Inception_The Bern Project_Volume One Page 2

  People that John felt sorry for.

  He passed a fashion shop with grotesquely thin mannequins wearing lacy see-through clothing, giving passersby a glimpse of what they could never look like if they bought the clothing. He saw a few women inside holding up various articles of clothing against their bodies, trying to picture themselves in the outfit if they could shove their bodies inside the flimsy cloth. Keep dreaming, John thought.

  He saw the sign for the shop, realized he couldn’t pronounce it, and kept walking. Several trophy wives passed by him, giving him the “Take me home and fuck me” look, but he paid no attention. A simple nod would have to suffice.

  John walked slower than he normally did, wanting to give the appearance of not being in any hurry whatsoever. Truth was, timing was crucial for what he had to do.

  “Passing Nordy’s now. Still clear,” the voice came through his earpiece.

  “Copy that,” John whispered into his collar. He knew where he needed to be, but the timing all depended on the route that the man took. So far, he was walking away from the target location, which was fine.

  Two men in their forties were approaching John, both laughing and high-fiving each other as they walked. Each was wearing a Seattle Seahawks jersey and different colored cargo shorts – a homage to the youthfulness they longed for in place of the midlife crisis they had. John wasn’t sure, but wearing the jersey of another man might not be the best way to do it. You just give off the appearance of the teenage girl who wears her boyfriend’s letterman jacket. “Property of…”

  “Leaving Sky Anora and heading back now,” the voice said.

  Oh shit, John thought. Must be a one-and-done shopper. Nordy’s was on the opposite side of the mall from where John currently was and right next to the parking garage where he was to see the man. He would have to step up his pace if he was going to make it on time.

  John threw the empty Starbucks cup into the garbage and picked up his pace. Foot traffic seemed to increase as he walked, forcing him to zig and zag between gaggles of women wearing sunglasses and yoga pants, with cell phones held out in front of them like techno-tethers. Several children orbited around each of them like moons around Planet Mom. He brushed against several of them as he passed, getting mean looks from these distracted PTA members. A few of them let out overly dramatic sighs as if John had somehow ruined their entire day. One of them called him an asshole.

  First world problems.

  Halfway there, he decided to take a shortcut through the food court, a busy, crowded, and smelly area housing obese families, foreigners, and teenagers wearing earbuds. He scouted out a break in the crowd and took it, heard “Two minutes away” through his earpiece.

  He was pressed for time now. “Copy.”

  “He’s lost the vest. Wearing a pressed dress shirt. Blue, no tie. Three bags in his right hand. Cell phone in the left.”

  John didn’t acknowledge. He got to the entrance of the third floor garage and knew that the target’s car would be in the northwest corner and backed into its spot. He had memorized the static security camera layout and had a preplanned route that would get him there as undetected as possible.

  He walked toward the elevator bay where he saw a pair of garbage cans. He took a quick look around and didn’t see anyone. He grabbed his gloves out of his blazer pocket and ditched the empty bags. His hands were free now and he placed the black nitrile gloves over them and made fists, forming the gloves to his hands. He wiggled his arms and felt the looseness work its way down to his fingertips.

  John heard the echo of his footsteps as he walked, so he jumped up onto the balls of his feet, shaking out the kinks as he tried his best to not let his heels touch the ground.

  He walked along the walls of the garage toward the northwest corner and saw his target’s black Tesla backed into its spot. Unlike before, there was now a silver BMW X5 parked right next to it, also backed in. It wasn’t a problem, though, as he’d planned for something like this to happen. This was a public mall, after all, and people had to shop.

  “Entering the garage now. I’m breaking off. See you in a bit.” The voice had become a whisper.

  “Copy all.” John walked over and stood behind the BMW, turning his back to the wall. Standing six-foot-three and weighing over two hundred and thirty-five pounds made it a tight fit, so he had to manipulate his body in the cramped space to be comfortable. He turned his feet outward and lowered himself down in a crouch, thankful that years of Kempo and stretching gave him the flexibility.

  He heard distant footsteps approaching. He closed his eyes and tried to picture his target walking. Based on the cadence and timing of the footsteps, his target wasn’t in a hurry, which was good. He wanted him to be completely relaxed and vulnerable.

  A cell phone rang somewhere and he heard someone answer, but it was tough to tell if it was his target, with the sound echoing off the gray concrete walls. A male voice answered and he was pretty sure it was his target. A loud and heated exchange was occurring and the cadence of the footsteps picked up.

  John estimated he was fifty feet away now and approaching fast. He craned his neck and tried to look over the back of the BMW toward the Tesla. The brake lights flashed and a quiet beeping sound was heard as his target hit the key fob.

  John ran his left hand across his body, reached into his inner blazer pocket and pulled out his Spyderco tactical knife, turning it in his hand, keeping the spine of the six-inch blade hugged against his forearm. He held it close and free, careful as always.

  He peered around the side of the BMW and caught a glimpse of Ali at the driver’s side door, still talking on his phone as he cradled it between his head and shoulder. Ali then walked to the back door and fumbled with his keys.

  John was about to move when he was suddenly cast in a red light, followed by another loud beeping sound, only this time it came from the BMW.

  He heard quick and light footsteps approaching from his left with the crisp clatter of high heels hitting the concrete. John crouched down a bit more so as not to be seen through the rear window. He brought his knees below the bumper and turned to his right, looking like a sprinter at the starting line.

  He peeked around once more and saw Ali standing outside the open driver side door, still talking.

  The woman got inside her BMW and started it up right away, as if wanting to get away from the discomfort of the man yelling into his cell phone. If only she knew there was a man behind her SUV, John thought.

  The brake lights came on, casting John in a red glow and projecting his shadow across the back wall. He stayed as still as possible and hoped he wouldn’t be seen by either of them. The reverse lights held.

  Shit, John thought. She better not reverse. If she did, he’d be crushed, unless he got up and moved, but that would ruin the mission.

  Finally, the reverse lights went off and John heard the emergency brake release from its hold, and the BMW accelerated away from its space and turned left toward the exit, leaving John exposed. John glanced towards Ali and saw him reach for the door handle. Ultimately, he wanted to take him while he was positioned in between the door and the frame of the car, creating a V-shape. That would ensure Ali’s lone avenue of escape was into the vehicle, which is where John wanted him to end up anyway.

  Ali opened the door and John stood up and out of his crouch and took long and quick strides toward him. He shook out his hands, rolled his shoulders, and relaxed his diaphragm, moves that were almost automatic. Going into any hands-on situation being tense and nervous would lead to failure and mistakes, which were never an option if you wanted to succeed.

  Ali hung up the phone and pocketed it. He placed his right foot into the cab of the Tesla and put his left hand on the door.

  Now.

  John came up behind him, knife resting in his left hand. He threw his right arm under Ali’s right shoulder and brought it under his chin, wrapping his hand around the left side of Ali’s neck. He squeezed.

  John pulled him c
lose and focused on his breathing. He felt Ali start to panic as his body thrashed around, looking for an escape. He scratched and clawed and tried to break free, but John kept him in place without too much effort. John, however, felt only calm indifference to the struggling man’s plight. Like every other hit, he was able to disassociate himself from the humanistic element of the kill. It was purely organic, much like watching a lion take down a gazelle. It was natural.

  John squeezed harder, applying pressure that cut off the blood flow to Ali’s brain. His bicep burning, he felt Ali starting to lose consciousness, which would weaken him, making it easier for John to do what he had to do. He took the time to glance around once more, making sure they were still alone.

  They were.

  It was time to finish this.

  John lowered himself into a squat, bringing his height down to Ali’s, and leaned back, causing Ali to hyper-extend himself. He placed his right knee into Ali’s back and moved backward, which caused Ali to lose to his footing. John dragged him back toward the darkness at the rear of the car and brought the knife up and into Ali’s field of vision. The shiny blade reflected what little light there was right into Ali’s eyes.

  John swung his left arm back and brought the blade crashing into Ali’s abdomen. The blade glanced off his rib cage before it came to rest as far as the hilt. John methodically worked the blade back and forth, feeling the warm blood cascade over his left hand as he severed whatever veins and arteries were in the way. He kept the blade buried while he maneuvered Ali’s body more toward the back door on the driver’s side.

  John removed the knife and felt Ali loosen his struggle as blood left his body. He used that opportunity to pull the knife out. He moved his right hand from around Ali’s neck and put it over his mouth to stifle any scream. He wanted complete silence while he told Ali why he was there. After all, every bad man deserves to be told why they are being killed.

  John put his mouth closer to Ali’s ear. In a quiet voice, he said, “Ali Bugunolov, you do not know me, but I think you know why I’m here. I represent the families of those poor girls you tortured and raped with your thirst and lust for young flesh. Being in the United States does not save you from this punishment, and if you are a holy man, I suggest you make peace with your god now. Know this. I do not care about you, nor will I grant you a last wish. You are nothing but a contract to me.”

  Ali started to struggle by throwing a weak left elbow that glanced off John’s hip. John smiled at the attempt. Normally, he would have finished him off by now, but he wanted Ali to have just a few more seconds of understanding his fate and what his actions did to those poor families.

  He brought his left arm around and drove the blade of the knife into Ali’s stomach again. Immediately, Ali’s resistance subsided.

  “This is for Tatyana Morov.” John brought the knife out, the blood pouring down the blade onto the hilt.

  He brought the knife around a third time and buried the blade again into his stomach, just above the navel. “And this is for Melanie Trobov.”

  Finished, John withdrew the knife and half carried Ali toward the Tesla’s back door on the driver’s side. He rested him across his right leg and opened the door with his right hand. He placed the man on the back seat face down, lifted his legs up and shoved him in. John half climbed into the car and came up on top of Ali. He lifted Ali’s head back with his right hand, and, with his left hand, he brushed the blade across his neck and pulled up. Blood poured out of his victim’s neck onto the black leather seat. John wiped the blood off his blade onto Ali’s pants and got out of the vehicle. He looked around once more. Still alone.

  John had one final thing to do.

  He reached into the other pocket of his blazer and took out white shoe polish. He undid the cap and wrote a message on Ali’s back for those that would find him. Ultimately, the police would be called, but since this was a Thursday night and the mall was getting ready to close, it would be a few hours before anyone found him.

  Once done, John stood up and took a deep breath. He spoke into his collar. “Finished.”

  “Yeah. Sounded like it. I’m on my way now. One minute,” Morgan said.

  John scanned the ground around him to see if he could find anything he may have dropped, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He walked back toward the wall and did his best not to touch it as he walked, careful to avoid the cameras, keeping his head down.

  He saw the elevator bank twenty yards ahead and then saw headlights illuminate the far wall. Morgan was coming around the corner. John took one more look around, walked past the glassed-in elevators and turned the small corner to the next row of parking spots.

  Morgan pulled up in a stolen white Toyota Corolla, the passenger door opening before he came to a stop. John got in and lowered himself down into the seat, closing the door as Morgan sped off.

  They drove through the garage, navigating the constant left turn down the ramp, the tires squealing as they did. They took a right onto Northeast Eighth Street and headed toward the 405 freeway.

  Morgan looked over at John. “You look like an angry Clark Kent in that disguise. You’re not going to, you know, turn green, are you?”

  John looked at Morgan. “That’s the Incredible Hulk. Wrong superhero. And no, I’m fine.”

  “Because you look a little tense.”

  “And you look a little too calm.”

  Morgan shrugged. “It was easy money.”

  “Well, yeah, for you. All you had to do was trail him and drive. I did the fun stuff. Speaking of which, was he followed?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think you were followed?”

  Morgan looked at John and smirked. “Child, please! After all these years, you doubt my abilities?”

  John looked Morgan up and down in his ridiculous disguise and shrugged. “Good point. You look like a feminine Freddie Mercury.” Morgan was wearing a black stocking cap, fake black mustache and a one-size-too-big pea coat to hide the cast on his right hand, which Morgan held up.

  “Besides, I can’t exactly do anything else with this.”

  John nodded. “There is that.”

  Morgan usually did the distance hits, whether explosives or sniper rifles, and John took care of the up close and personal. If it were up to them, all contracts would be carried out as far away as possible, but being paid meant the client got to dictate the means and mode of the hit. Just finishing the job wasn’t good enough for some people’s revenge. Some wanted it done a certain way, ways they wished they could do themselves, but didn’t have the guts to do.

  Enter John and Morgan. And they were more than happy to bring closure for those that had been suffering at the hands of their tormenters.

  John stared out the window as Morgan eased the car onto the freeway, heading northbound toward Kirkland. “Home is that way.” John pointed his thumb behind him.

  “Right. And so is evidence. And cameras. There are several traffic cameras along 405 and I want those who will be curious as to our professional abilities to focus north of here. I have a route picked out, mostly side streets, of course, that will lead us home and away from the kill site.” Morgan glanced at John. “Speaking of, any problems?”

  John didn’t speak at first. He was replaying the entire sequence in his head, trying to think of anything that may cause problems for them in the future. “No.” John felt a small nervy pain in his back, so he sat up straight to stretch his legs. “Ah, better. So, where’d you get the car?”

  “A friend of a friend. Stolen car, stolen plates, fresh today. If it’s been reported, and that’s a big if, we should be good for a few more hours, but, we’re only going to need one. I’ll have this thing dumped, scrubbed, and burned before anyone notices.” Morgan looked down at John’s seat. “And good thing, too, because you’ve got blood everywhere. Christ, he bled like a stuck pig.”

  “That’s because he was a pig.”

  Morgan nodded. “Most men who dabble in the undergro
und sex trade of minors are.”

  John rested his head against the window, letting Morgan get them home. Regardless of how many contracts they had completed, he never got used to it. There was always the adrenaline dump and lull afterwards. He had to admit, it was a great feeling ridding the world of evil men. Most victims or families of victims would let a failed judicial system try to take care of them, but John knew better than to trust a system he had been a part of once before. Most people would say they were after justice, but in reality, most wanted revenge, and John and Morgan knew it, which is why they were paid handsomely for their contracts.

  After an hour of driving a preplanned route, they reached John’s house in North Bend. Morgan came to a stop and John got out. He turned around and leaned down into the car and said, “Thanks, Morg. See you tomorrow?”

  Morgan mock saluted, smiled and said, “Sweet dreams, Hetebro. Don’t forget to burn that shitty suit. It’s not you.” He winked and drove off, leaving John in darkness and quiet.

  Chapter 2

  “Hey, sweetheart. What are you making?” Russell took a seat on a stool at the island.

  “Oh, hi, Dad. I’m making a veggie omelet for you,” Kat said. Russell saw her watching him in her peripheral vision, waiting for a facetious response.

  Russell decided it was too early for being the funny man, especially without coffee, so he just kept his mouth shut.

  Russell’s daughter had given him a big lecture the night before, after she’d snuck a peek at the results of his last physical. Being a forty-six-year-old man meant that you pretty much had to attend a yearly physical to make sure everything was working properly, particularly when you have an overbearing and mothering seventeen-year-old daughter. Apparently, eating no meat and tons of naturally flavored cardboard was somehow going to solve all of the world’s problems. He was close to requesting bacon and eggs but decided that he didn’t want to start such a beautiful Friday morning in August with an argument he had no chance of winning.