Saint/Sinner

Chapter 12

He’d done most of the shooting, but Monroe’s people had returned fire three times, and only when they could see him. If nothing else, they were at least disciplined enough to follow that one order Monroe had given them, even if it meant running around while he tried to pick them off from the back of the hallway.

As he settled against the wall next to the closed bedroom door, Jack took stock of his situation.

It was, in a word, shit.

He was trapped inside a house with at least four guns, all of whom wanted what (who) was in the room with him, but couldn’t give less than two cents about his hide. He wasn’t completely up a creek, though. He still had an ace in the hole: Walter, currently cowering behind the computer desk, staring at him. Once the shooting began, Walter had smartly taken cover. He’d also known better than to run out the open door and into the gunfire. Maybe the guy had some survival instincts about him after all.

The window behind Walter was still intact, the curtains pulled together to keep anyone out there from spying in. Bullets had no issue piercing glass, but it was hard to shoot if you couldn’t see your target. Not that he thought Monroe’s people would start pumping lead into the room anyway, at least not with Walter somewhere inside with him.

Jack turned his attention back to the door. He had reloaded the Sig556 with a fresh magazine, which left him with one extra. Fortunately, he still had two spares for the Sig Sauer P250. And then there was the Ka-Bar. You never knew when a little close-quarters action was necessary.

He stood very still and listened, trying to pick up sounds coming from outside. If Monroe’s people were coming, they were taking their time.

“You finished?” Jack asked without turning around.

“What?” Walter said.

Jack nodded at the laptop on the desk in front of Walter. “You finished?”

Walter shook his head.

“How much longer?” Jack asked.

“I was only halfway…”

“How much longer?”

Walter thought about it before shaking his head again. “Maybe another thirty minutes?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s complicated—”

“Whatever,” Jack said. “Get back to work.”

“What?”

“Get the fuck back to work.”

Walter peeked around the desk and at the laptop, then at Jack, but he remained on the floor.

“I mean it,” Jack said. “Get back to work.”

“What if they start shooting again?”

“Pick up the laptop and move it behind the desk with you.”

“Oh,” Walter said.

Jack smiled to himself. For a guy charged with moving millions around on a daily basis, ol’ Walter could be a little dense.

He watched the man lean out from behind the desk, then quickly scoot forward on all fours, stretching his long body around the metal furniture as if he were some kind of caterpillar. Walter snatched the laptop by one end and pulled it around the desk until it, along with the rest of him, was safe behind cover again.

“Well?” Jack said.

Walter didn’t answer. Instead, the familiar tap-tap-tap filled the room, along with a strange vibration…coming from one of his pants pockets.

He thought it was the burner phone he was using to contact the client until he realized the vibration, followed by the generic ringtone, was coming from the wrong pocket.

Monroe’s.

He didn’t even remember stowing the phone during the gunfight. Jack fished it out now and looked down at the unknown caller ID on the cracked screen. When he didn’t answer it, the phone stopped vibrating…for five seconds; then it started up again.

Jack pressed the screen to answer it. “Front desk.”

“Funny,” Monroe said. “Found the stiff in the room next door, by the way.”

“Of course you did.”

“Looks like he’s been dead for a while. I get the feeling you’ve been lying to me about having friends, Jack.”

“One good turn deserves another, I always say.”

“Fair enough.”

“What do you want?”

“Smart, going into the same room with Walter. I guess that’s so we won’t try to bum-rush you again?”

“You’ve already proven you have plenty of bums to go around. Thought I’d play it safe this time.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think that was going to work, but I had to give it a shot.”

“Seems to me you didn’t come very prepared. Gotta say, Monroe, I’m not overly impressed here.”

“You’re right,” Monroe said. “We didn’t get much of a lead time. Had to come with what we had on hand.”

He’s confirming my suspicions. Why?

“Which is why I need to end this quickly,” Monroe said. “Time is not on my side. Or yours, but I’m sure you already know that. One way or another, this thing ends by morning. With that said, how do you feel about a partnership?”

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…”

“Understandable. But you have to know you don’t have a lot of choices at the moment.”

“Don’t I?”

“No. You don’t.”

Jack didn’t answer, because Monroe was right. The only possibility was to use Walter as a shield, but all it would take was one decent sniper waiting for him outside, and it was game over. That was assuming he even made it out of the house in the first place with Monroe’s people still inside the building with him.

Shit. The fucker’s right.

“Jack, you still there?” Monroe said through the phone.

He ignored the voice, even cupped the receiver so he could listen to the hallway on the other side of the wall. Monroe had tried this tack once already — and it’d almost worked — and there was no reason he wouldn’t do it again.

His palm vibrated slightly against Monroe’s voice, until he finally brought the phone back up to his ear. “Let’s say I believe you this time. What guarantees can you give me?”

“You tell me.”

“Tell me who sent you.”

“I can’t do that. You know that, Jack. Unwritten code, and all that bullshit. Besides, does it really matter?”

Jack thought about it. “I guess not.”

“What else?” Monroe asked.

“What’s the mission?”

“You know what the mission is.”

“Walter.”

“Correct. Walter.” A beat. Then, “What say you, Jack? You ready to put all this behind you? Live to fight another day?”

“I hate going home empty-handed.”

“But you’ll be going home.”

Monroe was right. Fuck him in the eyes, Monroe was right. Jack wanted to live. Jesus Christ, he wanted to live.

He looked over at Walter. If the man had been eavesdropping on the phone conversation and was even remotely flustered by it, it hadn’t interrupted the rhythmic tap-tap-tap coming from behind the desk.

Jack turned back to the phone. “So how do I walk out of here?”

“Simple,” Monroe said through the phone. “You just walk out of here.”

“Just like that?”

“I don’t give two shits about you, Jack. I want Walter. He’s my meal ticket. You? You’re just another guy with a gun. I don’t have any plans for you, except maybe to put your name in my Rolodex so I can offer you a job in the future.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Good men are hard to find. I don’t know what happened to the one in the other room, but you’re obviously the last man standing. That counts for something in my book.” Another dramatic pause, then, “So are we doing this, Jack? We simpatico?”

“I got a problem.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“My momma used to tell me, when something’s too good to be true, it usually means they have a red-hot poker ready to shove up your ass when you turn around.”

Monroe chuckled. “She sounds like a hell of a woman.”

“She had her moments.”

“Why don’t you take a minute to think about my offer? Just don’t take too long. I need an answer before midnight.”

Jack glanced down at his watch. 10:14 P.M.

“Until then,” Monroe continued, “I’ll hold the boys back and give you space.”

“Awfully courteous of you.”

“Hey, we’re both professionals, right? I took my best shot and you survived. Now I just want to end this.”

“Midnight,” Jack said.

“Sure, midnight, but feel free to give me a ring if you make up your mind before then,” Monroe said, just before he terminated their connection.

Jack stared at the phone for a moment. Could he actually trust Monroe? Could he afford not to? He wasn’t getting out of this alive any other way that he could see. The only possible escape scenario was out the window behind Walter, and Jack didn’t for one second think Monroe didn’t already have someone watching it on the other side.

He tucked the phone into his pocket, slid down to the floor, and sat with his back against the wall, the assault rifle leaning over his bent knees.

Almost home. He was almost home. When he’d first gotten the job, he didn’t think five days was enough to plan the ambush, and that doubt had only grown in the days leading up to tonight. Then they showed up, and he got Walter working on the laptop.

So what happened?

The dog happened.

How the hell did that fucking thing get inside the house, anyway?

The question still nagged at him, even now that he couldn’t do anything about it. It was probably Jones’s fault. Or Jerry’s. They probably missed a door or lock somewhere. Again, the lack of prep time…

It was too bad Jones was dead, though. And Jerry, too, probably. Jones KIA was easier to accept because Jack knew what had happened to him. But Jerry just going dark…that was troublesome. How did the woman, the girl, and the dog get the best of him? Jerry was a professional. They all were.

And yet, and yet…

The girlfriend and her dog. It all came down to the girlfriend and her mutt. Goddammit. He should have shot them both when he had the—

Bang!

A gunshot. It was very close to him, but not outside the hallway.

It was followed by another one, then almost a full second later, a third shot.

Jack clutched the rifle and slid back up the length of the wall as follow-up gunfire began exploding throughout the house and he heard the very clear distinct sound of a dog barking.

Speak of the devil…