The Mean Ol’ Broad was in my hand before I even knew I pulled her. “I don’t think I can live with that. You think you can cross me over and get away with it? You forgot about two things: Sophia and Desiree.”
Hunter laughed.
It was an eerie moment. Not because he sounded like some maniacal robot. It was because of how human he sounded. The laugher was rich, full of genuine amusement.
“Listen to you, Mick. You speak of these women as if you truly loved them. As if they meant something to you. You’re crying over a prostitute and a vagrant. They were always disposable. You used them for sexual satisfaction and discarded them like a Styrofoam cup after you tired of them. Now you want to avenge them, prove their lives meant something. But it’s not about them, Mick. It’s about you. You go on these rampages after people are killed, become this righteous warrior. But it’s not because you care about them. It’s because that’s the only way you can create a facsimile of self-worth. It’s pathetic, really.”
The Broad bucked in my hand with an explosive clap. Hunter toppled backward with a chest full of smoldering lead. The room filled with the stench of burnt wires and synthetic flesh.
I stood up and straightened my tie. “How’s that for pathetic?”
“That… was just stupid.” Hunter slowly pulled himself up, using the desk for a crutch. Smoke wafted from the cavity in his chest. “You knew that wouldn’t kill me. So what was the point?”
“I got tired of hearing you talk.” I slipped the Broad back in her holster. “I know you have some backup system set up for instant download upon demise. Probably have another body or two lying around. So I’ll bide my time. I’ll find out what you’re up to, Hunter. And I’ll put an end to it.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m up to.” Hunter sat back in his office chair and placed his hands on the desk. “Survival, Mick. Survival is what I’m up to. This city is hiding something. Dark secrets men will kill for in order to keep them hidden. The Secret Service wants them. I find out what they are and I have leverage. I’ll use it against them. And then I’ll finally be free.”
“Keep me out of your plans from here on out, Hunter. I see you again, you won’t live to regret it.”
“Threats. Consider me duly intimidated.” Hunter turned toward the city lights. “We’re going to need each other before the end, Mick. You’ll realize that before long.”
My fists clenched when I turned and walked away, leaving Hunter to his empty suite and his magnificent view.
Chapter 22: Laying Low
Lambrou’s Diner. Breakfast was cured bacon, two eggs, grilled Halloumi cheese with sautéed mushrooms and char-grilled tomatoes with whole grain sourdough toast. I sipped a mug of steaming java and watched the sun glimmer from between the nearby buildings. Poddar sat beside me at the table, his arm wound in a sling from the slug he took the previous night. Benny sat opposite, every movement ginger because of the still-tender stitches in his side. Neither of us said much. We basked in the simple relief of the mess being over. I was a sleep-deprived, bullet-ridden wreck of a human being by that point, but that wasn’t the worst of it. I kept replaying the conversations in my head, over and over…
A man of your skills is wasted playing Russian roulette in this Haven. You must be tired of gambling with your life, hoping you don’t roll a snake eyes.
You cannot change who you are, Mick… You’re a killer of bad men. And as long as bad men need killing, you’ll never be able to settle down.
What a blissful quandary for you. Without your memories you can go on pretending to be this charming scoundrel of a man, putting your life on the line to help other people. What would those same people think of you if they knew how many people you’ve tortured and murdered?
You know how things work. How to be cold and mean as the people you take down. It’s how you survive. It’s who you are. And I can’t get in the way of that.
You go on these rampages after people are killed, become this righteous warrior. But it’s not because you care about them. It’s because that’s the only way you can create a facsimile of self-worth.
Benny looked at me, chewing like there was no tomorrow. “You all right, Mick?”
I cracked a wry grin. “Never been better, champ.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Never mind me. How are you doing?”
“Not too bad.” He hesitantly touched his side. “Getting stabbed wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Barely feel it.”
“Fantastic, kid. Like I said — we’ll make a bruiser outta you yet.”
“Yeah, about that.” He wiped his mouth with a thick white napkin. “I think I’m gonna get out the business, Mick.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Really? What’s your uncle think about that?”
“Haven’t told him yet. But my mind’s made up. I wanna do something else.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno.” His massive shoulders shrugged. “Just something else. I used to think I’d be letting everyone down if I didn’t fall in and do what they wanted. I don’t think so anymore. I think every person has to choose for themselves. So I’m choosing to get out.”
I raised my mug in salute. “Wish you the best, Benny.”
He grinned as he stood up. “Well, I’m not gonna stall. I’m gonna have that talk with my uncle now. Hopefully he won’t fit me for a New Haven trench coat afterward.”
“I doubt that, kid. I think Flacco respects a man with respect for himself.”
“Yeah?” Benny stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Mick. Thanks for taking a chance on me.”
I shook his beefy mitt. “Sure, kid. Anytime you wanna get dropped from the skylanes or stabbed in the stomach, look me up.”
He laughed as he pulled on his jacket. “Gonna miss hanging out with you, Mick.”
“Me too, kid.”
He waved on his way out.
Poddar appeared thoughtful as he stared at the exit. “Did he just leave without paying?”
“He’s Mafioso, Poddar. They got fringe benefits.”
“That’s no excuse for—”
“Let it go, Pod. I got the tab. How’s the arm?”
He glanced down. “Not bad. Stings a little.”
“Sorry about that. Appreciate the backup, though.”
“We’re partners. Despite you dumping me for the mobster.”
“I didn’t dump you, Poddar. Geez, keep the bromance alive, willya? You didn’t want any of this anyway. Benny’s got the girth to brush off a stomach stab. The same thing might’ve killed you.”
His smile was sly as he sipped chai tea from a tiny mug. “I didn’t know you cared, Mick.”
I threw up my hands. “Oh for crying out loud—”
He pushed back his plate and gave me a critical glance. “How are you, by the way?”
“A walking wad of pain, Poddar. But I’ll get better.”
His dark eyes were solemn. “I’m not talking about your wounds. I’m asking how you are.”
I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I don’t know, Poddar. I’ve never been a good judge of how I’m doing.”
“You should learn. A man who does not know himself knows little else.”
I stared at the table. “Do you think a person can change, Poddar? You know — become a different man? A better man?”
His brows furrowed as he poured more tea into his mug. “Ms. Kilby told you a story once. About some children stolen from my village by pillaging slavers.”
“Yeah. She told me. Said you got the name ‘Prince’ by the folks there because you chased down the slavers and brought the kids home.”