IA: Invincible Assassin Page 4

  “Your friend is in some trouble,” she begins.

  Perfect.

  “And your dilemma comes from your involvement in his trouble. You’ve already decided to help, so that’s not the problem. The question is, to what extent, and how much of you will be lost in the process?”

  This is when my mother is the most amazing person on the planet, when she far outstrips the General in wisdom. I wonder—is this quality she possesses the magic that put my dad under her spell so many years ago? All I can do is nod.

  “We are put here for one reason and one reason only.” She looks at me as if she’s the master, and I am a student in a dojo.

  Maybe I am. “To help each other,” I respond. It’s something she and the General agree upon without exception or dissention. So it would seem by extension that would be not only my position but also my destiny, or in Naz’s case, fate.

  She nods. “So you must go to your friend and be of service until time reveals that your mission is complete.”

  That was easy enough. I snap out of my trance. The words she chooses give me not only her permission but her blessing. She and the General are in concert on my course of action, albeit their tactics are different.

  The rest of my time with my mother is a blur. I am completely focused on the task before me. That evening with Hailey is like a dream, and I only vaguely remember Mom not being impressed.

  It’s early Friday morning, the last day of Christmas vacation, the last day with my mother for at least a month. I am silently saddened by this and at the same time eager with anticipation. My mission is about to begin. I won’t be able to talk Naz down, and my mind is made up. Our paths have been laid out for us.

  Naz must know something’s up as he is suspiciously on the move quite a distance from his day home at the cemetery and night spot at the theater. He is headed downtown, no longer at walking or running speed; he must be using the Helix. In twenty-five minutes, Naz is among the high rollers, where deals are brokered, and the real money is made and spent by the movers and shakers that only pass through the Exclave in their quest for more. He’s busy, too.

  What is he up to at 7 a.m.? I resist sending him a message right away. A firm believer in the folly of coincidence, Naz will know I’m somehow watching him, tracking him. I’ll wait until tonight and trust that he keeps his word. He’s given me no reason to doubt him in that department, yet.

  It’s been fourteen hours, and my patience has left me. I lie on my full-sized bed on my stomach, feet at the headboard, video game controller in hand. I pause the video game. My player is stuck in the air, mid-dunk. What would the Man of Steel do … or the Greatest: Ali? I consult the posters that flank my monitor screen and receive no answer. My head hangs over the foot of my bed. My composition notebook calls to me from the floor, so I exchange the controller for it. I write.

  My pencil breaks on the page. At the same time, my mother knocks on my bedroom door.

  “Come,” I say.

  She opens the door, barely steps inside and then puts a small rectangular box, pristinely wrapped in red paper with a bow on my dresser. “It’s your birthday present. Don’t open until then.”

  It is our ritual not to talk much the night before she leaves. I nod and she closes the door behind her. I drop my broken pencil and stare at the ceiling—meek. The shadows we cannot hide from are understood. They show us the earth we truly inherit so bleak.

  We ride downtown the next morning. My mother will have the driver drop me off on her way to the airport. I sent Naz a message last night after I was certain all signs of coincidence had dissipated. I told him I had good news for him, good news about what my father had uncovered about Meri’s murder. I lied. We agree to meet at an address he has given me. It’s located directly in the center of the downtown area.

  My mother and I share no words until something catches her interest on the tablet she’s reading.

  “Be careful.” She hands me the tablet.

  Someone had been on a crime spree the day before, managing to steal ATM cards from unsuspecting victims and somehow acquiring their PIN number. Various amounts were subsequently stolen out of their bank accounts, amounts ranging from $500 to a $1,000. There were more than thirty reports of similar thefts in an approximately four-hour period and then nothing. I scroll down to see more. There are only two photos of the perpetrator in the article. The suspect is careful to keep his hood up and head down while making the transaction. Dark sunglasses make it impossible to ID the person in the grainy photos, but I know who it is right away.

  “It can’t be,” I say a little too loudly.

  “What, honey?” My mother reminds me I’m not alone in the car. She’s reading a Forbes magazine, thankfully half-paying attention to me.

  “Nothing, Mom.” The person in the picture has on all black, including a hooded hunting jacket. The perp seems to know exactly where the camera is, and he takes advantage of that knowledge. It’s Naz.

  My mother gives me a kiss on the cheek before I exit the car. She doesn’t ask why I want to get dropped off downtown instead of at Coach’s house. She already knows my mission starts today, here and now. I put my hand up and wave slightly, and my mother waves back with a stoic look on her face as the driver pulls away. My world goes less vivid, and a slight sense of anxiety nags at me. I should’ve hugged her this time—but I never do. I catch myself looking down, shuffling along—snap out of it, Wordsmith. My parents have taught me not to dwell on sadness too long because it doesn’t produce anything. It’s time to move on to my next productive task: Naz. I turn around and look up. It’s a Marriott, circular in its architecture, the tallest I’ve ever seen. The Helix runs straight through one of the lower floors.

  “Now where is he?” I say, sending Naz a text message.

  You’re late.

  He responds.

  You’re on time. Come up. Room 8462

  “Oh no he didn’t.” I look back up at the towering cylindrical hotel. I shrug, go inside and make my way to the elevators. Not much going on here. It’s still early. In the elevator, I find that the highest floor is 84. Naz has somehow managed to secure a penthouse. I’m plagued with questions.

  I exit the elevator and marvel at the images that are somehow a part of every wall. I think of Los Tres Amigos, only this is no ancient culture but something modern, even futuristic, something I’ve never seen before. I find room 8462 and attempt to knock three times slowly. The third time, I miss the door completely, as it opens. I enter, realizing the door has opened by itself. At least he’s accepted who he is, I think, although this is a bit dramatic.

  I walk in as if I’m unaffected by the darkness of the huge room and this strange new predicament Naz had crafted for himself. But I must say, I am more than a little curious. The only light in the room comes from the large curved monitor, which fits perfectly against the wall, which is also curved. Like the chicken and egg, I wonder which came first. There is a game paused on the screen, and a controller is in his hands.

  Naz sits in a chair, almost in the center of the room. I make out the outline of his hair in the semi-darkness. I locate the windows and then the switch that opens the curtains. I hit it and the curtains part, revealing the horizon in the east. The sun is just above it, highlighting roads leading in and out of the downtown area. It’s magnificent, and I wonder why he would have it closed. Then, I realize the world beyond these curved windows holds nothing for him, past or future.

  “So now you’re a common thief?” I get to the point, throwing the morning paper I picked up at the front desk on his lap.

  “You can learn a lot from a role-playing, action-adventure game.” He nods at the monitor.

  I can’t tell what the game is, but one man is standing in an enclosed area, a warehouse, I think. He’s breathing hard as if he’s just finished working out. People are lying around, scattered about, some unconscious and some clearly in agony, nursing various injuries. And there’s a lot of blood. What would a video game be without it?<
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  With the lights on, I can see that Naz has cleaned up, and he doesn’t stink anymore. There’s a faint scent of ginger or cinnamon in the air.

  “What’s all this?” I hold my hand out, gesturing around the room.

  “You told me to take a bath.”

  “I said you needed a bath. There’s a difference.”

  “Well, I didn’t wanna disappoint you for our little meeting. What do you have for me?”

  “And you’re robbing ATMs now?” I stall.

  “How can you rob a machine? There’s a box of doughnuts on the desk near the screen.”

  “You know what I mean. You stole all that money from those people.”

  “What do you care? It wasn’t yours, and it wasn’t that much.”

  “That’s not the point. More than thirty people at between $500 and $1,000 a pop. Easy math tells me that’s anywhere between twenty and thirty grand. What’s that all about?”

  “Never believe the media; they always get it wrong.” He looks at a black duffle bag sitting on the floor near the TV monitor.

  “So it’s not true?”

  “No, it’s true.” Naz laughs. “But there’s a lot more than thirty grand in there.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Do you know what it cost to stay in this room a night?”

  “No, and I don’t care to know. You’re giving all of that money back.”

  “Oh yeah! And who’s going to make me?”

  He has a point.

  “Forget about the money. What do you have for me?” he asks again.

  I still give him silence. This doesn’t seem to affect him. It’s as if he expected it. Maybe he needed the time, the three weeks to sort it all through. Maybe he’s changed his mind. “But why?” I ask. “I could’ve loaned you some money.”

  “Not like that.” Naz points to the bag. “And don’t worry; I’ll give what’s left of it back when I’m done.”

  “Done?”

  “Yeah, done.”

  “How’d you get all that money anyway, without getting caught?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.

  “It was actually kind of fun. I got pretty hungry after the funeral … and bored, especially the next day, so I was on my way to MeeChi’s. But … just couldn’t bring myself to ask Mr. Tesla for anything else. I saw a line across the street at Leopold’s Bakery. The owner was giving away doughnuts, so I pulled my hood over my head and got in line. That’s been my morning routine for the last three weeks.”

  I raise an eyebrow as if I’m unaware of his routine.

  “For the first time,” he continues, “I actually talked to the homeless people. Some of them, a lot of them ended up that way because they were careless and irresponsible, just like I had thought.” He turns his attention to the screen and changes settings. “But a few of them had good-paying jobs and no family to speak of, or that cared enough. When they were laid off, they had no one to turn to and nowhere to go other than the streets. Some of the people just seemed a little crazy.”

  I shake my head at his careless word.

  “Mental,” he corrects. “You know what I mean.”

  I nod.

  “At least once a day and sometimes more, someone would drive or walk by, someone in a nice car or a nice suit and say something really stupid or mean, or even throw stuff, garbage at us.”

  “Garbage?”

  “Yeah, like their empty plastic cups and some food they didn’t finish … like we were animals.”

  “They’d actually say things to you? Like what?”

  “You know like, get a job or loser-user or bums. At first, it didn’t bother me ’cause I didn’t think they were talking to me. Then, one of them called Lester crippled and crazy, and I kind of lost it.”

  “What did you do, Naz?” I feel my eyes narrow involuntarily.

  “Nothing … at first, but then the same guy came back two days later with a lady he must’ve been showing off for and said it again. Lester’s got a big mouth and told the man he had something special for his girlfriend.” Naz laughs. “It was nice to see all the homeless people laugh.”

  I take a tour of the room.

  “The man threw the coffee he was drinking in Lester’s lap. You could see the steam rise from Lester’s wheelchair, but he couldn’t feel anything; Lester lost his legs when his friend stepped on a mine in Syria. His friend didn’t make it, of course, but that’s all Lester talks about is what happened in Syria, wakes him up every night.”

  “PTSD.”

  “Yup, that’s what I got, too: pissed.”

  I laugh at his play on the word.

  “I couldn’t take it anymore, so I followed them, thinking of a way to get even. I was so mad I could hear their thoughts. I followed them to an ATM. When he put his card in, I could hear him think his PIN number. When he finished, he put his card in his suit coat pocket, all the while, talking big and bad to that lady he was with, trying to impress her. I guess it worked because she never let go of his arm.

  “I followed them to their car. He was digging through his coat pocket for his keys, I guess. No one was looking, so when he pulled his keys out, I made his card come out of his pocket, too, right over to me. I pulled my hood down, went back to the ATM, and cleaned him out.

  “I split the money with the homeless people, fourteen ways I think. They didn’t even ask how I got it, didn’t care I guess. We had a feast for the next few days. I got Lester a radio and a bag of batteries. I began to think of all the people who have so much and all the people who have so little, and I thought I’d figure a way to even things up on a bigger scale, plus, I really needed a bath.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Sooo … you decided to come downtown and rip off … richer people?”

  He points at me and winks as if he’s done something good.

  “But that’s wrong, Naz. What would your parents think?”

  Apparently, he’s thought this through as he fires back immediately.

  “I don’t know.” Naz raises his voice. “My parents aren’t here. They’re dead! Remember?”

  “I know, but you gotta know they wanted more for you than this.”

  “You didn’t know my mother or father, and I don’t remember my father, so there’s that.”

  I walk over to the nightstand and pull out the obvious. “I know your mother always carried this around.” I hold the Bible out to him.

  He looks at it and scoffs. “Yeah, and my mother also always said, and I quote, ‘It’s not always about right or wrong; sometimes it’s about having a good reason.’”

  “But still.” He stumps me.

  “So yeah, I decided to rip off some rich people who won’t even miss it and do some good. What on earth could be wrong with that? I figured I could do the same thing out here that I did to that loser in the Exclave in a short amount of time before anybody figured out what was going on.”

  It makes sense. Stealing’s wrong regardless, but I can’t deny his plan has a simple elegance to it. I can’t help but be impressed. I hide my appreciation.

  “See, it’s a good idea, right?” He smiles.

  He sees right through my nonchalant act. I wonder if he’s read my mind.

  “So you’re playing God again?”

  “No, not God.” He laughs. “Robin Hood.”

  “Robin Hood?” I give him the side eye. “What’s this?” I point to the monitor in front of him.

  “It’s pain,” Naz says, low and sinister-like, nodding to the doughnuts on the desk. “Help yourself.”

  I walk over to the desk and look in the box. Most of the contents are no more. Only three doughnuts out of a dozen have survived Naz’s onslaught. I grab one, notice another controller next to the box and pick it up, too.

  I sit on the matching sofa adjacent to Naz’s chair. He calls up the menu on the game and makes some changes, adding a player that surprisingly looks a little like me.

  “You want a weapon?” he asks.

  I shrug, not sure what
to expect from the game or Naz at this point.

  “It’s hard to win without weapons, but it makes it funner.” He smiles. “So, I take it you have nothing for me.”

  Before I can answer, he starts the game and hides his man behind a Dumpster as assailants fire weapons at him from all angles. He’s given me a handgun, a switchblade, a hunting knife, and an assault rifle, but I take cover behind the Dumpster as well. When they’re close enough, Naz lashes out, dismantling two men with a variety of hand and foot techniques. He uses one of the men as a shield against the other assailants who are still armed and lethal, and fire on him at will. The game immediately grabs my attention, as I’ve only ever played sports games. Fighting is strictly for the dojo.

  “It doesn’t matter. I made some connections … got a few leads,” he says.

  “What leads?” I pick off a man who’s sneaking up behind Naz.

  “Wednesday at that outdoor basketball court near Saigon’s. Worry about your own man. I got me.”

  “Whatever … you were about to be terminated. You mean the Cage?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Gang initiation.”

  “Ohhhhkay,” I say. Naz is right. It’s no fun with the weapons. I pick intruders off left and right like it’s a shooting gallery.

  “You game?”

  This is an unexpected turn of events, not only that he’s being a Chatty Cathy (he hasn’t strung more than three words together in three weeks) but also that he seems to be including me in his mischief. I immediately go on mental guard but play along. “Sure.”

  “But I have to warn you; it may be during school hours. Skinny’s gonna text me at a moment’s notice.”

  “Skinny?” I laugh.

  “Yeah, and you should see him; he weighs more than both of us put together.” Naz laughs, and I’m amazed at the good spirits he’s in.

  Time may not have healed the gaping wound yet, but there’s a definite improvement from three weeks ago. We destroy every bad guy the computer sends at us with ease and are immediately taken to a new level, I assume. I discard my weapons.