Kill on Command (8 page)

Sandy pulled out the international section of the
Times
.  She scanned the headlines.  Middle East.  Shootings.  Bombings.  She was sick of it. 

Below the fold, in the bottom right corner, was a report out of Saudi Arabia.  Apparently, there had been an accident at sea off the coast of France.  A Prince had drowned while swimming near Cannes.  She skimmed the article.  She knew the truth.

She looked out the window at Sean.  Just sitting there in the sun.  His dog next to him.  Oblivious.  Happy, and as always, having a great time. 

She took a sip of the coffee. 

Sean looked down at Bailey and caught the blonde looking at him through the window.  He smiled to himself.  He looked at his coffee cup.  Monica had drawn a little picture on his cup like she always did.  How does Starbucks get such good people? He leaned over to check out Sandy’s bike. 

Sandy saw him.  She didn’t care.  She had her gun.

Sandy took a second sip of the coffee and did something on impulse.  Impulsive action was something rare for her. She was a person who thought things through.  She always knew all the angles.  What she did made Bob and Bill’s jaws drop.  She got up from her seat and walked outside.

“Hi, can I sit down with you?” she asked Sean.  Several things happened at once.  Sean shot straight up in his chair.  Bailey popped up and pressed herself to Sean’s side.  A low rumble erupted from her throat.

“Quiet girl,” Sean whispered to Bailey. 

“Sure!”  Sean said motioning to the chair he had his feet in.

“Thanks.  I saw you were looking at my bike.  Do you ride?” Sandy placed her coffee and bike pack on the table.  She left her hand on it.  The gun was inside.

“Yeah, I used to ride a lot.  I have a red Cannondale too, but nothing like your bike.  This is the new Trigger Carbon isn’t it?” Sean said looking at the bike next to the table.

“It’s is.  I love it.”

“My name is Sean by the way,” he said, extending his hand.

“I know who you are,” she said, taking his hand and releasing it.  Sean paused.  She had really disarmed him.  He stared at her blankly.  Bailey had not blinked since Sandy had come to the table.

“It’s on your cup,” she said, pointing at his cup.  Monica had put his name on it.

“Oh.  Right.  The cup,” he smiled and ran his hand through his sweaty brown hair.

“You live in Shadyside?” Sean asked.

“No.  Oakland.  I am in grad school at Pitt.  I am working on my masters.”

“That’s nice, but you know there’s a much better school right down 79,” Sean said looking for a reaction.  He got one.  Sandy knew him backwards and forwards.

“I am not interested in going to school with hillbillies.”  She smiled and took a sip of her coffee.  So far her impulse was right.  She was having fun.  She kept an eye on the dog out of the corner of her eye.  The dog knew who she was and did not like her.

“Now, that’s not nice,” he said laughing.  “Where did you go to undergrad?”

“Yale,” She said flatly, which was true.   She has studied Political Science - probably the only “truth” that had come out her mouth in months.

“Hmmm.  Never heard of it,” Sean said taking a sip of his drink.

“I am not surprised,” she said pointing at the flying WV on his sweatshirt.  He smiled a big smile and started to stand.  She put her hand into the bike pack on the butt of the Glock.

“You never told me your name.”

“No, I didn’t,” she smiled.

He ran his hand through his hair again.

“If you are interested, there’s a lacrosse game down the road at Shadyside Prep.  It starts at noon.  There’s a post-party at Doc’s right afterward.  It will be a good time.”  He tightened his hold on Bailey.  She had been anxious ever since the girl had sat down.

“No thanks.  I don’t like lacrosse players.”  She took another sip of her coffee and tried not to smile.

“Could have fooled me.  See you there.” Sean said, as he turned and started walking back home.  Sandy could feel her face blush.  She reached into the pack and picked up her iPhone and hit redial.  She tossed her ponytail to the right and put her feet up in the chair where Sean had been sitting in.

“What the hell was that?” Bob asked, half screaming.  Sandy turned her head and glared at him.

“Part of the job,” she said.

“The hell it was.”

“Look!  You guys do!  You do what I tell you!  You don’t think!  Start your fancy truck and set up surveillance at Shadyside Prep!” she growled.

“How do you know that’s where he will be?”

“Because I am doing my job!”

“Idiot,” she thought, as she hung up the phone.  The Marines pulled out of their spot and headed out.  She stood and watched them go.  The pack in her hand was heavy with the Glock it carried.  She thought there might be a couple rounds in there with the words “Recon” on them.  She attached the pack to the bike’s saddle and took off.  She needed to hit the alley behind the duplex before Sean saw her.

“I am sick of this shit.  Any day now.  I can feel it.  We are going to get the nod to remove both of them.  I can’t wait,” Bob said.

Bill did not respond.

Sean and Bailey were taking their time heading home.  He looked at Bailey.

“Why so up tight girl?  She seemed nice enough.  A little bit of a tease, but nice.”

If he only knew.

VII

Lights Out

Shadyside – Saturday - Late Morning

Sean returned to the house, entered through the kitchen door and found Brian already dressed for the game.  It was 10 A.M.  Bailey greeted Brian and he bent down to scratch her ears.

“Morning dummy,” Sean said to Brian as he opened the fridge, took a liter bottle of water from the middle shelf, twisted that cap off and started downing the water.  Brian leaned against the counter.

“You thirsty?”  Brian said as he turned and took a plate from a cabinet and placed a piece of pizza on it.  Sean looked at the pizza.

“We have pizza?  Oven still hot?”

‘No, I have pizza.”

“Come on,” Sean said reaching back into the fridge and pulling out the pizza box.  “You know you are just going to waste it.”  Without waiting for an answer he took three slices out and put them in the Viking Range.

“Wow.  You are really putting it away.  I see you had eight eggs this morning.  I will slip the bill under your door.”

“I am good for it,” Sean said, downing the rest of the water.

“I know you are. I am heading over to the field in about forty-five minutes.  You want to go?  I need to bribe the groundskeeper.” 

Brian had already given plenty of money to Shadyside Prep.  He went there from the time he was in pre-school all the way through high school.  The lower school was three blocks away from the house and sported a beautiful field.  The upper school was in Fox Chapel. An important alum, the school allowed Brian and the team use of the field, but Brian still liked to give the grounds team some money.  He knew how hard they worked.

“Sure. We taking your car?” Sean asked, as he removed the semi-hot pizza from the oven. 

“No, we are taking your Jeep.  I don’t want your dirty shit in my car.” 

Sean shrugged and bit into the pizza.  Brian went into the living room.  Sean went to the fridge and took out a second bottle of water.  He opened it and took a long drink.  His head still hurt.  It had for several days.  He looked for Tylenol in the drawers in the kitchen.  Finding some, he took two and washed them down with the water and wolfed down the pizza.  He joined Brian in the living room.  Brian was watching College Gameday with his feet up.  Bailey sat down beside him.  The front door was open filling the room with plenty of cool, Pittsburgh, Saturday morning air.

“I put your stuff in the back of the garage. You’ll need to move the Jeep to get back there,” Brian said, as he turned back to the TV.

“Thanks.  I’ll be right down.” 

Sean went up to his room, which was directly at the top of the stairs.  He opened the top drawer of his dresser and found a pair of Under Armor compression shorts and a cup.  He opened the second drawer down and found his old Pittsburgh Lacrosse Club shorts.  They were black with a gold stripe.  Just like everyone in town, the team wore black and gold.  From the same drawer, he pulled out a sleeveless Under Armor compression shirt.  He slipped out of his running attire and shorts and got dressed.  He put his sweatshirt back on, slipped on his sandals.  He looked in the mirror, his hair was wild.  His solution? Covering it with a stocking cap.

“I need a haircut,” he said to himself.  Back downstairs he stopped to watch part of College Gameday.  Mark May was ranting about how weak Notre Dame was.  Lou Holtz was arguing the opposite.  May hated WVU.  Sean, in turn, detested May.  They had never met. 

However, he had met Lou Holtz at a convention.  Holtz did not slip in and out of the convention.  Rather, he walked right in through the front door and stopped and talked to everyone until it was time to take the stage.  That had always impressed Sean.

“We have the week off right?” Sean asked.

“Right.  Week off,” Brian mumbled.  Sean walked past the couch and into the kitchen.

“I’m going to get my stuff. Come get me when you are ready to go,” Sean said.

“Cool,” Brian said, half paying attention.

Sean whistled.  Bailey jumped off the couch and ran after Sean.  He pushed open the kitchen door, which opened on to the deck.  The deck was built around an ancient tree.  A medium height rail surrounded the deck and opened to the driveway.  Sean took three steps down onto the driveway and over to the garage.  Sean grabbed the handle to the door and lifted it.  Inside was his Jeep.  To the right, under a cover, was Brian’s black E63.

Across the street, Sandy cursed under her breath.  The garage did not have a camera.  She looked out the window, but could not see him.  With everything that had transpired over the last two weeks, she needed to stay close to him, now more than ever.  Think!  Think!  She looked over at the bike.

The Jeep was a red ’95 Wrangler with a bikini top. Aside from the mud-terrain tires Sean had slapped on the Jeep, it was pretty much stock.  The full top had been thrown away months ago.  He had also removed the doors.  He thought it looked cool.  He put his hand on the roll bar as he squeezed between the Jeep and the unfinished wall of the garage. The garage had an old musty smell.  Dead leaves.  Oil.  Old cans of paint.  All three combined for a thick nostalgic smell that Sean liked.  He slid into the driver’s seat.  Bailey jumped in the passenger seat.

“I have a bad feeling this is not going to start,” he said to Bailey as he turned the key (he just left the keys in the Jeep now).  Nothing.  He tried again.  Nothing.  He put the Jeep in neutral.   Bailey looked at the Jeep and back at him.

“Stay girl.”  He got out of the Jeep, moved around to the front and started pushing.  The Jeep rolled out into the sun and he quickly ran around, jumped in and stopped it from rolling too far.  He went back into the garage.  On a work bench that was never used, was a battery charger.  He plugged it in, popped the hood and attached the cables.  The gauge on the charger told him the battery was not shot. In the back of the garage he found his old Nike cleats, his helmet, gloves and D-stick.  He loved the stick.  It had a titanium shaft, but what he loved was the old Brine MD head.  It was stiff as a board.  He put his gear in the back seat and then went back into the garage.   On the workbench was a beat-up CD player.  He popped open the lid and looked down at the CD.  Bailey stayed in the Jeep.  She was still sitting in the front seat.  She thought she was still going for a ride.

“There’s my
War
album,” he said out loud.  He picked it up and looked at it and put it back in the player.  “Let’s see if this works.”  He hit play and “New Years Day” came through the small speakers loud and clear.  He looked back at his Jeep.

“Great, this piece of shit CD player works, but my Jeep doesn’t,” he said to himself.

An old pull up bar was screwed into one of the beams.  He jumped up and started doing pull-ups.  He did them to the rear, pulling himself up until the bar touched the back of his neck.  Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven.  His forearms started quivering and failed.  He fell to the ground, but caught himself. 

“Damn it!”  He looked back up at the bar, shook out his arms and started again.  Five, ten, fifteen.   His arms gave out again - his hands were torn.  He had ripped through the calluses and they were bleeding.

Across the street, Sandy decided to chance it again.   The two Marines were already at the field.   She took the bike out the back of the duplex and turned out of the alley onto Pembroke.  She rode to the corner, and looked at Sean’s house.  She could see Brian glued to the TV.  She took a deep breath, pedaled across the street and into the driveway towards Sean in the garage.  She heard the sounds of U2 coming from the garage.

Sean had found gardening gloves and was back up on the bar.  Now he was hanging and pulling his knees up to his chest.  Sweat was dripping onto the floor.  Sean saw her, smiled and dropped to the floor.  The glove on his right hand was stained with blood.   Bailey heard the bike and let out a menacing growl. Sean ran over and picked up his dog.

“Let me get her inside,” he said, carrying Bailey to the kitchen door and pushing her inside.  Sandy stopped and leaned her bike against the Jeep.  Sean turned and bounded off the deck onto the driveway.  Sandy was leaning against the Jeep, her blonde hair aglow in the sunlight.  She was wearing her capri tights, which accentuated her long, tan legs.  Sean noticed.

“You stalking me?” he asked, pulling the gloves off and walking into the garage.  Sandy followed him.

“No,” she said softly, looking around inside the garage.  She saw the puddle of sweat under the pull up bar.  She knew why he was working out like a fiend.  “I was riding my bike by and caught you out of the corner of my eye.”

“You know it’s OK if you want to stalk me.  I’d really be flattered,” he smiled at her.  His hands were on his hips.  She took a step towards him and it was then she realized she did not have her gun.  She panicked for a moment, and then stopped and looked at Brian’s car to hide her uneasiness.  He walked over to the CD player.

“Let me turn this off,” he said looking at her.

“No, please leave it on. I love this album,” she answered.

“You got it.”

“That’s some car,” she said walking toward the front of the Benz.  She lifted up the cover slightly.

“I love it, but my buddy won’t let me near it.”

“That’s too bad.  I sure would like a ride in it sometime,” she said, turning around to him quickly.  He had moved a step closer.  She was flirting.  She knew she had to stop.

“I could steal it.  You look like you might need a thrill.”

“Isn’t your friend a cop?”

“How did you know that?” he said looking surprised. 

“That’s his car isn’t it?” she said, pointing at the Charger on the street.  She was quick.  Yale does that for you.

“How do you know it’s not mine?” he said quickly.

“Ha!”  She started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Sean said, a bit wounded.

“You’re not the cop type.  Far from it,” she laughed again.  She took a look around the garage again and saw his old bike hanging from the rafters.  “That the bike you were talking about?” 

He looked up.

“Yeah.  I used to go everywhere on it.  I haven’t ridden in a while.”

“Wow, unsuspended.  That must be tough,” she said looking up at the front fork.

“Yeah, the tubes on the thing beat you up pretty bad.  Pretty stiff.  I bought it from a guy who was graduating.  He said he wanted it to go to a good home.”  He did not take his eyes off her.  There was something about her.  She liked his music.  She liked his old mountain bike, but he doubted she liked Bailey.  Two out of three wasn’t bad.

“Maybe we can go riding sometime,” she said, exiting the garage and slowly walking towards her bike.

“I would like that.  You know, you never told me your name.”

“You can call me Sandy,” she said turning her bike around and getting on.  She leaned over on one foot, to the left away from the Jeep. The bike was worth twice what the Jeep was, he thought as he watched her.

“I like that.  Sandy.  You look like a Sandy.”

“I suppose.”

“You coming to the game?  The party?” he said, as she started to pedal away.

“Maybe,” she shouted going down the drive.  “Definitely,” she muttered to herself. 

From his chair in the living room.  Brian caught a glimpse of Sandy as she turned out of the driveway.  “Wow!” he thought.  He got up and walked into the kitchen.  It was time to go.  He looked out the window and saw Sean on the pull up bar.  He heard the music. Sean was listening to the whole album over again.

“Who was that?”  Brian asked entering the garage.  Sean stopped doing pull-ups and just hung from the bar.  Blood was running down his forearm.

“Who?”