The General's Weapons (Heinous Crimes Unit Book 4), page 12
Christian stared at the camera. It would do no good to threaten the man’s life, and he knew it. The mercenary had made a damning mistake keeping the weapon on him, but he wasn’t dumb, and he certainly wasn’t scared of death.
He turned to Tommy. “Let’s get him some guarantees, then.”
It took another twelve hours, but the guarantees were there in front of Drexler. Christian had also given the okay to get Drexler’s lawyer here. Putting papers in front of the man would do no good if he didn’t have someone he trusted to tell him everything was legit.
Which it was.
It had gone all the way up to Waverly, and the details of the coverup were simple. Drexler was pulled over for a busted taillight. Undefined paraphernalia was found on his person, but his cooperation in an existing investigation would cause all charges to be dropped. Testimony in open court was not necessary. The record would be sealed and then expunged at the end of the year.
Those were the technical details.
Christian wanted a name and then this man could run to Mexico and live there forever—minus the weapon they’d found in his car. He might be a killer capable of atrocities, but he wasn’t who Christian was after. He was what Lucy Speckle might term nonessential.
Christian was willing to let a killer go if it brought them closer to Luke.
“Everything looks good,” the lawyer said. “You’ll have a record, but it’s sealed. In a year, it’ll be gone completely.” He was focusing on the documents sitting on the table before him, but he had been pissed when he first arrived. He knew the game Christian and the FBI had been playing, and had threatened to sue from now until the end of time.
The problem was, the weapon charge would have stuck, even if nothing Drexler said inside the interview room did. The weapons charge was legitimate, and all the rules had been followed. So, he had to play ball if he wanted his client to get off clean.
“All right,” Drexler said. “Let’s not waste any more time. I’m tired.”
“We all are,” Tommy said, and Christian knew that was perhaps the truest thing ever spoken.
No one had slept in the past twelve hours, and it was nearing seven in the morning. Christian and Tommy were fueled by caffeine and hate, but they were quickly running out of both.
“The rumor is a man named Charles organized everything,” Drexler told them.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Tommy whispered. “If you think we’re letting you go with a first name, you’re even dumber than I thought.”
“Just pulling your leg, my crippled friend,” the mercenary said. “Did Titan kill your sense of humor when he killed your fiancée?”
Tommy said nothing.
Good, Christian thought. Stay strong. Fuck this guy.
“Charles Twaller,” Drexler said, his stare holding Tommy’s.
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s high up. I’ve never met him and I doubt anyone who was on the job had met him, either.” There was no humor in the man’s voice now. This was the trained killer that rested beneath the clown mask he had worn the rest of the day. This was the man who had gunned down innocents and then left before he could get what he deserved. “I’ve heard about him. He’s a psychopath who deals in munitions; primarily transportation and storage. I’ve never seen him doing operations like this, so I imagine that’s where Titan comes in. If Titan is behind this. I don’t have any knowledge on that.”
“What else do you know, Patrick?” Christian asked.
“That’s it. I think Twaller may dabble in drug transportation from time to time, but I don’t know much about him. I only know this because I did some research after I was contacted for the job.”
“Who contacted you?” Tommy asked.
“That’s not pertinent to our agreement,” his lawyer said.
Drexler said nothing.
“That’s the deal we cut? A name and hearsay?”
Christian liked hearing Tommy talk like this. It had been a while since he saw the man in his element. Even confined to a wheelchair, some of the old Tommy was coming out now.
“That’s what you wanted,” the lawyer said. “Now you have it. Is there anything else?”
“Why do you say he’s a psychopath?” Christian asked, ignoring the lawyer.
“He kills drivers.”
Christian was still amazed at the change in the mercenary. He was like a robot, giving out information as it was asked for, but nothing else. Charles Twaller might be a psychopath, but Christian thought one sat in front of him right now, too.
“He likes to kill the people who transport his goods. He’s gotten in trouble for it before. The cartels and such don’t take kindly to their men being killed, but he’s skated by so far.”
“What’s his next attack?” Tommy interjected.
Drexler shrugged. “I don’t know. I was contracted for one job and I completed it.”
“Why did you take it?” Tommy asked. “Most of your colleagues died. You’re the first one we were able to take alive.”
“Not pertinent,” the lawyer said.
Christian smiled. “Fine. This will be enough. You both can get the fuck out now.”
It was one in the morning when Christian finally returned to his hotel room. He’d been able to nod off for twenty minutes earlier in the day, but other than that he hadn’t slept at all.
Exhaustion wasn’t a strong enough word. He wasn’t sure the English language possessed one.
Veronica was up and waiting for him. Christian had made sure there were two beds available, although he wasn’t going to put her in a separate room. It was too risky. Even with the FBI agents standing outside the door, he thought one more line of defense—even if it was only him—was better.
“Didn’t want to risk my seduction?” Veronica said, turning the television to mute.
He hadn’t been to the room yet, but knew she was talking about the separate beds.
“Sex would complicate things.” In his exhaustion, he was reverting to blurting out whatever came to mind. Veronica, his mother, Melissa, and a host of other people had helped him work on it, but he just didn’t care right now.
He placed his bag next to the bed and then fell onto the mattress. He turned onto his side, facing Veronica. A lamp hung on the wall between them, the light shining.
“You always knew how to woo a woman, Christian.” She turned the television off and rolled onto her side. The former lovers stared at each other for a long moment before she spoke again. “Are you ready for bed?”
“I’m not sure I can sleep right now,” Christian admitted.
“You look like you could sleep forever.”
“I think that’s called death.”
“Then you look like death,” she said, smiling.
Even in his current state, he couldn’t help but fall in love with that smile. Every time she did it, he fell again. If only things could have been different, if only Luke had never existed.
Then you wouldn’t even know her.
“Are we safe for the night?” she asked.
Christian nodded. “As safe as we can be. There are two guards outside our door. Two outside Tommy’s. I did consider putting the three of us in one room.”
He didn’t smile, but she chuckled lightly, knowing he was kidding.
The two stared at each other for a few minutes without speaking, yet no awkwardness fell across them. Christian watched as her eyes slowly started closing. She was falling asleep, almost unaware, and with no self-conscious desire to hide it.
After everything, she still felt safe with him. She still felt at home. Christian couldn’t help but feel thankful. They would never be together again, but it still felt good to be loved. To know that even though he’d pushed everyone away by creating that massive wall around himself, people still cared.
How much do you care about her? Enough to let the world burn down around you? Enough to let everyone else in it die? Because that’s what you’re doing.
Christian hadn’t fallen asleep because he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. He needed to go inside his mansion, tired or not. Sleep was for those that could afford it, and Christian couldn’t right now. He had not thought about Luke’s edict for the most part. The day had demanded his full attention. Every day demanded it. But each one brought more terror and disorder created by Luke.
Now, in the silence of the hotel room, he could go into himself and see what he was missing. The rest of the day had been spent focusing on this Charles Twaller man. He was not a ghost, but publicly he was nothing like the mercenary had described.
“He’s too clean,” Tommy had said. “No one is this clean when someone like Drexler mentions their name.”
Christian closed his eyes and felt sleep trying to push his consciousness out of the way, wanting to drag him down into its dark depths for an unknown amount of time. He shoved the urge aside roughly, turning his intense focus to what needed to be done.
While others would have fallen asleep without a thought, Christian’s mind overpowered his body’s will.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Every time I see you, you look worse.”
The Other’s eyes were bleeding, dark red blood dripping down his face. It slid down his neck and dripped off the point of his chin, but he looked at Christian as if he didn’t notice.
Christian breezed by him. He hadn’t come to chat. He wanted to look at Luke’s past again. The more he thought about it, the more he believed the answers lay there. He thought Luke wanted him to know it, too. Why else had Luke brought his past up so much? Why had he put so much weight on it?
“You’re probably right. If something is hidden, it’s in there. Something that makes the man tick.”
Christian ignored the Other and continued walking to the back of the floor. He didn’t look at any of the walls or other memorabilia that had been set up over the years. Regardless of how hard he shoved sleep away, he desperately wanted it, and only this last thing kept him from it.
He found the chair and television where he’d last left them.
The Other had moved to stand in front of the TV. Blood splattered on the floor beneath him. “What do you think it’ll show today?”
“I don’t know,” Christian said. “Move out of the way.” He took his seat and the Other did as he was told, leaving a line of sight to the television.
It wasted no time, sensing Christian’s need. It flashed on and Christian fell into Luke’s history.
The preacher man, as Luke thinks of him, is sitting with Luke’s mother.
Luke is outside. He knows why the preacher man has come. He is here to ensure that Luke never again says such things to him, and never again threatens to interrupt his cash flow.
He won’t frame it like that to Luke’s mother. He will speak in terms of the Lord, and eternal souls. He’ll mention the devil and angels. He’ll cloak the whole conversation with the Bible, draping its pages over his message like a protective shield.
Luke knows all this, and still, he lets the preacher man do his talking.
Luke has made up his mind about the priest, although he cannot tell his mother. When she calls him inside the house, if the preacher man is still there, he will take his chastisement in silence.
His mother is his world. Her, and his brother. They are all he has. All he knows as truth. While his mind is still expanding at an astronomical speed, he has yet to learn what lies outside his small world. For now, all that matters is his tiny family. He will not disrespect his mother, not even in front of the preacher man.
“Luke, will you come here, please?”
Luke feels a brief flare of anger try to rise, but he knows it won’t serve him so he discards it. He doesn’t understand how special that ability is, especially for someone as young as he is. Emotions drive the rest of the world, but at eleven, Luke is coming to master his own.
He turns from the broken porch and pulls back the screen door, entering. The house is not a large place. His mother and the preacher man are sitting in the kitchen/living room. There are two bedrooms attached to this main room, one for Luke and his brother, the other for his mother.
“Father Marquez told me about your last confession, Luke.”
Luke nods without looking at the preacher man. His eyes are on his mother.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Luke isn’t at the place yet where he refuses to lie. That comes later in his life. He would have lied to God himself if it would save his mother pain, and so he says, “I’m sorry.”
His mother looks at him hard for a few seconds. “Are you?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t have said that. I am sorry.” He turns to the preacher man. “I’m sorry, Father Marquez. I will not speak to you like that again.”
“Son, I worry about you,” the preacher man says. “When you say such things to me, I wonder if perhaps the devil has undue influence over you. Your mother worries, too.”
Luke doesn’t know if the preacher man is using his mother as someone might use a sword, cutting through Luke’s attack and defenses, or if the preacher man is simply talking. If it is the former, then the priest surely knows Luke is lying and has no intention of keeping quiet in the future. If it is the latter, then the preacher man is stupid.
“I know.” Luke turns back to his mom. “I’m sorry. I promise to be more respectful.”
“What made you talk like that to him?”
Two focal points would take place this day, and the first had arrived. Luke had lied once, but now he needed to say something that would resonate with people. He needed to say something convincing enough to allow his mother to continue living her life without fear of what might be happening to her son, as well as to ensure the preacher man worries no more about his cash flow.
In short, Luke needs to read and react to people in a way that allows him to continue moving through the world undisturbed.
Christian understands that this is a trait successful sociopaths possess, although to classify Luke as a sociopath would be a gross oversimplification.
Like everything else in Luke’s young life, he flies past the focal point without any hindrance.
“I saw your budget, Mom. You left it out on the table and you know I’m good with numbers. I saw how much we were spending on the church.”
“Honey,” his mother said, reaching out to touch his knee. “You don’t need to worry about any of that. That’s my job. I make sure we have enough money each month, and part of being good Christians is making sure we give to God what is His.”
She looked back at the priest, but she didn’t remove her hand from Luke’s knee. “I’m sorry, Father. He’s a good boy. He just wants to make sure we’re okay. I promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”
Luke looks at the preacher man, too. “I promise as well, Father. I’m very sorry.”
Luke is alone in his room and the night is upon him. He’s already starting to enjoy both being alone and the darkness. He doesn’t know why yet, but it feels like home. His brother sleeps next to him, but Luke is alone with his thoughts since his brother is unconscious. In the future, he will learn that he can be even more alone, but in such small spaces, this is all he knows.
He is thinking about the preacher man. About how he came to Luke’s house and disturbed his mother.
Luke can allow a lot to happen in life. Indeed, he already has. Slights come and go in their small town, especially when they live in such poverty. None of them are consequential to Luke.
Except for this.
The preacher man does not see him as a man at all. He thinks that bypassing Luke is as simple as showing up at his house and talking with his mother. He thinks that the payments will continue despite Luke deciding before his confession that would no longer happen.
So, the preacher man and Luke are at odds.
There are a multitude of things that Luke can do to prove to the priest that he is foolish and has severely underestimated Luke’s dedication to his family. The problem is, Luke doesn’t know which one to choose.
Luke’s mind is rushing through the possibilities, and he watches with fascination as it takes each option and follows a path to its most logical conclusion. He has done this before, but not with something as serious as he is considering.
The crux is does he want to scare the priest, or does he want to end the priest? The fact that he so easily considers murder is lost on him. It simply makes sense. If something is against him, then it should be ended. If it is against his family, then it must be ended.
Christian watches these thought processes with a sense of awe. For years, he had lived next to someone who had first contemplated murder with ease at a very, very young age. Yet, he had not noticed it, not until it was too late.
Luke reaches his conclusion in the early morning hours. He has thought on this longer than he will most of his other decisions. The sticking point being whether it was smarter to murder the priest, or just scare the man.
Luke doesn’t know it as he rolls over to sleep, but he will regret this single decision for the rest of his life.
Three days have passed since the preacher man came to Luke’s house.
Now, Luke is at the preacher man’s house.
He is leaning against a tree on the street outside of the cathedral, staring at the closed doors as the sun peeks over the horizon.
Luke is young and doesn’t understand the error in his strategy. He will very soon. His natural inclination is to attack hard and leave no doubt that he is the superior in any struggle. That is his plan this morning, and while he will leave no sign that he is responsible, the preacher man is smart enough to understand.
Enough time has been spent watching. Luke crosses the street. The church doors are unlocked. He quietly opens the one on the right and slips inside. He has yet to learn how to move without making sound, although he already walks as if he is nearly weightless.
The cathedral is silent. The priest is still asleep. Luke had been counting on the man not waking early for prayers or meditation. He was a false priest, an imposter who collected his money no differently than the Mexican gangs that run many of the neighborhoods.
