Chapter One
Here is Chapter One of the novel, with no other introduction or explanation. Any questions may or may not be answered, though feedback is appreciated.
Chapter One
The light from the laptop washed his face in a blue glow. Quickly and silently, he read over the dossier on screen. The faces of the two men seemed familiar, and while it was likely that he’d met them before, he doubted that it had been on friendly terms. Seth and Richie Gecko, a thief and a sociopath, both of whom worked for Roger Seville Garant, the head of Bradonford’s French crime syndicate.
Richard sighed as he pulled the flash drive from its port on the computer and tossed it into the glove box of the Land Rover. Setting the computer on the passenger seat, he keyed the ignition and the aging truck came to life with a slow rumble. Tonight was just another job to be done and it seemed as if he was the one destined to do it. If he didn’t agree with McKenna’s war with the French-Canadians, it wasn’t his place to question it, only to carry out his will.
It was just a short drive up Hateya and over the Odawa River into the North Shore, where the Gecko brothers lived in an upscale condominium high-rise. From the blueprints he’d acquired, it looked like they had an entire half of the floor to themselves, making it a little difficult to maintain a stealthy approach.
He parked his forest green ’88 Land Rover down the block from the high-rise, killing the engine and taking a moment to compose himself. From the compartment in the armrest, he pulled out a simple lock picking set and slipped it into his jacket pocket. A small, matte-black folding knife went into the opposite pocket and a pair of black, calfskin gloves covered his hands like a second skin. Finally he slid Caoin from its shoulder holster. He considered the pistol for a moment, an IMI Jericho 941 - remarkably light for its caliber - and then checked the clip and rocked a bullet into the chamber, then reholstered it.
Richard glanced up and down the street, looking for anything out of place or notably suspicious, but the street was clear. He moved swiftly into the alley next to the high-rise, looking for the service entrance at the back of the building. The soft rubber soles of his shoes made him all but silent as he edged up to the wall near the door and picked the lock. The tumbler rolled with a subtle click and he moved into the building. Making sure not to be seen by the doorman, he got on the elevator and rode it up to the fifteenth floor.
The hallway was short, with a door on each end and the elevator set dead in the center. He moved down to the Gecko’s apartment, number 1502, and rapped on the door with one gloved hand over the peephole.
In the apartment, he could hear sounds of movement, followed by the chain being drawn and the deadbolt undone. The door opened to a slightly bleary-eyed Richie Gecko, barefoot in jeans and a tacky, lime green button down.
“Dammit Tanya, I told you I don’t want to see you tonight. Why the fuck do you have to show up here at all goddamn hours of the night?”
Richie put on his glasses and shock spread across his face as he saw Richard’s well-muscled form. His mouth opened to speak, but Richard’s punch took him across the bridge of his nose, breaking his glasses in two and eliciting a grunt of pain as he staggered backwards.
He forced his way into the apartment, closing the door behind him. By the time Richie regained his footing, he had Caoin leveled at his forehead with the hammer cocked back.
Richard spoke softly, his deep voice a whisper of thunder. “Don’t speak, just listen. You will back slowly into the living room, sit down on the couch and call for your brother.”
Gecko nodded his assent and followed the instructions. From the couch, he called his brother’s name. Richard waited, keeping a dispassionate eye on the man on the couch. As Seth came into the room, he quickly shifted his aim and squeezed off two rounds in rapid succession. The shots hit Seth’s kneecaps, shattering them on impact and sending him to the floor. He turned back to Richie before he could stand and put another three rounds into him, two in the heart and one in the head. Richie Gecko slumped lifeless on the couch, the blood standing out crimson against the white leather.
Richard walked over to where Seth Gecko lay propped against the doorjamb. “They say that you’re the smart one, Seth. You’ve probably already figured out who sent me, which means you also know why.”
Gecko started to speak but Richard, dropping into a low crouch with his freehand braced against the floor, filled his mouth with the barrel of the Jericho.
“Don’t speak, Seth, just conserve your energy. I have a message for your master. You tell him that it’s in his best interest to leave Bradonford and return to his family in Normandy. It’s either that, or we send him back to them in a pine box. It’s his choice.”
Richard pressed the gun against Seth’s abdomen and pulled the trigger twice, shifting the angle of the barrel with the second shot.
“That was your liver, Seth. As we speak, the bile and toxins that have been stored up in it, they’re soaking slowly out into your abdominal cavity. Soon, those fluids will start to seep into your blood stream and run their course through your body, poisoning you and bringing you a creeping death. And trust me, you will die. But by the time you die, you’ll have been able to deliver this message to Garant. Nod your head if you understand.”
Gecko nodded, his eyes wrought with pain. Richard got to his feet, his face a mask devoid of emotion. “I hope that you find your brother in Hell.”
He glanced over to where the other brother lay dead on the couch and crossed himself without thinking about it, then slipped out of the apartment. Richard walked past the doorman, who was oblivious to his passing, and out to the street. Once he got into the car, he let out a deep breath and pulled the pack of Camels down from the visor. Removing the filtered cigarette, he lit it with the chrome Zippo that lived in the cup holder. Inhaling the smoke, he felt the burning subside in his lungs. As he exhaled, Richard fired up the ignition and pulled out onto the street. Turning off the side street and back onto Hateya Dr, he could hear the sirens of Bradonford P.D. en route to the building, a quicker response that he’d imagined. He didn’t relax until he was safely parked in the garage of his flat across town.
Once he was inside, he pulled out his cell to call in the confirmation. The voice on the other end was gravelly, thick with whiskey and an Irish brogue. “What can ah help ye wit’?”
“It’s Mulvaney. The targets have been verified. The message will be delivered as contracted.”
“Good. I’ll put the transfer through now. It should reflect in yer account balance momentarily. We’ll be in touch wit’ ye soon, boy.”
“Until then,” and Richard closed the phone, severing the connection. He checked his account to make sure the money had gone through, and then started to disrobe. The lock picks and knife went into the top drawer of the armoire, along with the gloves.
He hung the jacket on the back of his desk chair and removed the shoulder rig. He laid the gun on the desk and put the rig on the shelf above the drawer. Sitting down and lighting another cigarette, he released the clip and the round in the camber, then began to disassemble the pistol. Once it had been oiled and cleaned, he put it back together and locked it in the Kevlar-lined case, setting the case in the armoire and locking it.
The ruthlessness of the killing sat with him, resting heavy on his already troubled conscience. He understood the necessity of it. The slow death was as much a part of the message as the words, but it bothered him. Richard preferred a quick, clean kill, like the death he’d given the younger Gecko. It was more humane that way, as peaceful as being murdered could get short of a sleeping poison. But Seth would feel that death, it would be painful and inevitable and in the end, he’d be grateful for the stillness.
Richard stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray next to his laptop, and then stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water washed over him, purifying and cathartic. If felt good, letting the water wash off the sins of the day. It was scalding enough to run the border of pain and pleasure and by the time he turned of the shower, his tanned skin was starting to redden.
In the morning, he would take the Triumph out past the Salish reservation, into the mountains, and spend the day outside the city. Watch the Falls beat against the rocks, get in some rock climbing, maybe cook himself dinner afterwards if he still had the energy. Richard lit another cigarette and sank down into the brown, overstuffed leather armchair that faced the window overlooking the park.
Brandon’s Landing was a sprawling expanse of forest and field that dominated the center of the city. He could make out the distant shapes of boats drifting down the Odawa and the lights of downtown and the District to the north. He took in the view for a moment, letting his mind grow silent and still. Once he’d finished his cigarette, he moved into the bedroom and let the darkness of sleep claim him.
Chapter One
The light from the laptop washed his face in a blue glow. Quickly and silently, he read over the dossier on screen. The faces of the two men seemed familiar, and while it was likely that he’d met them before, he doubted that it had been on friendly terms. Seth and Richie Gecko, a thief and a sociopath, both of whom worked for Roger Seville Garant, the head of Bradonford’s French crime syndicate.
Richard sighed as he pulled the flash drive from its port on the computer and tossed it into the glove box of the Land Rover. Setting the computer on the passenger seat, he keyed the ignition and the aging truck came to life with a slow rumble. Tonight was just another job to be done and it seemed as if he was the one destined to do it. If he didn’t agree with McKenna’s war with the French-Canadians, it wasn’t his place to question it, only to carry out his will.
It was just a short drive up Hateya and over the Odawa River into the North Shore, where the Gecko brothers lived in an upscale condominium high-rise. From the blueprints he’d acquired, it looked like they had an entire half of the floor to themselves, making it a little difficult to maintain a stealthy approach.
He parked his forest green ’88 Land Rover down the block from the high-rise, killing the engine and taking a moment to compose himself. From the compartment in the armrest, he pulled out a simple lock picking set and slipped it into his jacket pocket. A small, matte-black folding knife went into the opposite pocket and a pair of black, calfskin gloves covered his hands like a second skin. Finally he slid Caoin from its shoulder holster. He considered the pistol for a moment, an IMI Jericho 941 - remarkably light for its caliber - and then checked the clip and rocked a bullet into the chamber, then reholstered it.
Richard glanced up and down the street, looking for anything out of place or notably suspicious, but the street was clear. He moved swiftly into the alley next to the high-rise, looking for the service entrance at the back of the building. The soft rubber soles of his shoes made him all but silent as he edged up to the wall near the door and picked the lock. The tumbler rolled with a subtle click and he moved into the building. Making sure not to be seen by the doorman, he got on the elevator and rode it up to the fifteenth floor.
The hallway was short, with a door on each end and the elevator set dead in the center. He moved down to the Gecko’s apartment, number 1502, and rapped on the door with one gloved hand over the peephole.
In the apartment, he could hear sounds of movement, followed by the chain being drawn and the deadbolt undone. The door opened to a slightly bleary-eyed Richie Gecko, barefoot in jeans and a tacky, lime green button down.
“Dammit Tanya, I told you I don’t want to see you tonight. Why the fuck do you have to show up here at all goddamn hours of the night?”
Richie put on his glasses and shock spread across his face as he saw Richard’s well-muscled form. His mouth opened to speak, but Richard’s punch took him across the bridge of his nose, breaking his glasses in two and eliciting a grunt of pain as he staggered backwards.
He forced his way into the apartment, closing the door behind him. By the time Richie regained his footing, he had Caoin leveled at his forehead with the hammer cocked back.
Richard spoke softly, his deep voice a whisper of thunder. “Don’t speak, just listen. You will back slowly into the living room, sit down on the couch and call for your brother.”
Gecko nodded his assent and followed the instructions. From the couch, he called his brother’s name. Richard waited, keeping a dispassionate eye on the man on the couch. As Seth came into the room, he quickly shifted his aim and squeezed off two rounds in rapid succession. The shots hit Seth’s kneecaps, shattering them on impact and sending him to the floor. He turned back to Richie before he could stand and put another three rounds into him, two in the heart and one in the head. Richie Gecko slumped lifeless on the couch, the blood standing out crimson against the white leather.
Richard walked over to where Seth Gecko lay propped against the doorjamb. “They say that you’re the smart one, Seth. You’ve probably already figured out who sent me, which means you also know why.”
Gecko started to speak but Richard, dropping into a low crouch with his freehand braced against the floor, filled his mouth with the barrel of the Jericho.
“Don’t speak, Seth, just conserve your energy. I have a message for your master. You tell him that it’s in his best interest to leave Bradonford and return to his family in Normandy. It’s either that, or we send him back to them in a pine box. It’s his choice.”
Richard pressed the gun against Seth’s abdomen and pulled the trigger twice, shifting the angle of the barrel with the second shot.
“That was your liver, Seth. As we speak, the bile and toxins that have been stored up in it, they’re soaking slowly out into your abdominal cavity. Soon, those fluids will start to seep into your blood stream and run their course through your body, poisoning you and bringing you a creeping death. And trust me, you will die. But by the time you die, you’ll have been able to deliver this message to Garant. Nod your head if you understand.”
Gecko nodded, his eyes wrought with pain. Richard got to his feet, his face a mask devoid of emotion. “I hope that you find your brother in Hell.”
He glanced over to where the other brother lay dead on the couch and crossed himself without thinking about it, then slipped out of the apartment. Richard walked past the doorman, who was oblivious to his passing, and out to the street. Once he got into the car, he let out a deep breath and pulled the pack of Camels down from the visor. Removing the filtered cigarette, he lit it with the chrome Zippo that lived in the cup holder. Inhaling the smoke, he felt the burning subside in his lungs. As he exhaled, Richard fired up the ignition and pulled out onto the street. Turning off the side street and back onto Hateya Dr, he could hear the sirens of Bradonford P.D. en route to the building, a quicker response that he’d imagined. He didn’t relax until he was safely parked in the garage of his flat across town.
Once he was inside, he pulled out his cell to call in the confirmation. The voice on the other end was gravelly, thick with whiskey and an Irish brogue. “What can ah help ye wit’?”
“It’s Mulvaney. The targets have been verified. The message will be delivered as contracted.”
“Good. I’ll put the transfer through now. It should reflect in yer account balance momentarily. We’ll be in touch wit’ ye soon, boy.”
“Until then,” and Richard closed the phone, severing the connection. He checked his account to make sure the money had gone through, and then started to disrobe. The lock picks and knife went into the top drawer of the armoire, along with the gloves.
He hung the jacket on the back of his desk chair and removed the shoulder rig. He laid the gun on the desk and put the rig on the shelf above the drawer. Sitting down and lighting another cigarette, he released the clip and the round in the camber, then began to disassemble the pistol. Once it had been oiled and cleaned, he put it back together and locked it in the Kevlar-lined case, setting the case in the armoire and locking it.
The ruthlessness of the killing sat with him, resting heavy on his already troubled conscience. He understood the necessity of it. The slow death was as much a part of the message as the words, but it bothered him. Richard preferred a quick, clean kill, like the death he’d given the younger Gecko. It was more humane that way, as peaceful as being murdered could get short of a sleeping poison. But Seth would feel that death, it would be painful and inevitable and in the end, he’d be grateful for the stillness.
Richard stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray next to his laptop, and then stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water washed over him, purifying and cathartic. If felt good, letting the water wash off the sins of the day. It was scalding enough to run the border of pain and pleasure and by the time he turned of the shower, his tanned skin was starting to redden.
In the morning, he would take the Triumph out past the Salish reservation, into the mountains, and spend the day outside the city. Watch the Falls beat against the rocks, get in some rock climbing, maybe cook himself dinner afterwards if he still had the energy. Richard lit another cigarette and sank down into the brown, overstuffed leather armchair that faced the window overlooking the park.
Brandon’s Landing was a sprawling expanse of forest and field that dominated the center of the city. He could make out the distant shapes of boats drifting down the Odawa and the lights of downtown and the District to the north. He took in the view for a moment, letting his mind grow silent and still. Once he’d finished his cigarette, he moved into the bedroom and let the darkness of sleep claim him.