“I think it’s over,” Walter said.
Jack stared back at him, unsure how to respond. Instead, he wiped at clumps of blood on his face, around his mouth and chin. He knew his nose was broken without having to touch it and both eyes were puffy, but he supposed he should be happy he could still see out of the right one at all.
He punched me. After he tried to cut my head off with the flying laptop.
What the fuck?
He looked at Walter again, trying to grasp what had happened, and found it…difficult. The man he had taken hostage, whom he had forced to work on the laptop, seemed to have vanished, replaced by this new guy whose head was tilted slightly to one side as he listened to the—
Silence.
The entire house was quiet, the “it’s over” that Walter had mentioned a few seconds ago. How long ago since the gun battle outside stopped? The blood on him was still wet, so…a few minutes, tops?
From the look on his face, Walter wasn’t sure how to process what he was hearing (or not hearing), either. Jack concentrated on the gun in Walter’s hand. Did he know how to use that? It was hard to tell, but then, how difficult was it to point a gun at someone and pull the trigger? Even a monkey could do that, and it was a very, very small room.
“Who the hell are you?” Jack asked.
He had difficulty talking, maybe because he could still taste the blood clinging to the inside walls of his mouth. What he wouldn’t give for some mouthwash to cleanse it. Even filthy, unfiltered tap water would be nice.
Walter was giving him a wry look. “You were so preoccupied with the shooting, I was halfway across the room before you even noticed.”
“You nearly decapitated me.”
“I was trying to hit your head. I guess I’m a terrible thrower. Always was, I guess, since high school. Always got picked last.”
Not anymore, Jack thought.
Walter returned his attention to the door. “It’s quiet out there. I wonder who they were shooting at…”
“You don’t know?”
Walter shook his head.
“But you know something,” Jack said.
“Something…”
“Who are you?” Jack asked again.
“I’m like you,” Walter said. “Just someone trying to get what I have coming, and retire with my loved ones.”
I don’t have any loved ones, Jack wanted to say, but didn’t. He didn’t think Walter gave a damn about his love life at the moment.
His hands were sticky with his own blood, and he wiped it on his pants before trying to get up. He must have been too noisy, because Walter shot him a quick glance and shook his head, then pointed the gun at him.
“Stay down,” Walter said. “I’ve never shot anyone before, but it’s not exactly brain surgery, is it?”
Jack grunted and sat back down.
“Not so fun when someone’s pointing a gun at you, huh?” Walter asked.
“What made you think any of this was fun for me?”
“Oh, I get it, because you’re a professional,” Walter said. He sounded almost amused. “Some pro, letting me sneak up on you like that.”
“You hit like a girl.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not about how you hit, it’s how many times, right?”
“I guess so,” Jack said, grimacing at the memory of Walter’s fists flying — awkwardly, yes, but still flying — at him over and over again.
Jack noticed the remains of the laptop on the floor between him and Walter. The screen was cracked, and half of the keys were sprinkled across the room. The letter “M” was sitting next to his left leg and there, the letter “R.”
“I finished it,” Walter said, “in case you were wondering.”
“Finish what?”
“The job. It’s done.” Then he gave Jack a knowing smile before adding, “For when you call your client to update him.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Jack said again.
Walter may have been in the process of answering when he suddenly went still and held up a finger to his lips instead before taking a quick step, then another one, away from the door. Jack could feel it — the slight vibrations of footsteps moving toward them from the hallway outside.
Jack followed Walter’s lead and began scooting backward while still sitting on the floor. Walter glanced over but didn’t stop him, so Jack took that as permission and kept moving away from the door until his back pressed against the far wall and he didn’t have any more space to retreat.
Walter shoved the handgun into his front waistband, then unslung the rifle and pointed it at the door. He didn’t look entirely comfortable with the long gun, but like Walter had said, it wasn’t exactly brain surgery and ol’ Walter was smart enough to play possum all this time, so he could probably work out the mechanics of aiming and pulling a trigger.
Jack focused on the nearing footsteps. He hadn’t heard the dog barking again since he regained consciousness, so he didn’t know if that was four legs coming toward them or multiple sets of two. The eerie quiet, after the loud ruckus of gunfire, was beyond unsettling.
Walter took another couple of steps back, putting more space between himself and the door. He swiped at fresh sweat dripping down his temple, and the Sig556 might have been trembling slightly in his hands.
“Why don’t you give that to me?” Jack said.
Walter ignored him.
“Two of us against whatever’s out there is better odds,” Jack continued. “That’s my rifle. Give it to me, and you keep the handgun. Be smart—”
“Shut up,” Walter snapped.
Jack sighed, just as the footsteps outside stopped on cue. Maybe they had heard Jack talking and paused to listen in, or they had reached their destination — wherever that was. He knew they were outside in the hallway, but he had lost track of where they were exactly.
“Hey!” a voice shouted from outside.
Sonofabitch, Jack thought at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Anyone still alive in there?” Monroe shouted.
“Don’t answer—” Jack started to say.
“Yeah!” Walter shouted before Jack could finish.
Monroe didn’t respond right away. After about five seconds, the man said, “Who am I talking to?”
“Walter.”
“What happened to Jack?”
“He’s still here.”
“Alive?”
“For now.”
“Sorry, Jack,” Monroe said.
“Go fuck yourself!” Jack shouted.
He thought he might have heard one of Monroe’s trademark chuckles through the wall. “No can do, buddy,” Monroe said. Then, “Glad to hear you’re still alive and well, Walter. We were worried for a moment.”
“You got a name?” Walter asked.
“Monroe!” Then, “I gave Jack something earlier. A phone. Why don’t we talk like civilized people instead of shouting back and forth through a door?”
Walter looked over and held out his hand. Jack thought about forcing him to come get it, maybe grabbing the gun when he did—
“Toss it,” Walter said.
Or not, Jack thought, and fished the phone out with a bloody hand, tossing it across the room. Walter caught it just barely, juggling the cell phone with his left hand for a moment. Then he wiped the blood on his pants just before the device began vibrating, followed by the familiar ringtone.
As Walter put the phone to his ear, Jack calculated the distance between them. Too far, and he was sitting on his ass. If he were on his feet, then maybe he would have had a chance to rush Walter before the man could line up and fire a shot.