He led the patient back to the common room where people were watching a John Wayne movie. He said goodbye to Mr. Lyman and walked out, going toward the nurses station. This hospital required candy stripers to fill out forms after every interaction with patients and although Houseman could have skipped this — he’d certainly done much worse offenses — he leaned against the counter and got to work.
Focusing on inane busywork was a good way to keep his mind off regret. He tried thinking about the good times he’d had with his wife before she passed away. He thought about the hopeful days 30 years ago when he’d set his plan in motion. Back then, everything was possible, the future had looked so bright.
Now it was over. There was no more future for him. It was only a matter of time before the FBI turned its attention on him. How could hope morph into regret in such a short time span?
He chased these thoughts from his mind and tried to ignore the nurse next to him who was preparing a tray of pills for her round. He was surrounded by the idle chatter of the hospital and he wondered how long it would be before he was on the other side of the counter, becoming a patient himself. Probably not long. What did he have to live for anyway?
Spontaneously, a machine pierced the relative silence with a loud alarm. A nearby patient was flatlining. A nurse rushed into the room down the hall.
“We got a code blue!” she shouted.
The woman who was standing next to Houseman abandoned her task and rushed to the patient in critical condition, as did a young doctor, his white smock billowing behind him like a cape. Houseman was alone at the desk.
He was somewhat glad for the excitement, a reminder of his youth in combat, but quickly he realized he wasn’t involved. He was useless, no one needed him. He straightened up and from the corner of his eye glimpsed a cabinet which had been left ajar, the keys still in the lock. It was the medicine cabinet.
His destiny was clear. He actually smirked at how easy the decision came to him. He went to the cabinet and opened the door wider. He still had his reading glasses on and he scanned the medications until he came across one that was labeled Dilaudid.
Without hesitation, he emptied the white container into his shirt pocket. Then he stole a bottle of water which he’d seen a nurse sipping and walked away.
He waited until he was behind the wheel of his car in the parking lot before swallowing all the pills. He didn’t want the medical staff to resuscitate him. And they didn’t.
Chapter 33
Esther did her best to hold back tears. Watching Spicer holding his suitcase in one hand and is little red gym bag in the other made the situation concrete. More than a week had passed and she now understood how much he’d done to avoid her country turning into a dictatorship. He’d gotten nothing in return.
For this part, he was used to it. He’d been trained to work in the shadows. He was a master of guerrilla tactics, of hit-and-runs. You didn’t do this job for the accolades, although this time the stakes had been much higher and a little recognition would have been nice.
Then again, he supposed still being alive was an adequate benefit.
“You know you’re welcome to stay here until they fix the leak in your apartment.”
Spicer smiled. “Yeah, I know, Esther.” The leak has been fixed but it remained a safe method of talking about what they didn’t want to talk about. “There’ve been too many drastic turns in my life in the past weeks. I need some time to think about all of it. I need to reassess my place in the world.”
Esther snorted. “I know what you mean. I’m gonna give politics a rest for a while.”
He nodded and looked beyond her. On the refrigerator was a picture she had printed out. Ned was back in his Navy uniform and holding his newborn. Spicer had made some phone calls on his behalf and his friend was set to return to active duty on an aircraft carrier in the coming weeks.
“I just hope I can put it all behind me,” he said. “It’s all over but I still can’t breathe. I do plan on seeing you again. And I hope when this moment comes, we can start all over again with a clean slate.”
She nodded and this time she couldn’t fight back the tears. “I’d like that, Gene.”
She fell into his arms, making him drop his bags, and they hugged passionately. Maybe he was doing the wrong thing, maybe he shouldn’t leave her. But he had to. He needed to put his life back on track, to find some sort of balance and stability before getting involved with someone.
He couldn’t make the same mistake he’d made when he was married. He liked Esther a lot and she deserved better. More precisely, she deserved him to be better if they were ever to enter into a serious relationship together. He kissed her tenderly so he would remember everything about her.
Walking through the parking garage, Spicer smirked when he realized his car was a Chevrolet. He would have pitched a fit if it had been a Ford, which would only have reminded him of the man who’d wanted him dead. Anyway, it was beside the point since he was about to ditch this car forever.
While he still had his properties in Florida, his plan was to lay low for a few months at least while things settled down. He would travel on fake passports, find some small beach house in Mexico or maybe El Salvador, and evaluate his options.
He hit the fob to unlock the car and remotely popped the trunk open. He threw in the suitcase but he kept the red gym bag with him. It was a habit to keep it within reach. He climbed into the driver’s seat.
He was about to insert the key into the ignition when a pair of eyes appeared in the rearview mirror. It was Clara.
Before he could do anything, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
“Why aren’t I dead yet?” he asked while gently sliding his hand over the gym bag on the passenger seat.
“I should ask you the same thing, Spicer.”
He kept his eyes riveted on hers through the mirror. She was as cold as he’d ever seen her.
He said, “You know the game, when a job’s over you move on to the next one. I doubt anyone’s desperate enough to want me dead. I don’t kill anymore.”
He used the cover of his voice to slide his hand inside the bag.
“You were the best once, weren’t you? And you just had to show everyone, didn’t you?”
He dismissed her tone filled with resentment. How very unprofessional. “We have the same background, you and me. We both know we’re not in the revenge business. We don’t make things personal.”
“That’s what your friend Kilmer said before I shot him.”
What went down next happened exactly at the same time. Clara extended her arm further while she squeezed the trigger.
For this part, Spicer pushed himself down and to his right as he drew the Taurus handgun from the bag.
Her shot exploded thunderously through the windshield and Spicer aimed his gun between the two front seats. Running on instincts, he pulled the trigger three times.
Clara’s face was riddled with bullets, blood spraying wildly through the car and her body being thrown backwards where she bounced against the window. In the process she squeezed off one last round which blasted through the front console, sending sparks flying.
Straightening up, he shot her in the head one last time just to be sure. The rear and side windows were covered with blood and he became queasy. He welcomed the sensation, it meant he was really done with killing.
After catching his breath, he stepped out of the car and hurriedly scanned the parking garage. It was midmorning and there were no witnesses. He closed the door and opened the trunk again. He pulled out his suitcase before throwing the gun and keys in the trunk.
He reached for his passports, ID, and extra cash from the red gym bag and tossed it in the trunk as well. It really was over now. He would surely be linked to what had just gone down but he could sweat it out down in Mexico. Besides, Clara Mailley’s identity would set off alarms over at Langley. It was in their interest to cover up this crime.