The Agent
I always wondered what retirement looked like for the criminals who were never caught. If there was such a thing.
Marcos Velazquez was one of the few to make it out of the game with his life intact. Part of his infamous reputation always included his covert affairs and abilities to evade the authorities. At one point in time, he was one of the hardest criminals in the world to find.
When I was young and my father was chasing him, I thought the man’s hands were buried so deep in crime that he had a connection for every hiding spot in every country. I never thought one of those relationships would be with one of the states’ own federal agencies.
I kept racking my brain for reasons agents would lay in bed with someone like Velazquez. Was the money that good? Was the acclaim for other arrests that loud? Or did he have cards up his sleeve he was holding to use against them?
Blackmail, in theory, would’ve made the most sense as to why the agents would turn their backs to their sworn duty. But, for some reason, I didn’t think that was the case.
My father didn’t specify in his letter how many people were in Velazquez’s pocket, but from the way he knew his actions were being watched and consequences were heading his way, I had to assume there were more than a handful.
After all, the agents accompanying Logan that day had no problem assisting him in blowing my car up.
Who knew how many more were hiding behind their badges.
As I stared across the lake at the dimly lit estate on the other side, I decided to make it a priority to find out. All of those bastards, whether they played a part in my father’s death or not, deserved to suffer. Maybe not by my hand, but I had other ideas to blow up their lives.
“Are you ready?” Mateo’s deep voice sliced through my thoughts.
Blinking, I pulled myself back into reality and looked up at him. “Yeah,” I said.
His eyes raked over my body, counting the weapons wrapped around my belt and measuring the bullet-proof material covering my body. “You have everything? Is the plan still fresh in your head?”
“Yes,” it almost came out like a sigh. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine.”
His hands slipped over my hips. Pulling me closer, he turned my body to face his.
Heat rushed up my cheeks as our torsos collided and his palm cupped the back of my neck. His dark eyes burned into mine, glittering like tiny onyx gems under the moonlight.
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “You make it back to me, alright?”
“I will.” I stood up on my toes to kiss him. “I promise,” I murmured against his lips.
His grip tightened as our kisses deepened, and for a second I feared he might change his mind about staying behind.
He’d tried to mask his reluctance with the same apathy he covered everything else with, but I could still sense it.
He really didn’t want me going on this mission - this vendetta.
But, we both knew there was nothing he could do to stop me.
I was just grateful he didn’t give me a hard time. The last thing I needed on my plate was another argument. I was tired of fighting with him. We had to be on the same page if whatever we are is going to work.
A hand wrapped around my arm and yanked me out of Mateo’s embrace. Stumbling backwards, I looked over my shoulder to see Maria’s tight bun bouncing in sync with her steps. “So you can make out with your man before a mission but I can’t?” I asked as she towed me along.
She flicked her free hand the space forming between Mateo and me and pretended to gag.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I swiveled on my feet and sped up to keep up with her.
We hiked through the nearby forest to get closer to the estate.
The mansion itself was caged in by tall, thick steel gates.
No guards stood on either side of them. Instead, Marcos relied on a state of the art security system to keep an eye on his property.
Cameras were hidden across the estate, covering every single inch.
If they caught any suspicious or unauthorized movement or faces, it’d ring a silent alarm that’d notify Marcos’ muscle who had properties farther down the road.
During our observation period, I thought it was strange he didn’t keep his men on the property.
Men like him usually traveled with entourages, trained specifically for their protection.
Maybe because Marcos was technically out of the game, he thought he didn’t have to worry about those things anymore.
From the outside looking in, it seemed like Marcos was a normal retiree.
He often strolled around with little urgency and was entertained by small, mundane tasks.
Some days he tended to his garden. Others, he took laps around the estate.
Then, there were some when he just sat by the lake and stared at the water.
Each time we saw him, I couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he was. Almost as if he didn’t have mountains of skeletons sitting in his closet.
The soft glow from the outdoor lamps hovering above the various entrances around the mansion greeted us as we reached the edge where the forest ended and his driveway began.
Maria shrugged her small backpack off of her shoulders and dug around inside for her compact computer. The device was so small it almost looked like a phone. She held it in one hand while the other quickly tapped some of the keys.
After a few moments, the light on the security cams lodged onto the gates shifted from red to green.
“We’re in,” Maria murmured as she shut the laptop and shoved it back into her bag.
I walked a few steps ahead of her towards the gates. I gave one of the bars a gentle push, and it quietly creaked open.
Maria and I slipped through the small opening. We jogged up the pile of staggered steps leading up to the front door.
I stood back as Maria used a small pin to jiggle the doorknob lock loose. She held her hand out behind her as she pushed the door open and peeked inside.
Grabbing her hand, I followed her into the darkness.
Inside, the scent of cigar smoke and expensive cologne wafted through the air.
Moonlight spilled through the slits of the long curtains, illuminating the long hallway.
To our right was the living room, filled with an abundance of furniture and rugs.
Ahead of us, a marble counter gleamed in the kitchen.
Slightly to our left was the swirling stairwell leading up to the other floors.
We skirted around the furniture in the living room, down another empty hall, and through the french doors leading into his personal study.
My nose scrunched at the strong stench of cigar smoke. I brought my free arm up against my nostrils to prevent the smell from burning them.
Maria barely blinked at it. She continued strolling towards the large chestnut desk on the other side of the room. Atop it was a wide screen desktop, keyboard, a wooden ashtray, and a few photograph frames.
While Maria pushed the rolling chair out of her way, I peeked at the few framed photographs on his desk. His sons in their mini league soccer uniforms. A wedding portrait of him and his late-wife. An older woman sitting in front of the beach with a wide smile, the color faded from time.
The white light from his computer coming alive tore my attention away from the pictures. Maria dug through the bag again, this time producing a small black USB. She stuck it into the back of the desktop.
Instantly, a tiny black box opened, asking for a coded password.
Maria’s fingers raced across the keyboard, filling in the box with little white dots.
Whatever she did unlocked the computer, giving us full access to his files.
She clicked a few more keys before a loading bar appeared.
The white space filling the bar crawled at snail speed, barely moving a few centimeters with every passing second.
“Gonna be a while,” Maria murmured, looking up at me. She jutted her chin towards the door. “Go.”
I stared at her for a moment as Mateo’s voice telling us to stay together replayed in my head. He made it clear he didn’t want me going off on my own. So, what was she doing?
Maria nodded her head towards the door again. “Go,” she encouraged again. She nudged my arm with her elbow and offered me a small smile. One I didn’t need words for.
“Thank you,” I told her. “I’ll meet you back at the front entrance.”
I snuck back the way we came through the house, making a beeline for the stairwell. I kept one hand on the gun at my waist as I glanced around the dark corners, waiting for something to leap out of them.
A guard. A gunshot. Hell, maybe even a sleepwalker. Yet, every time, there was nothing.
I’d never seen a place so big hold so much silence.
Marcos worked so hard to acquire his money and status and still ended up with practically nothing to show for it. Shit was kinda sad.
Nothing but the smell of smoke lingered on the top floor. The stench was stronger than it was downstairs. Fresher.
I snatched my gun out from the holster and flipped the security latch off. Sticking close to the walls, I followed the scent towards the master bedroom.
The door was already cracked when I reached it. I peeped through the tiny space to get a visual on Marcos.
At first glance, the dark room seemed empty. No one slept amongst the messy silk sheets on the bed or sat in the cushioned chair in the corner.
But, the french doors leading to the balcony were open. A shadow stood between the moonlight pouring into the room. The wind carried trails of smoke inside.
I quietly pushed the door open and took a few steps into the room for a better look.
Marcos was leaning over the railing, clad in a pair of slippers and red robe. His elbows were perched against the stone, and clouds of smoke swirled over his head of silver hair. “You could have just rung the gate bell,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder. “I would’ve let you in.”
My brows furrowed. “You knew we were coming?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I’ve been waiting for this moment. Been praying it would come sooner.”
I tilted my head, confused by his statement.
He waved the cigar in his hand. “They say smoking is one of the world’s fastest killers. Almost a year of downing five of these a day and still healthy as a horse. Bullshit, ain’t it?”
“You want to die?” I asked. The heat running through my veins cooled at the thought. What was the point in giving him exactly what wanted?
He turned around, finally showing his face. Even in old age, he was a handsome man. Strong, defined jaw. Mesmerizing light brown eyes. Silver beard that matched his mane.
But his air of confidence and arrogance described by the few people who came in contact with him was gone.
A powerful kingpin didn’t stand before me; a weary widower did. And it made my stupid heart twist.
“What else is there to live for?” He answered. “My children are grown with their own families and keeping the family business afloat; they’re too busy for dear old dad. Eveline was the only one who truly cared. Now that she’s gone…” Shaking his head, he took another hit of his cigar.
I could only stare at him. I hadn’t expected for him to seem so human - so pitiful. Not after all the lives he’s taken.
“What grievance brings you here?” He asked. “I’d like to know which of my deeds brought death to my doorstep.”
“You’re responsible for my father’s death.”
“As is the case in a lot of situations. Be more specific.”
“Xavier Nichols,” I said, my father’s name almost foreign on my tongue. I didn’t say it much. My chest always ached whenever I did.
Marcos’ brows pinched as he pondered over the name. “Nichols, Nichols,” he murmured to himself. He shook his head. “Are you sure this was my doing? That name doesn’t ring a bell.”
The pure confusion and ignorance on his face turned the heat back up. My blood boiled as I stormed towards him. I gripped up the collar of his robe with one hand and shoved him back onto the balcony.
His back collided into the railing, and he damn near stumbled over it had I not been holding him. He stared at me with surprise, but not fear as my other hand shoved my gun in his face.
“Special Agent Xavier Nichols,” I snapped. “He was ten seconds away from busting your ass when you got your buddies in the FBI to handle him.”
“Oh, him?” A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “I remember Agent Nichols. I admired that motherfucker almost as much as I hated him. But his death isn’t on me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I wanted him off my back, but I didn’t want him dead. The agents made that decision all on their own.”
“You’re lying,” I said, giving him a shake. He had to be. Why else would the FBI want him dead? What other reason would Logan kill his best friend?
He held up his hands. “On my dead wife’s grave, I swear I had nothing to do with it.” His lips grew into a wicked smile. “But if it was for my benefit, I must say, it was a hell of a nice favor.”
“Yeah,” I said, pushing harder against his collar. “So is this one.”
His brows came together as his feet lifted off the ground. “Wait, wait, what are you-“
I shoved him off the balcony before he was able to finish his sentence.
He hollered as he grappled at the air, searching for something to stop or soften his fall.
A harsh thud ended his screams.
Peeking over the balcony, I watched the blood slowly pool around his head, smothering his silver hair in a sea of red.