Prologue 3/5
Eleven Months of Night
I haven't done much sleeping, obviously. That paired with the fact that I had a good portion of this chapter written up before hand (in way of a character sketch that I didn't know I was going to actually use until I used it) means that this part, though LONG, was relatively easy to write. :D
Seph had just gotten her car started, shortly after six that morning, when the news announcement came over the radio. Fatal one-car crash. A teenage girl, identified as Ariana Sophia Grinaldi, had driven herself over the side of an embankment somewhere around 12:45 that morning.
For a half hour, Seph just sat in her car and stared at the radio, willing it not to be true. Had Ariana really thought there was no other choice? What exactly had Xavier said to her? Rubbing her hands over her face, she threw her car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot.
She bypassed the turn to her apartment, and headed downtown instead. She knew her stepfather would be at his office already. He was a notorious workaholic, at least, that’s what her mother had always been led to believe. Not for the first time, Seph berated herself for not doing this sooner. Sooner? she thought bitterly. Try eight years ago. After what happened to Lucy.
Lucy Jensen had been Seph’s best friend since kindergarten. They had been absolutely inseparable in every way, until their junior year of high school. That was when Seph’s mother, Dominique Ryan, had married Xavier Zacharias. And that’s when everything changed.
Dominique had raised Seph alone. They lived in a small house in the rougher part of Enna. While they didn’t have much, Dominique always made sure that Seph never went without. They were extremely close, more like friends than mother and daughter, and they had a good life. But when Dominique had met Xavier, everything became different.
At first, Seph had liked Xavier. He was handsome, smart, and kind to she and her mother. He had given her a car for her seventeenth birthday. Things seemed to be going well.
And then, just a few months after her birthday, Lucy had come to her, in tears, saying that she was pregnant, and that Xavier was the father. At first, Seph hadn’t wanted to believe her. But Lucy had no reason to lie. She said Xavier had offered her enough money to get rid of the baby, but nothing more. Shortly thereafter, Lucy made the decision to move to Staten Island and live with her aunt.
When Seph had angrily confronted Xavier about it, he had threatened her and made a very convincing argument about what would happen to her and her mother if she were to make this knowledge public. Something like that, he had said, was simply slander from a young, obviously lovestruck girl such as Lucy. But slander could be detrimental to the career and reputation of a man in his position, and he couldn’t risk that. He bought Seph’s silence by paying for her full tuition to Julliard, and further terrified her by telling her that he would put her mother out on the street with nothing if she ever dared to divorce him.
At the time, she knew little about how the legal system truly worked. She was barely seventeen, naïve, and scared. All she knew was that if she had gone to her mother with the information about Lucy, Dominique would have divorced Xavier. She had had no doubt at the time that Xavier would’ve done all of the things he had promised to do, and she had been sickened at the idea of her mother’s reputation being ruined. Dominique was a kindergarten teacher, and she loved her work. Xavier could have gotten her fired, and so much worse. He was in position of power in their city, and to do such things would have been so easy for him. Seph had no doubt that he would have, had she given him reason.
She pulled her car into the parking lot of Mount Olympus, Xavier’s casino. She didn’t get out of the car, though. She sat and finally, after eight years, allowed herself to cry for Lucy, for her mother … and for herself. She was ashamed that she had let him get away with this. Ashamed that she had known, all this time, and had done nothing. And now little Ariana was dead. And all she could think was that she should have done more. She didn’t know what, but she should’ve done something.
Now was her chance to make things right. As right as she could anyway. She had messed up so badly, and it hurt her to think about it. It was too late for Lucy … and far too late for Ariana. But she wasn’t about to let her mother spend another day with this man. She quickly wiped the tears off her cheeks and pulled the rubber band out of her hair, releasing the long, dark locks from their nightly ponytail.
Purposefully, she marched into the casino, bypassing the ornate marble Doric columns that gave the casino’s exterior the appearance of the Parthenon. She quickly swept through the huge and lavishly appointed lobby, complete with it’s massive marble statues of the 12 Greek gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus, huge gilded fountain that depicted nymphs frolicking in the water, and gorgeous marble floor that was inlayed with a beautiful mosaic of the casino’s namesake. She bypassed all the bells and whistles and shouts coming from the casino’s main game room on the first floor, and was, not for the first time, amazed at the sheer volume of people who were already losing their hard-earned money. It was barely seven in the morning on a Friday. Didn’t these people have jobs, or someplace else that they needed to be?
She hurried past all of this, unimpressed. She’d seen it all before, and frankly, the idea of gambling with her money did not appeal to her. She reached the elevator that would take her upstairs to the business offices. She barely paid the receptionist, Helen, any mind as she stormed all the way down the hallway to the farthest office back. All but yanking the door off its hinges, she flung herself into the office and closed the door forcefully behind her.
Xavier Zacharias looked up from his paperwork and calmly but warily eyed his stepdaughter. She never came to see him unless there was something she wasn’t happy about. And when it came to him, she seemed to be unhappy about quite a lot. “Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” he said with faux amicability.
“Be quiet,” Seph said, unable to stop herself. She looked at him, nearly sixty now, and aging well, with his silver hair and kind-looking blue eyes. But she knew better than to be fooled. When she looked at him, she didn’t see a handsome middle-aged man. When she looked at him, all she saw was Lucy, and Ariana, and her mother. She looked at him, and she hated him. “Just … shut up. I suppose you heard about Ariana?”
“I’m sorry?” Xavier said, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I don’t believe I know anyone named Ariana.”
Seph crossed the room, so angry that she could barely see straight, and slammed her hands down on his desk. “Ariana Grinaldi. The sixteen-year-old girl that you got pregnant! The one who drove herself over an embankment this morning because of it. She’s dead now.”
As much as Seph hated to admit it, the guy was smooth. It was no wonder he was so good at getting away with things; he didn’t even flinch at her accusations. “Are you finished now? Really, you’ve always been given to such dramatics. It’s a wonder you didn’t pursue acting instead.”
“We’re not talking about me,” Seph said, refusing to back down, and getting angrier with each passing second. “How many others like Ariana are there? Like Lucy? I shouldn’t have let you buy me like you did. It was wrong then, and it’s even more wrong now. A girl is dead because of you!”
“You have no proof of anything,” Xavier said, still in the same emotionless tone of voice. “You can say whatever you want. It’s your word against mine. And who are you? A washed-up, has-been dancer from New York, a bastard child from the wrong side of the tracks. You work as a waitress, for God’s sake, Seph. Nobody would believe a word you said. They’d chalk it up to a desperate bid for money, and then who would be the ruined one?”
“What about Lucy? And Blake? If the truth about his paternity came out, that would be proof enough. I talk to Lucy all the time, it would be so easy …”
He was on his feet and across the room so fast that Seph had no time to react before he shoved her against the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat. “You listen very carefully,” he said in a menacing whisper. “I’ve suffered your bullshit for nearly nine years because I care about your mother. But I don’t give a damn about you. And you are on very dangerous ground.”
Seph met his eyes with her own and glared. “You don’t care about my mother,” she said in a choked voice. “You use her as a front, so there’s no suspicion. It leaves you free to do whatever you want. But you don’t care about her. She’s too old for you, isn’t she?”
He slapped her so hard across her face that she felt as though her eye might pop out of its socket, and then pushed her away from him roughly. Straightening his tie, he walked back to his desk and sat down casually, as if he hadn’t just assaulted her. “Get the fuck out of my office,” he said dismissively. “We’re finished here.”
“I’ll go. But I’m telling my mother everything. She has the right to know, and you aren’t going to be able to touch her when the truth comes out,” Seph spat at him. “I’m not the stupid, naïve little seventeen-year-old you sweet talked before. I can get the proof. I can hire someone. Don’t think I won’t. I can find out about it all. About the girls and about any other secrets you might have hidden away. I’m sure there’s something, and if I find it, I can ruin you, Xavier. And you’ll be the one who’s left with nothing.”
As soon as she was gone, Xavier let out a shaky breath. He was good at playing it cool and collected in front of her, but the truth was, Seph had been nothing but trouble from the beginning. He had always taken for granted that she was just a stupid kid, but the truth was, she was clever, resourceful, and she knew far too much as it was. He’d honestly never thought anything would come of his affair with Lucy Jensen … he was sure he would have gotten away with it if the little whore hadn’t gotten pregnant. But Seph knew about that one, and the Grinaldi girl, and probably several of the others at this point. That wasn’t what worried him, though. If she did hire someone … if she decided to pry … There were far more ominous skeletons lurking in his closet than a few high school whores.
No. He couldn’t have her discovering any of it. Without even pausing to think about the possible repercussions, he picked up the phone and dialed an east coast number that he knew all to well. One that he’d used several times in the past.
As the phone rang, he thought about his situation. He was a pillar of the community. He gave to charity, he hosted fundraisers. His casino brought in revenue for the county, and provided employment. He had a beautiful, loving wife, and a lovely, talented stepdaughter who had danced with the American Ballet before her “tragic accident”. This was what the public saw when they looked at him, and he received the benefits and the rewards that went along with such standing.
A voice on the other end of the line finally answered. “Birdwell Corporation, how may I help you?” It was a chipper female voice, the perfect receptionist sound. No one calling would guess that anything unseemly went on behind the cover of the Birdwell Corporation.
“I need to speak with Finley,” Xavier said.
“Mr. Zacharias?” the woman said, her voice quieter now.
“Yes, Karen, it’s me,” he said.
“I’ll put you through right away.”
Xavier waited less than a minute before the gruff-sounding voice of Finley Griggs resounded in his ear. “What?”
“Finley, it’s Xavier. I need a favor.”
On the other side of the line, Finley sat up straighter, and motioned to the man across the room. He mouthed It’s him to his colleague, pressed the button on the recorder he had hooked up to his computer, and then barked, “Who is it?” to Xavier.
“It’s my stepdaughter. She’s quite the curious little thing,” Xavier said laughingly.
“Of course,” Finley said, as he took out a notebook and pencil. “Just need to get the details.”
After Finley hung up the phone, nearly a half-hour later, Jack Hayden looked at him squarely from his seat on the beat up sofa across the room. “Zacharias?” he said.
“Birdwell will be so pleased,” Finley said, glancing down at his notes. “I think we’ve found the informant he’s been waiting for.” Jack noted that Finley was nearly pink with glee.
“Is that so?” Jack said, his tone bored and scathing. “And how did you come to this conclusion?”
“Zacharias just put out a hit for his stepdaughter. Says she’s gotten too curious.”
“So what’s the plan?” Jack said, wishing like hell Finley would just get on with it. He hated coming into the Corporation, much preferred handling his work from home, or working directly with Birdwell. But Xavier Zacharias was a special case, and special cases had to be dealt with through all the appropriate channels. “I take it we aren’t killing the stepdaughter?” If they weren’t going to kill the girl, this really didn’t concern him.
“Well, not right away,” Finley said. “We’ve got to get the relevant information. But we have to make sure Zacharias thinks we‘ve done for her.”
Jack just looked at the man blankly. God damn it, Finley was irritating. And far too dramatic for this line of work. It wasn’t supposed to be a source of amusement -- unless you were a psychopath, which Jack hoped to hell he was not. It was a fucking job. Point, shoot, kill. It was easy. Not fun. Just easy.
“And all this means what?” he finally prodded, praying to whatever god was listening that Finley would just give him his assignment and let him get the hell outta there. He had to open up the bar in about an hour, he didn’t have time for this shit. He could feel the stirrings of a massive headache coming on, and he cursed himself for having left his cigarettes back at his apartment.
Finley held up his index finger as he punched a number on the interoffice switchboard. “Birdwell,” he said, picking up the receiver. “It’s Fin. Zacharias just called. Put a hit out on his stepdaughter, of all people. Can you believe that?” he chuckled and Jack fought the urge to walk over there and smack the shit out of him. “Think this may be the break we’ve been waiting for.” There was a long pause, and Finley sucked in his breath. “You sure ’bout that, Boss? He’s not gonna be happy. You sure you don‘t want someone else to do it?” Finley’s eyes flicked over to where Jack was sitting, and Jack inwardly groaned. Whatever the fuck the assignment was, he wasn’t going to like it. Finley sighed. “All right, Boss,” he said, and then hung up.
“What?” Jack asked, bracing himself. He could only imagine what was going to be asked of him now.
“Have you ever done … bodyguard work?” Finley asked, almost meekly. Jack Hayden scared the shit out of him … he scared the shit out of most everybody. Outwardly, Jack was a relatively normal guy. He owned and operated a fairly successful bar down by the tracks, and lived in the small apartment above it. Nothing too suspicious about the way he lived his life.
But a man didn’t get the name “Hades” for tending bar, that was for damn sure.
“Bodyguard?” Jack repeated in disbelief.
“Birdwell wants the girl … Xavier’s stepdaughter, delivered to you. You’re to keep an eye on her until we -- well, you, really -- can get the information we need out of her.”
No fucking way. What the hell was he now, a day care center? “You’re fucking kidding,” Jack said. “Please, tell me this is a God damn joke, Finley. Birdwell wants me to baby sit?” The look on Finley’s face, though, assured him that this was no joke. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he swore. “And when, pray tell, should I expect this job to start? And for how long?”
At that moment, Birdwell himself came into the office. “Hayden, I know you’re upset, but this isn’t a discussion. We need to keep her safe, and as far away from Xavier as possible, until we get the necessary information. After that, you’ll be able to do what you do best, and life will go back to normal.”
“Why the fuck can’t Finley keep her?” Jack demanded, more pissed than ever at himself for having forgotten his cigarettes. “I kill for you. But I don’t baby sit.”
Birdwell just looked at him. “You’re the best at what you do. You are the only one that can keep her out of harm’s way for as long as needed. And you have an unassuming day job. Nobody else here does. Everyone else works here, and it would raise too many questions. Everything about you is the perfect cover.”
“What exactly am I supposed to do with the girl? Tie her to a kitchen chair, shine a light in her eyes, and interrogate her until she snaps?”
Birdwell fought the urge to sigh in exasperation. Of all his employees, Jack Hayden was the biggest thorn in his side. If he wasn’t so damn good …
“Jesus fuck, Jack, this isn’t NYPD Blue. Act like a bodyguard. Be friendly. You can do that, right? You need to get her to trust you. When she trusts you, she’ll open up to you. And then, you can report what you learn to me,” he explained, as though he were speaking to an unruly five-year-old. Which, truth be told, some days he felt like he was.
“How exactly are you planning to get her here? If you just straight out kidnap her, she’s not going to trust any of us,” Jack retorted sharply.
“We don’t have to kidnap her,” Birdwell said. “She’ll come with us willingly. We have the conversation with Xavier recorded. We only need to email it to Tory out in Missouri, and she can play it for the girl. And, if for some reason, that doesn’t work … well. We know something that she thinks only she knows. Information about an old friend. You’ve met Lucy Jensen, haven’t you, Jack?”
Jack shrugged. What did she have to do with anything? “So?”
“So … Lucy’s boy, Blake, is Xavier’s son.”
Jack’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He hadn’t expected that. “Well,” he said, impressed despite himself. “Why can’t the girl stay with Lucy, then? Wouldn’t she be more likely to tell a friend any of the information she might have on Zacharias?”
Birdwell sighed heavily. “Lucy has made it abundantly clear that while she’ll be an informant for us, she won’t put her son at risk by getting any more involved. Nor would she be willing to help us kill her best friend. Anything the girl said to her would surely be kept in confidence. She’s an asset to the Corporation, and I won’t risk losing her over this. Jack, be reasonable here. You don’t know this girl. You only have to pretend for a little while. There won’t be any messy … attachments to deal with. One of your best qualities is that you don’t get emotional. You are the man for the job.”
Jack glared. If looks could kill, Birdwell’d be a corpse right now. There was only one reason he didn’t get emotional any more, but it wasn’t anything he cared to discuss here. Or anywhere, for that matter. Cassandra was a subject that he didn’t discuss at all.
While everything Birdwell had said about his lack of emotional attachment was true now, it didn’t take away the fact that though he hadn’t loved Cassandra, he had been fond of her, all those years ago. Very fond. And she had died because of him.
Everything had really started back in ’91, after his early discharge from the Marines. He’d been a sniper; the best, actually. But one torn ACL later, and he was back Stateside, honorably discharged from the military, at the age of twenty-three. He fully recovered thanks to many surgeries; the knee didn’t give him any trouble, but he was left with a lot of time on his hands … and a bar that had been left to him by his favorite uncle. It was in shambles and needed more work than he could possibly afford with only his disability pay as income.
But he didn’t want to lose the bar … he had fond memories of his Uncle Jim, one of the few people in his childhood who had shown him any kindness. So when the sharp-dressed businessman who said his name was “Birdwell” approached him and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, he had taken it. And unwittingly sold his soul in the process.
In the military, he had gone to war-torn countries and had killed on demand. Terrorists, political activists, enemy sharpshooters. He had never stopped to think about it enough for it to bother him. In war, it was kill or be killed.
There was something different about killing purely for money. It was base and primal. Death for Death’s sake. Because with enough money, you could make the call about who lived and who died. It was like playing God. He didn’t particularly want to be God. The first time, his hands had shook so badly that he could barely pull the trigger; afterward, he’d gone home and gotten violently ill, and then proceeded to take the hottest shower he could stand.
It got easier. With each hit, it got easier, until it just didn’t matter at all anymore. It became a habit for him, like smoking, or maybe more like a lucrative hobby. Just something he did from time to time for money.
And then he met Cassandra.
Cassandra was hired as a bartender at his newly opened bar, that he had aptly renamed The Underworld, shortly after the remodel was complete, in the summer of ‘92. She’d been a street-smart, sassy-as-hell redhead with a body that didn’t quit. Their relationship had been intense from the start. No preamble, no delusions of romance and happy-ever-after. It was what it was. Mainly sexual, a little bit depraved, and no good for either of them. Nevertheless, she had all but moved in with him in the little apartment above the bar, and the affair lasted for four years. Until the night of August 23rd, 1996.
After Cassandra’s death, he took on more and more jobs, farther and farther from home. He hoped that with enough kills, the guilt he felt about her death would die as well. It was his fault she had died. The bullet that had killed her had been meant for him.
Ten years had passed for him, and life continued to be the same. He took job after job, went where Birdwell wanted him to go. Did whatever the money told him to.
And now, it looked like Birdwell -- and his money -- was leading him into a foray as a bodyguard. “God damn it, Birdwell,” he muttered with resignation. “You’re going to owe me fucking big time for this one.”
I haven't done much sleeping, obviously. That paired with the fact that I had a good portion of this chapter written up before hand (in way of a character sketch that I didn't know I was going to actually use until I used it) means that this part, though LONG, was relatively easy to write. :D
Seph had just gotten her car started, shortly after six that morning, when the news announcement came over the radio. Fatal one-car crash. A teenage girl, identified as Ariana Sophia Grinaldi, had driven herself over the side of an embankment somewhere around 12:45 that morning.
For a half hour, Seph just sat in her car and stared at the radio, willing it not to be true. Had Ariana really thought there was no other choice? What exactly had Xavier said to her? Rubbing her hands over her face, she threw her car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot.
She bypassed the turn to her apartment, and headed downtown instead. She knew her stepfather would be at his office already. He was a notorious workaholic, at least, that’s what her mother had always been led to believe. Not for the first time, Seph berated herself for not doing this sooner. Sooner? she thought bitterly. Try eight years ago. After what happened to Lucy.
Lucy Jensen had been Seph’s best friend since kindergarten. They had been absolutely inseparable in every way, until their junior year of high school. That was when Seph’s mother, Dominique Ryan, had married Xavier Zacharias. And that’s when everything changed.
Dominique had raised Seph alone. They lived in a small house in the rougher part of Enna. While they didn’t have much, Dominique always made sure that Seph never went without. They were extremely close, more like friends than mother and daughter, and they had a good life. But when Dominique had met Xavier, everything became different.
At first, Seph had liked Xavier. He was handsome, smart, and kind to she and her mother. He had given her a car for her seventeenth birthday. Things seemed to be going well.
And then, just a few months after her birthday, Lucy had come to her, in tears, saying that she was pregnant, and that Xavier was the father. At first, Seph hadn’t wanted to believe her. But Lucy had no reason to lie. She said Xavier had offered her enough money to get rid of the baby, but nothing more. Shortly thereafter, Lucy made the decision to move to Staten Island and live with her aunt.
When Seph had angrily confronted Xavier about it, he had threatened her and made a very convincing argument about what would happen to her and her mother if she were to make this knowledge public. Something like that, he had said, was simply slander from a young, obviously lovestruck girl such as Lucy. But slander could be detrimental to the career and reputation of a man in his position, and he couldn’t risk that. He bought Seph’s silence by paying for her full tuition to Julliard, and further terrified her by telling her that he would put her mother out on the street with nothing if she ever dared to divorce him.
At the time, she knew little about how the legal system truly worked. She was barely seventeen, naïve, and scared. All she knew was that if she had gone to her mother with the information about Lucy, Dominique would have divorced Xavier. She had had no doubt at the time that Xavier would’ve done all of the things he had promised to do, and she had been sickened at the idea of her mother’s reputation being ruined. Dominique was a kindergarten teacher, and she loved her work. Xavier could have gotten her fired, and so much worse. He was in position of power in their city, and to do such things would have been so easy for him. Seph had no doubt that he would have, had she given him reason.
She pulled her car into the parking lot of Mount Olympus, Xavier’s casino. She didn’t get out of the car, though. She sat and finally, after eight years, allowed herself to cry for Lucy, for her mother … and for herself. She was ashamed that she had let him get away with this. Ashamed that she had known, all this time, and had done nothing. And now little Ariana was dead. And all she could think was that she should have done more. She didn’t know what, but she should’ve done something.
Now was her chance to make things right. As right as she could anyway. She had messed up so badly, and it hurt her to think about it. It was too late for Lucy … and far too late for Ariana. But she wasn’t about to let her mother spend another day with this man. She quickly wiped the tears off her cheeks and pulled the rubber band out of her hair, releasing the long, dark locks from their nightly ponytail.
Purposefully, she marched into the casino, bypassing the ornate marble Doric columns that gave the casino’s exterior the appearance of the Parthenon. She quickly swept through the huge and lavishly appointed lobby, complete with it’s massive marble statues of the 12 Greek gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus, huge gilded fountain that depicted nymphs frolicking in the water, and gorgeous marble floor that was inlayed with a beautiful mosaic of the casino’s namesake. She bypassed all the bells and whistles and shouts coming from the casino’s main game room on the first floor, and was, not for the first time, amazed at the sheer volume of people who were already losing their hard-earned money. It was barely seven in the morning on a Friday. Didn’t these people have jobs, or someplace else that they needed to be?
She hurried past all of this, unimpressed. She’d seen it all before, and frankly, the idea of gambling with her money did not appeal to her. She reached the elevator that would take her upstairs to the business offices. She barely paid the receptionist, Helen, any mind as she stormed all the way down the hallway to the farthest office back. All but yanking the door off its hinges, she flung herself into the office and closed the door forcefully behind her.
Xavier Zacharias looked up from his paperwork and calmly but warily eyed his stepdaughter. She never came to see him unless there was something she wasn’t happy about. And when it came to him, she seemed to be unhappy about quite a lot. “Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” he said with faux amicability.
“Be quiet,” Seph said, unable to stop herself. She looked at him, nearly sixty now, and aging well, with his silver hair and kind-looking blue eyes. But she knew better than to be fooled. When she looked at him, she didn’t see a handsome middle-aged man. When she looked at him, all she saw was Lucy, and Ariana, and her mother. She looked at him, and she hated him. “Just … shut up. I suppose you heard about Ariana?”
“I’m sorry?” Xavier said, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I don’t believe I know anyone named Ariana.”
Seph crossed the room, so angry that she could barely see straight, and slammed her hands down on his desk. “Ariana Grinaldi. The sixteen-year-old girl that you got pregnant! The one who drove herself over an embankment this morning because of it. She’s dead now.”
As much as Seph hated to admit it, the guy was smooth. It was no wonder he was so good at getting away with things; he didn’t even flinch at her accusations. “Are you finished now? Really, you’ve always been given to such dramatics. It’s a wonder you didn’t pursue acting instead.”
“We’re not talking about me,” Seph said, refusing to back down, and getting angrier with each passing second. “How many others like Ariana are there? Like Lucy? I shouldn’t have let you buy me like you did. It was wrong then, and it’s even more wrong now. A girl is dead because of you!”
“You have no proof of anything,” Xavier said, still in the same emotionless tone of voice. “You can say whatever you want. It’s your word against mine. And who are you? A washed-up, has-been dancer from New York, a bastard child from the wrong side of the tracks. You work as a waitress, for God’s sake, Seph. Nobody would believe a word you said. They’d chalk it up to a desperate bid for money, and then who would be the ruined one?”
“What about Lucy? And Blake? If the truth about his paternity came out, that would be proof enough. I talk to Lucy all the time, it would be so easy …”
He was on his feet and across the room so fast that Seph had no time to react before he shoved her against the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat. “You listen very carefully,” he said in a menacing whisper. “I’ve suffered your bullshit for nearly nine years because I care about your mother. But I don’t give a damn about you. And you are on very dangerous ground.”
Seph met his eyes with her own and glared. “You don’t care about my mother,” she said in a choked voice. “You use her as a front, so there’s no suspicion. It leaves you free to do whatever you want. But you don’t care about her. She’s too old for you, isn’t she?”
He slapped her so hard across her face that she felt as though her eye might pop out of its socket, and then pushed her away from him roughly. Straightening his tie, he walked back to his desk and sat down casually, as if he hadn’t just assaulted her. “Get the fuck out of my office,” he said dismissively. “We’re finished here.”
“I’ll go. But I’m telling my mother everything. She has the right to know, and you aren’t going to be able to touch her when the truth comes out,” Seph spat at him. “I’m not the stupid, naïve little seventeen-year-old you sweet talked before. I can get the proof. I can hire someone. Don’t think I won’t. I can find out about it all. About the girls and about any other secrets you might have hidden away. I’m sure there’s something, and if I find it, I can ruin you, Xavier. And you’ll be the one who’s left with nothing.”
As soon as she was gone, Xavier let out a shaky breath. He was good at playing it cool and collected in front of her, but the truth was, Seph had been nothing but trouble from the beginning. He had always taken for granted that she was just a stupid kid, but the truth was, she was clever, resourceful, and she knew far too much as it was. He’d honestly never thought anything would come of his affair with Lucy Jensen … he was sure he would have gotten away with it if the little whore hadn’t gotten pregnant. But Seph knew about that one, and the Grinaldi girl, and probably several of the others at this point. That wasn’t what worried him, though. If she did hire someone … if she decided to pry … There were far more ominous skeletons lurking in his closet than a few high school whores.
No. He couldn’t have her discovering any of it. Without even pausing to think about the possible repercussions, he picked up the phone and dialed an east coast number that he knew all to well. One that he’d used several times in the past.
As the phone rang, he thought about his situation. He was a pillar of the community. He gave to charity, he hosted fundraisers. His casino brought in revenue for the county, and provided employment. He had a beautiful, loving wife, and a lovely, talented stepdaughter who had danced with the American Ballet before her “tragic accident”. This was what the public saw when they looked at him, and he received the benefits and the rewards that went along with such standing.
A voice on the other end of the line finally answered. “Birdwell Corporation, how may I help you?” It was a chipper female voice, the perfect receptionist sound. No one calling would guess that anything unseemly went on behind the cover of the Birdwell Corporation.
“I need to speak with Finley,” Xavier said.
“Mr. Zacharias?” the woman said, her voice quieter now.
“Yes, Karen, it’s me,” he said.
“I’ll put you through right away.”
Xavier waited less than a minute before the gruff-sounding voice of Finley Griggs resounded in his ear. “What?”
“Finley, it’s Xavier. I need a favor.”
On the other side of the line, Finley sat up straighter, and motioned to the man across the room. He mouthed It’s him to his colleague, pressed the button on the recorder he had hooked up to his computer, and then barked, “Who is it?” to Xavier.
“It’s my stepdaughter. She’s quite the curious little thing,” Xavier said laughingly.
“Of course,” Finley said, as he took out a notebook and pencil. “Just need to get the details.”
After Finley hung up the phone, nearly a half-hour later, Jack Hayden looked at him squarely from his seat on the beat up sofa across the room. “Zacharias?” he said.
“Birdwell will be so pleased,” Finley said, glancing down at his notes. “I think we’ve found the informant he’s been waiting for.” Jack noted that Finley was nearly pink with glee.
“Is that so?” Jack said, his tone bored and scathing. “And how did you come to this conclusion?”
“Zacharias just put out a hit for his stepdaughter. Says she’s gotten too curious.”
“So what’s the plan?” Jack said, wishing like hell Finley would just get on with it. He hated coming into the Corporation, much preferred handling his work from home, or working directly with Birdwell. But Xavier Zacharias was a special case, and special cases had to be dealt with through all the appropriate channels. “I take it we aren’t killing the stepdaughter?” If they weren’t going to kill the girl, this really didn’t concern him.
“Well, not right away,” Finley said. “We’ve got to get the relevant information. But we have to make sure Zacharias thinks we‘ve done for her.”
Jack just looked at the man blankly. God damn it, Finley was irritating. And far too dramatic for this line of work. It wasn’t supposed to be a source of amusement -- unless you were a psychopath, which Jack hoped to hell he was not. It was a fucking job. Point, shoot, kill. It was easy. Not fun. Just easy.
“And all this means what?” he finally prodded, praying to whatever god was listening that Finley would just give him his assignment and let him get the hell outta there. He had to open up the bar in about an hour, he didn’t have time for this shit. He could feel the stirrings of a massive headache coming on, and he cursed himself for having left his cigarettes back at his apartment.
Finley held up his index finger as he punched a number on the interoffice switchboard. “Birdwell,” he said, picking up the receiver. “It’s Fin. Zacharias just called. Put a hit out on his stepdaughter, of all people. Can you believe that?” he chuckled and Jack fought the urge to walk over there and smack the shit out of him. “Think this may be the break we’ve been waiting for.” There was a long pause, and Finley sucked in his breath. “You sure ’bout that, Boss? He’s not gonna be happy. You sure you don‘t want someone else to do it?” Finley’s eyes flicked over to where Jack was sitting, and Jack inwardly groaned. Whatever the fuck the assignment was, he wasn’t going to like it. Finley sighed. “All right, Boss,” he said, and then hung up.
“What?” Jack asked, bracing himself. He could only imagine what was going to be asked of him now.
“Have you ever done … bodyguard work?” Finley asked, almost meekly. Jack Hayden scared the shit out of him … he scared the shit out of most everybody. Outwardly, Jack was a relatively normal guy. He owned and operated a fairly successful bar down by the tracks, and lived in the small apartment above it. Nothing too suspicious about the way he lived his life.
But a man didn’t get the name “Hades” for tending bar, that was for damn sure.
“Bodyguard?” Jack repeated in disbelief.
“Birdwell wants the girl … Xavier’s stepdaughter, delivered to you. You’re to keep an eye on her until we -- well, you, really -- can get the information we need out of her.”
No fucking way. What the hell was he now, a day care center? “You’re fucking kidding,” Jack said. “Please, tell me this is a God damn joke, Finley. Birdwell wants me to baby sit?” The look on Finley’s face, though, assured him that this was no joke. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he swore. “And when, pray tell, should I expect this job to start? And for how long?”
At that moment, Birdwell himself came into the office. “Hayden, I know you’re upset, but this isn’t a discussion. We need to keep her safe, and as far away from Xavier as possible, until we get the necessary information. After that, you’ll be able to do what you do best, and life will go back to normal.”
“Why the fuck can’t Finley keep her?” Jack demanded, more pissed than ever at himself for having forgotten his cigarettes. “I kill for you. But I don’t baby sit.”
Birdwell just looked at him. “You’re the best at what you do. You are the only one that can keep her out of harm’s way for as long as needed. And you have an unassuming day job. Nobody else here does. Everyone else works here, and it would raise too many questions. Everything about you is the perfect cover.”
“What exactly am I supposed to do with the girl? Tie her to a kitchen chair, shine a light in her eyes, and interrogate her until she snaps?”
Birdwell fought the urge to sigh in exasperation. Of all his employees, Jack Hayden was the biggest thorn in his side. If he wasn’t so damn good …
“Jesus fuck, Jack, this isn’t NYPD Blue. Act like a bodyguard. Be friendly. You can do that, right? You need to get her to trust you. When she trusts you, she’ll open up to you. And then, you can report what you learn to me,” he explained, as though he were speaking to an unruly five-year-old. Which, truth be told, some days he felt like he was.
“How exactly are you planning to get her here? If you just straight out kidnap her, she’s not going to trust any of us,” Jack retorted sharply.
“We don’t have to kidnap her,” Birdwell said. “She’ll come with us willingly. We have the conversation with Xavier recorded. We only need to email it to Tory out in Missouri, and she can play it for the girl. And, if for some reason, that doesn’t work … well. We know something that she thinks only she knows. Information about an old friend. You’ve met Lucy Jensen, haven’t you, Jack?”
Jack shrugged. What did she have to do with anything? “So?”
“So … Lucy’s boy, Blake, is Xavier’s son.”
Jack’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He hadn’t expected that. “Well,” he said, impressed despite himself. “Why can’t the girl stay with Lucy, then? Wouldn’t she be more likely to tell a friend any of the information she might have on Zacharias?”
Birdwell sighed heavily. “Lucy has made it abundantly clear that while she’ll be an informant for us, she won’t put her son at risk by getting any more involved. Nor would she be willing to help us kill her best friend. Anything the girl said to her would surely be kept in confidence. She’s an asset to the Corporation, and I won’t risk losing her over this. Jack, be reasonable here. You don’t know this girl. You only have to pretend for a little while. There won’t be any messy … attachments to deal with. One of your best qualities is that you don’t get emotional. You are the man for the job.”
Jack glared. If looks could kill, Birdwell’d be a corpse right now. There was only one reason he didn’t get emotional any more, but it wasn’t anything he cared to discuss here. Or anywhere, for that matter. Cassandra was a subject that he didn’t discuss at all.
While everything Birdwell had said about his lack of emotional attachment was true now, it didn’t take away the fact that though he hadn’t loved Cassandra, he had been fond of her, all those years ago. Very fond. And she had died because of him.
Everything had really started back in ’91, after his early discharge from the Marines. He’d been a sniper; the best, actually. But one torn ACL later, and he was back Stateside, honorably discharged from the military, at the age of twenty-three. He fully recovered thanks to many surgeries; the knee didn’t give him any trouble, but he was left with a lot of time on his hands … and a bar that had been left to him by his favorite uncle. It was in shambles and needed more work than he could possibly afford with only his disability pay as income.
But he didn’t want to lose the bar … he had fond memories of his Uncle Jim, one of the few people in his childhood who had shown him any kindness. So when the sharp-dressed businessman who said his name was “Birdwell” approached him and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, he had taken it. And unwittingly sold his soul in the process.
In the military, he had gone to war-torn countries and had killed on demand. Terrorists, political activists, enemy sharpshooters. He had never stopped to think about it enough for it to bother him. In war, it was kill or be killed.
There was something different about killing purely for money. It was base and primal. Death for Death’s sake. Because with enough money, you could make the call about who lived and who died. It was like playing God. He didn’t particularly want to be God. The first time, his hands had shook so badly that he could barely pull the trigger; afterward, he’d gone home and gotten violently ill, and then proceeded to take the hottest shower he could stand.
It got easier. With each hit, it got easier, until it just didn’t matter at all anymore. It became a habit for him, like smoking, or maybe more like a lucrative hobby. Just something he did from time to time for money.
And then he met Cassandra.
Cassandra was hired as a bartender at his newly opened bar, that he had aptly renamed The Underworld, shortly after the remodel was complete, in the summer of ‘92. She’d been a street-smart, sassy-as-hell redhead with a body that didn’t quit. Their relationship had been intense from the start. No preamble, no delusions of romance and happy-ever-after. It was what it was. Mainly sexual, a little bit depraved, and no good for either of them. Nevertheless, she had all but moved in with him in the little apartment above the bar, and the affair lasted for four years. Until the night of August 23rd, 1996.
After Cassandra’s death, he took on more and more jobs, farther and farther from home. He hoped that with enough kills, the guilt he felt about her death would die as well. It was his fault she had died. The bullet that had killed her had been meant for him.
Ten years had passed for him, and life continued to be the same. He took job after job, went where Birdwell wanted him to go. Did whatever the money told him to.
And now, it looked like Birdwell -- and his money -- was leading him into a foray as a bodyguard. “God damn it, Birdwell,” he muttered with resignation. “You’re going to owe me fucking big time for this one.”