Chapter Nine
WILSON
Ihadn’t expected to spend my Saturday night hiding in a bathroom.
My rental apartment, for all its inconveniences, suits me fine.
It’s a bachelor’s flat on a homeowner’s property, overlooking the Tennessee River.
The homeowner in question, Reggy Sutherland, hasn’t been on the grounds since my arrival.
He’s some corporate tycoon in New York, who keeps to his roots by owning a house in Alabama.
When I arrived in Decatur, we shared a phone call.
A simple one, where he asked me—more like begged me—to live in the Big House instead of his outer flat, at no extra cost. His reasoning was that he’d prefer someone using the amenities to their fullest potential, while also taking care of the place.
I declined.
The bachelor flat, though sparse inside, is exactly what I needed. It has a raised platform for a bed, a single doorway leading into a bathroom, and a shared living room and kitchen space. It feels a little claustrophobic for sure, but I wasn’t staying in a simple rental room to save money.
I was doing it to ensure my safety. If you enter my domain, there’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re walking into the wolf’s den, with no possibility of escape. It’s a lesson the men breaching my door will learn quickly and brutally.
I hadn’t fallen asleep when the door handle started jiggling.
I was daydreaming about Hope and our many exploits that afternoon, when they came.
Had I taken Reggy Sutherland up on his offer of having the main house, I’d never have known about their intrusion.
In fact, I’d be on the second floor, lying in a king-sized bed while the bastards breached my privacy.
One thing I must commend Decatur on is that the more lavish housing along the river has so little light pollution.
Or maybe it was Reggy’s demand for his property, specifically.
Apart from the street lamps in the front yard, the rental is shielded by massive oak trees.
There isn’t a single light gracing the grounds.
The moment I switch off any outside lights, I’m shrouded by darkness.
Exactly how I want it.
When I hear the noise at the door, I sneak out of my bed, take the two steps off the raised platform, and creep into the bathroom. I stand with one of my shoes’ laces gripped tightly in my hands; double-wrapped and taut, ready to silence my attackers.
I stand just shy of the doorway in the pitch-black. It’s a tiny, confined space, with a shower and sink on one end, and a toilet on the other. Barely enough room for a man of my size, but it’s served its purpose until now.
The lock breaks, and I hear the door swing open.
“I’ll stand guard, you go in and get the thing,” one of the men says.
The thing? Is that how low I’ve stooped in the underground society’s eyes? No name, not a person, just a parcel to collect and deliver. Can’t say I’d have treated someone in my position any different, but it’s more dehumanizing than I expected.
“What if he gets squirrely?” the second speaks.
Separating? Two on one might have been a challenge, but separately these two buffoons don’t stand a chance.
“Mission’s simple. Dead or alive, don’t matter.”
“Got it.”
I hear footsteps moving across the fake wood floor, through the kitchen, and into the living room. A flashlight accompanies the intruder. He’s pointing it in every direction, trying to find me.
As he makes it to the first step of the raised platform, I assume at the exact moment he realizes I’m not in the bed, I step forward from the shadows. He’s shorter than me, thinner too, which will make this an easy fight.
I step behind him and wrap the shoelace around his neck. In a swift, hard tug, I draw him back into the shadows. Instant panic makes him drop the torch, and there’s a heavy thud as he drops something else – I’m guessing a gun – from the second.
He struggles at first, desperate fingers clawing at the rope restricting his airflow, but my overpowering size halts his attempts. I take the two elbows he jabs into my midsection, and though it’ll bruise tomorrow, I’ll still be alive.
He won’t be as lucky.
“Sammy, what’s going on in there?” the guard asks.
Sammy won’t be doing much talking. Not tonight; not ever again.
The guard starts his journey through the kitchen, as Sammy’s body goes limp in my arms. He’s not dead yet. Unconscious. A little longer and we’ll pass the point of no return.
“Where the hell are you?” The second flashlight shifts around in various locations, but comes to a stop at the steps leading to my bed. It’s fixed on the gun and light, Sammy-less on the ground.
I release Sammy’s body, and it crumples to my feet. The second man yelps, and in his blind panic, he squeezes the trigger of his weapon.
Fuck. Dead or alive. I’ve gotta remember that.
“You and I have some talking to do.” I press my back against the bathroom wall, avoiding the doorway in case the second guy still has an itchy trigger finger. Who am I kidding? After the first shot, I can tell he’s skittish. I’d be putting myself in harm’s way standing anywhere unshielded.
“Where’s S… S… Sammy?” he asks.
“Here. Alive, but he won’t be for long,” I lie. The prolonged lack of oxygen will have shut down his brain by now. Alive? Perhaps. But he won’t wake tonight, and if he ever does, he won’t be the same man who entered my abode.
“Oh God,” he says. I might be mistaken, but it sounds as if he’s on the verge of tears. “What did you do to him?”
“Time’s ticking, Pal,” I say. “You want to have any chance of saving him, you best listen closely.”
“Fine. Anything. What do you want?” There’s no denying it now. Through the sniveling and croaky voice, I can hear he’s weeping.
Interesting.
“You’re going to approach the door, stick your hand through it with the gun fixed straight ahead. Use the flashlight to show me where it is. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh.” He does exactly as he’s told.
His hand sticks through the doorway, with the gun held in a loose grip. His flashlight guides it in, illuminating the small mirror hanging above the bathroom. I grab his wrist, bend it at the elbow and pull the gun away from him. He doesn’t fight me.
Interesting.
“Oh, God, Sammy,” he sputters, seeing the man on the floor. “What have you done to him?”
I step around the corner, gun in tow, and press it against the forehead of the second man. He crumbles to the ground, shining the bright light into my eyes. I can’t imagine the crazed look he’s seeing. The same look so many have seen before, in their last moments walking this world.
“Who are you?” I ignore any questions relating to the body on the floor.
“Name’s John,” he says. Like that tells me anything useful.
“John who?” I crack my neck, side to side.
He shakes his head.
“You’re crying. Why?”
“Sammy… my brother,” he says, crawling along the ground. My eyes flick to the second weapon on the ground. He’s going to reach for it and I’ll have to shoot him.
I’d rather not; not until I get some answers. I step forward and kick the second pistol across the ground as far as it’ll slide.
“Is he going to be okay?” John seems to have forgotten about his mission completely. He’s more concerned about the unmoving body.
“Moonlighting as an assassin when you can’t hold your own. Who are you?” I don’t buy the bullshit. John and Sammy are here for me. I wouldn’t put it past a trained assassin to use any tactic to get ahead.
Then again, I don’t see how handing over a weapon would fit the scheme.
“They offered us money to bring you in,” John says. From his frame, he’s not much different in shape to Sammy. Thin and frail. Not built like me.
“How much?” Unimportant, but I’m curious about the price on my head.
“A mill.” Not bad. “Each.” Even better.
“Who sent you?” I step closer to him and press the ball of my foot into his chest.
“Manny some-shit,” he winces the name out through my crushing weight.
Manny-fucking-Ramirez. I knew it from the moment these two entered my house, but somehow it still comes as a shock. How the hell did that prick find me?
“Where were you supposed to take me?”
“A warehouse near Moulton Heights,” John stammers. He doesn’t fight against my foot. Maybe he isn’t the trained assassin I originally took him for. Should’ve guessed by the misfire.
“Know anything about what I’ll be walking into?” I ask, replacing my foot with a knee against his chest.
“There’s some girl gonna be there,” he says.
“What?” I roar. “Who? What’s her name?”
It can’t be. Manny Ramirez has Hope? I can’t waste any more time with this wannabe killer. I need to get there. I need to save her.
“I don’t know,” he shouts. The tears start pouring freely now. “They said we should tell you that. It’s all I know. Please, don’t hurt me.” He continues a stream of consciousness, mostly focused on begging for his life.
That ship sailed long ago. You don’t poke a bear and expect to walk away safely. I won’t feed him false hope. Sometimes in life you make poor decisions that set you down the wrong path.
For Sammy and John, this was their fatal mistake.
I deal with John the same way I did Sammy, this time, I use my bare hands. I tuck their bodies into the shower. I’ll get rid of them later, cementing their feet and dropping them somewhere in the Tennessee River.
But right now, I need to get to Moulton Heights.
Hope needs me.
I’m dressed and on the road before the clock ticks over ten minutes. On the way, I dial Alex. He’s the only ally I’ve got, and I could use the backup.
“Hey, Bossman, what’s going on?” Alex answers on the third ring.
“He found me. Sent a force to my house. I dealt with them swiftly, but there’s a problem. He’s taken a hostage,” I say.
“A hostage? You take my advice on finding some—. No, not the time,” Alex says. The humor vanishes from his voice. “What’s the plan, Boss?”
“I’m on my way to the warehouse, now.”
“You’ve gotta be shitting me. You’re driving right into his arms, Wilson. You’ll get yourself killed,” Alex isn’t pleased. Calling him for aid was a long shot, but I had to take it.
“I have to. I can’t let anything happen to her.” I leave out who her is, since it’s unimportant for this conversation.
“Wilson, wait. Listen to me,” I’m already cutting the call while Alex’s protests come through the other end.
It’s too late to stop and think. I need to get her out of there.