining the ceiling. Tubes and cables running in and out of the walls on both sides. This must lead to the evil leader's inner sanctum. Fuckin' ridiculous.
At the end of the hall a lift opens on its own. So I was being watched after all. Then whoever's on the other end of the camera knows what I can do. This was an audition. I hate auditions. Don't do them. Probably wanna offer me some contract that means the world to them. Not the first time something like this has happened. Making me audition raises my fee.
And pisses me off.
The lift takes me up five levels and lets me out into a room big enough to park a small plane in. Of course there's a large desk at the other end with Mr. Big behind it. If he has a big mustache I swear I'll bust out laughing.
The walls are lined with monitors and armed guards. A few plants, some living room furniture thrown off center and panoramic windows round off Cliche Central. All that's missing is a fat white Persian cat.
I cross the room as casually as one might stroll through a park. The guards have their hands on their weapons like it matters.
Mr. Big turns around without a giant mustache or a fat white cat. He looks like an accountant. Business dressed delivery boy. The suit's cut to hide his fat but the extra chin fucks that up. Fat kid trying to look important.
He's not the Big Boss. He works under the Big Boss' Right Hand. No doubt about it. The unnecessarily large office clinches it. Must be two dozen armed guards around me and I think Fat Boy's sweating. A few steps closer tells me he is.
"Vendetta, a pleasure to meet you at..."
"Get to it chubs. What do you want?" I lay one of my MP's on his desk. He swallows. No one speaks to him like that. Not since high school I bet. Parents probably ignored him a lot. This guy's a joke and its pissing me off with each passing minute.
"I think you need to take a moment and soak in your surroundings."
"I'm on an island someone put you in charge of and ordered you to hire me after putting me through some bullshit field test."
No response. The Atmospheric Regulator hums. Leather boots creak behind me. I can feel Fattie's henchmen tense up. They're not used to hearing him spoken down to. I bet some of them like it.
"They said you'd be difficult."
I drop into the seat before his desk and cock the machine pistol in my hand. Every single guard cocks his weapon and draws down on me.
Fattie raises a hand quickly and stops them cold. Nice.
Obedient little bitches.
"That's good." I tell him. "You saved their lives."
Fattie eyes me indignantly. "Or yours."
"Doubt it. You got a name 'cause I keep calling you Fattie in my head. Your mom didn't name you Fattie did she?"
That pissed him off. Good to know.
"Michael Emmerech, and yes, I have an assignment for you. Your usual fee..."
"Has doubled." Four guards move into view behind him.
"Excuse me?" Emmerech looks like he's about to burst. Hard not to laugh. You'd think I'd stolen his fudge.
"That audition in the monitoring room...will cost you."
"Or...?" He's so pissed.
That changes quickly when I kick him in the balls and jam the barrel of my gun against his temple. Arm around his throat and he's my shield. The guards don't know what to do. Someone should talk to Human Resources about their Hiring Practices.
"You know the drill guys."
Emmerech nods nervously and rifles, machine pistols and semi-autos clatter to the floor.
"Good boys. Now everyone leave the room or I kill the guy that signs your paychecks."
Another nervous Emmerech nod and the room empties out in seconds. No one really gives a fuck about this fat asshole, but threaten their money and suddenly I'm the boss.
I let Emmerech go soon as the doors are locked. He's shitting himself.
"Well...?" I walk around his desk and sit in his big important chair.
He straightens his tie, swallows, and turns toward me.
And somehow, right before my eyes, transforms into someone I'm suddenly interested in. No guards in the room, no weapons to protect himself with, he looks focused, determined, and a little desperate.
"The assignment will take you to Bahrain. It's in the Persian Gulf, East of Saudi..."
"You got anything in sayyyy...Prague? France...? The Bahamas?."
He swallows and pushes on. "The Prime Minister; Khalifah ibn Sulman Al Khalifah, has twenty-three members in his cabinet. One of them was a drinking problem and took liberties with the wife of my employer while she was visiting Bahrain on business. My employer wants this man; Jidda Hamad Al Kahleed Bin Isa...eliminated. The man's dossier is on a Memory Stick in the top left drawer of my desk."
It was, along with several porn DVD's, and some cigarettes. Straight porn. I pegged him for gay. Can't always be right.
"I told you the amount is double."
"I will make the arrangements."
"Now."
"So you will take the assignment?"
The look was enough to get him on my side of his desk rattling away on a microthin laptop.
"Done." He steps away and turns the screen toward me. He used the Canary Island account everyone knows. Everything was set.
"Anything else?"
He looked around the room then typed up a memo on Notepad and moved away from the screen.
"I need you to kill my boss after you're done in Bahrain. I'll pay whatever you want. No one must know...please!"
He plucked at his shirt collar and mopped his brow.
I raised an eyebrow and gestured at the deck. He typed some more.
"He has my family under constant watch. My children are kept under guard and we're allowed to see them only on the days he dictates. I know you don't care. I have money. Will you?"
He steps back and looks close to tears. I hate that. Don't even know who he works for but no one's beyond my reach. Double payday, who am I to say no?
I nod and step out from behind his desk.
I flip his suit jacket open and fish inside the pockets until I find his cell. He doesn't get it.
"I'll be in touch."
At the door I stop and ask;" How do I get off this rock?"
"arrangements have been made. There is a boat docked at the beach that will take you to Florida."
"And the gear I'll need?"
"Waiting for you in Florida." Emmerech looks uncomfortable behind his desk.
I step out into the hall and stare down several dozen armed guards. They look past me. I don't have to turn around. One nearest me nods at whatever Emmerech did behind my back and the guards form two perfect rows allowing me passage.
Ocean breeze was perfect. Small dock at the end of the beach with a powerboat waiting. Still couldn't believe I was on a remote island. Probably man made.
The boatman and I say nothing to one another.
The boat splits the ocean like a white arrowhead as we rocket towards Florida.
Fucking Bahrain.
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