9. Rex
The little road that ran up to the clearing where Nag’s cabin was hidden was clear of any hanging branches, which meant that the old man had passed by here in the last 24 hours. He was always determined to keep the dirt road free from anything that could hinder him from getting home.
The old man’s limp slowed him down most of the time these days, so he often spent some free time out here making his life easier.
“Fuck.” My boots sank into the soft mud, the night time rain softening the dirt path to just wet piles of sludge that was splashing up the black leather. “Gonna take ages to get them clean.” Streaks of brown lined my jeans. “The old man better have some good intel,” I muttered, trekking through the woods. The prospect would have a shit time cleaning all of this—no pun intended. Because like fuck was I spending my free time on my knees scrubbing my own boots, that’s Ryan’s job. Until he gets promoted… or dies. Whichever comes first. That also leads to having to get a new prospect and there were plenty lining up for the option. It was my job to weed out the junkies and the losers, the ones who couldn’t be trusted with our secrets.
A dim light filtered through the branches, a dull glow of a lamp that was a beacon to Nag’s cabin. Not that I couldn’t find my way without a light, I’d trampled up to this place plenty of times to know exactly where to line my steps.
Swatting the last branch aside, I paused in my tracks. Hair on the back of my neck stood on end, my gut twisting its familiar message that something was wrong. I had never ignored my instincts, and I wasn’t about to start now. What have you got yourself into, old man?
Pulling the Glock from my shoulder holster, I gripped the comforting weight of the weapon. The slimline design was perfect for concealment and hiding beneath my cut. And perfect for times like this when I needed the added protection.
Nag’s front door hung ajar, light seeping through the small crack. It wasn’t like him to be incompetent. He was a miserable old coot that worried about thieves and what little possessions he had stored inside. No fucking way would he leave his home open to the elements.
My steps were soft as I swept my eyes over the land, spotting several boot prints indented in the mud just off the front porch. Someone had been here, someone the old man wasn’t expecting.
A shot of concern for the old coot had me circling the exterior of the cabin, the rough wooden logs catching my arm as I worked my way around silently, listening for intruders and thanking whoever the fuck was up there that the rain had softened my footfalls.
The back window looked straight into the living room, an old armchair faced the flickering flames in the fireplace, the source of the only light in the cabin.
A hand hung over the armrest, the thick copper bangle around the wrist—the one that Nag was adamant helped his arthritis in the cold winter months—a distinguishing symbol of the old man.
Twisting the handle of the back door, the wood swung open silently. My gun entered first, pointed straight at anyone who had no excuse to be here. With the hammer cocked and my finger on the trigger, I moved with the shadows. My heart beat calmly, a steady rhythm in my chest as I advanced. This was what I was made for. The adventure, the adrenalin of the chase had my hand steady and my mind laser-focused on the task.
I released a breath of assurance that there was no one here that could take me unawares. And perhaps just a bit of disappointment too. I had no way of knowing who had trespassed here and was left nothing to identify them with, not to mention I hadn’t felt the mind-numbing serenity that comes with taking the life of someone who owes you for a while now. My fingers itched to get back at those who were fuckin’ us around. The gym had been my only release recently, and it was starting to not be enough, soon I’d need more than just a bag and weights to satisfy my craving.
Finally turning my attention to the old man, I grit my teeth at the sight. My gun hung loose beside me, my boots paused just before the pool of crimson underneath Nag’s body.
He sat in his chair as if he’d just been resting, the empty beer bottle beside him spoke of contentment in his final moments.
The small dark hole in his forehead was neat and center-stage, execution style—a quick death. There were no other signs on his body that they’d hurt him in any way, they didn’t stop for information, it looked like a quick in and out job, otherwise he wouldn’t just be sitting there, the old bastard would have put up a good fight. The fucking pricks got him in his damned briefs. A man should be able to chill in his own home with a goddamned beer without worrying about getting a bullet in his skull!
Gritting my teeth, I dragged an old blanket from the trunk and spread it over him, giving him some dignity in his death before pulling my phone and hitting the call button for Prez.
It only rang once before he answered. “What did you find?”
I swallowed back my anger, my teeth gritted at the scene before me. “We were too late.” I didn’t need to say anything else, he understood me loud and clear.
“Fuck!” His indrawn breath and exhale was familiar, it was his way of trying to keep himself calm. “Take a look around, see if he’s hidden anything. He liked to keep diaries.” My eyebrows shot up, I never even knew Nag could write, but clearly he was a dark horse. “Bring back anything you think might help, and don’t spend too long there, just… get rid of everything else.”
Get rid was code for burn the shit to the ground. Which wouldn’t be too hard in the middle of nowhere, the fire wouldn’t spread to the woods either as it was too wet, so I wasn’t at risk of starting a fucking forest fire. “I’ve got it, Prez.” The line shut off, and I looked back down at the poor man in front of me, hoping that my death was as quick as that one day… just here and then in a split second, nothing. But not any time soon, no fucking way am I ready to be taken off this lush green earth yet, I had a little English woman to get to know.