The Payback Assignment (18 page)

           
“Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes,” Morgan said.
 
He slipped his automatic into his jacket pocket, keeping the muzzle pointed at Pearson.
 
He lifted the back end of the bundle easily onto his left arm and Pearson, on cue, hefted the other end.
 
Without being asked, Felicity opened the door and the men filed out.

           
Pearson stood quietly through an uneventful ride in the freight elevator, but by the time they reached the street, he could no longer conceal his tension.
 
The sound of kids playing in the street and the blare of horns in traffic made him jumpy.
 
Behind him, Stark’s steps made no sound at all, but Pearson was very conscious of the gun pointed at his back and he knew his usefulness would soon end.
 
This Stark character was just too relaxed.
 
He had even started whistling.
 

On the street Pearson took cues from Stark, walking at the front end of their bundle, careful to hold his end up so no blood dripped out the opening.
 
It wasn’t his first time carrying a rolled body, but he had never done this with an enemy before.
 
The eyes of passers-by seemed more menacing for some reason.
 
He could smell the cupric odor of his partner’s blood coming from the end of the carpet roll and wondered how passersby could miss it.
  

           
After a long six block walk, they found what Stark apparently had been looking for.
 
Every city has them.
 
It was a deep, narrow alley.
 
Garbage lined the sides.
 
Some of it was even in cans and bags.
 
The walls on all three sides were tall brick barriers, interrupted only by an occasional window.
 
Claustrophobia now added its effects to Pearson’s already ragged mental state.

           
They laid the carpet coffin down behind a row of trashcans.
 
Pearson stood up, stoically facing the wall.
 
If their positions were reversed, this was when he would do it.
 
One quick shot in the back of the head.
 
Why make a man build up fear in his last moments?
 
He was ready now.
 
He had been the man behind the gun often enough.
 
Now it was his turn to stand in front of it.
 
It was all part of the game.

           
“Turn around,” Morgan said.

           
“Aw, shit,” Pearson said.

           
“Look, dude,” Morgan continued, “I really, really don’t like for people to point guns at me or my friends.
 
On the other hand, I don’t like to leave unnecessary messes lying around, so I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”
 
Pearson looked into his eyes, trying to see there some clue to what would come next.
 
“It’s a one time offer.”
 
Morgan raised the nine-millimeter for emphasis.
 
“If I ever see you again in life, you’re dead meat.
 
You follow?
 
For right now, if you can be out of my sight in forty-five seconds, you can walk away from this job.”
 
Pearson stared in disbelief.
 
“Forty seconds left,” Morgan said.

           
That was all Pearson needed.
 
After taking three steps backward he turned and sprinted down the alley toward sunlight and freedom.
 

When Morgan reached the sidewalk, the hired hit man was indeed out of sight.
 
Morgan grinned, holstered his pistol, and began a slow jog back to Felicity’s apartment.
 
It was a beautiful summer day and Morgan wasn’t even bothered by the fact that he was filling his lungs with smog.

           
His mood darkened a bit as he approached Felicity’s door.
 
He was worried a little about Felicity’s emotional state.
 
Without warning, her life had been threatened, she had witnessed a messy death, sat in on a torture interrogation, and watched him roll up a body and cart it away.
 
He wasn’t sure what he expected when he opened the door.

           
“How do I look?”
 

Felicity sat on the couch, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
 
She had washed her hair and it tumbled across her shoulders in rolling crimson waves.
 
Her eyes sparkled like emeralds set in a china doll’s face.
 
An inviting smile danced across her moist lips.
 
Her makeup was subtle but perfect.
 
She had changed into a light fawn colored sundress and suede low-heeled shoes.
 
A gold braid bracelet on her right wrist was her only jewelry.

           
“Red, you are gorgeous.”

           
“Well, you said to be ready,” Felicity said in a breathy voice.

           
“And are you?”

           
“I’m ready,” she sighed, “for anything.”
 
He made a conscious effort to control his breathing.
 
He walked over to her and took her gently by the arms, lifting her effortlessly to her feet.

           
“Lady, I would surely love to relax with you here for an hour or two, but we need to be out of here now.
 
Some very nasty people know where we are.”

           
“All right,” Felicity said, somehow both energetic and breathless.
 
“I keep a flat in New York.
 
If we go there, it’ll put us closer to Stone.
 
Meanwhile, we’ll consider your last remark a promise to be fulfilled there.
 
And just to release some of this electricity...”
 

Felicity gripped Morgan’ jacket with both hands and pulled him to herself.
 
The kiss that followed was the hottest, most passionate one Morgan could remember.

-16-

           
“So you’re a native New Yorker.”
 
Felicity leaned against the door in the back of the limousine.
 
“Well, now you’re home.
 
Did you miss the city?”

           
“Not even a little bit,” Morgan said.
 
“New York’s a big, dirty town.
 
Always has been.
 
I spent my first fifteen hard years here, fighting just to stay alive.”

           
“And then?”

           
Morgan shared a bittersweet smile.
 
“Then I lied about my age and escaped into the United States Army.
 
I wasn’t what you’d call well educated, but back then recruiters weren’t looking for computer programmers.
 
What the Army needed was tough, vicious killers.
 
The South Bronx was a perfect training ground.”

           
“You’re nothing like I expected a killer to be,” Felicity said, almost in a whisper.
 
“What’s it like?
 
Killing a man, I mean.”

           
“You saw it.”

“No.”
 
Felicity tried to find his eyes in the darkness.
 
“I meant what does it feel like.”

Morgan glanced at the back of the driver’s head and, seeing no reaction, shifted his gaze to stare out into the dark sky.
 
“Can we change the subject?” he asked the window.

           
“Okay.”
 
Felicity slid closer to him on the seat.
 
“Tell me this, then.
 
Why do you suppose it is that you can smell a dangerous situation coming your way?
 
What is it makes us different...”

           
“I ain’t different,” he said, low but hard.
 
“I’m just a damned good soldier.
 
Damned good, and real lucky.”

           
“But aren’t you curious at all about...”

           
“No!”
 
Morgan’s eyes snapped toward her.
 
“I ain’t curious and I don’t want to talk about it either.”

           
To shut out the disturbing thoughts of his own uniqueness, he focused on the thin strips of night sky, which appeared between buildings as they rolled through the city.
 
There was no shortage of light there, but not a star was visible.
 
After almost two decades of wandering the world, his hometown seemed more alien to him than the jungle he so recently left.

           
Of course, when he lived there he had spent precious little time in this part of upper Manhattan.
 
Knowing Felicity was wealthy, her having a second apartment on the East Coast should not have startled him.
 
Despite his own six figure savings, he had never used his money this way.
     

           
Morgan slumped into his corner of the airport limo, glancing over at Felicity on the opposite side.
 
Crossing three time zones and a four hour easterly flight combined to put Felicity and Morgan into J.F.K. Airport in the middle of the night.
 
The long ride in from Long Island affected them like a slow motion sedative.
 
In Morgan’s mind, the Van Wyck Expressway became an endless vibrator bed shaking them past shopping centers and mini-malls.
 
Lights flashed like hypnotic strobes between the cables of the Queensboro Bridge, or as Morgan knew it in his youth, the 59th Street Bridge.
 
Simon and Garfunkel had immortalized the bridge in song, back when Morgan was crawling through Southeast Asian tunnels for his country.
 
Slow down, you move too fast, his mind was chanting as they joined with the traffic coming out of Long Island City and dropping onto the East Side.

           
Finally, the limo rolled past the Park Avenue street sign, turned a corner and stopped in front of Felicity’s New York address.
 
A building somewhat taller than the one they left in Los Angeles loomed above them.
 
A doorman rushed to the door to let them out and take their luggage.
 
Felicity handed him a bill and ushered Morgan into a lobby that felt more businesslike but cooler than the one in California.
 
A minute later, in the whisper quiet elevator, Felicity took Morgan’s arm and leaned against him.

           
“You look a little drowsy,” he said as the elevator eased to a stop.
 
“I think you ate too much of that awful food on the plane.”

           
“You know,” Felicity said as she punched in the door combination of her penthouse apartment, “this is as close to home as I can get in the States.”
 
The door swung open and when Felicity flipped the light switch, the room Morgan stepped into left him stunned into silence for a moment.
 
The view was different, of course.
 
From this point on Fifth Avenue, the lake he was looking at would be the reservoir in Central Park.
 
Aside from that unavoidable difference, this apartment was identical to the one in Los Angeles.
 
He scanned the same layout, the same furniture, the same stereo, the same everything.
 
He half expected to see blood on the big overstuffed chair to his left.

           
So much hit him at once.
 
This woman had gone to enormous trouble and expense to have two places, a continent apart, in which she could be equally at home.
 
She must be quite a successful thief to be able to foot the bill.
 
But there was more to her apartment choices than money, and he considered what she said just before they walked in.

           
“You know, this town is home to me,” Morgan said, carrying their suitcases to the sofa, “but you talk and act like you’re from another country.”