“I always need more rags for cleaning guns. Why am I here?”
“You’re here because I need someone to take care of something I probably won’t be able to now because of my current predicament. There aren’t that many people in the world who can actually make a difference at this point, and you’re the one Harold found, so now you’re getting stuck with a new assignment. We need to get on the same page and fast. Speaking of pages, seriously, nobody told you what’s in this agreement at all, did they? Because if they had, you’d probably be torqued. I’ve seen your work. Men like you are the reason they invented anger management classes.”
“These government types never tell me anything.”
“Well, I’ve certainly been guilty of that myself at times. At STFU we used to call our assets mushrooms, because we kept them in the dark and fed them shit.” He looked past me to his reflection in the mirror. “Hey, Red. If you’re listening, screwing you over was nothing personal.”
“Time is of the essence, Mr. Stricken,” Coslow said, annoyed. “Read over it if you must, but your demands are all there. We need to proceed.”
“Hold your horses, Harold. I get to talk to Owen here in private first.”
“Very well.” Despite his decrepit appearance, the PUFF Adjuster didn’t stand up like an old man. There were no arthritic winces or creaking knees. “You have ten minutes.” Coslow walked to the door, knocked, and one of the MCB agents let him out.
Stricken watched him go. “Amazing. You don’t even know what our illustrious adjuster really is, do you?”
“I’m sure he’s some malevolent or ambivalent supernatural something or other, either working for or loosely allied with the stupid Feds.”
“That’s remarkably close actually. You want me to tell you the juicy details about old Coslow?”
“Is this the sort of thing that if I know, it’ll probably put my life in danger because some other shadow government douchebag decides”—I made quote marks with my fingers—“I know too much.”
“Well, obviously. But learning the mysteries, how things really tick, what’s really happening, that’s half the fun of this life. Knowledge is power.” Stricken reached out and tapped the signature sheet. “This agreement is a perfect example that if you know the right things, and you offer those things to the right people at the right time, you can literally get away with murder.”
“Like how you murdered Myers?”
“Are you trying to get Franks to shoot me through the glass? I actually respected Dwayne a lot, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”
“Gee whiz. I can’t imagine why they sent me in here instead of Franks.”
Stricken leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Yeah, that pile of parts can certainly hold a grudge. Now, onto business. I wasn’t just blowing smoke about this agreement. I need you to know what’s in it, what they’re willing to offer, despite my multitude of crimes and my troubled past because it will demonstrate a few things.” He began to tick them off on his long fingers. “One, just how desperate they really are. Two, that what I’m about to tell you is the real deal. And three, that as bad as you think I am, what I’ve done has actually been for the greater good.”
“I seem to recall Martin Hood telling me something about the greater good once, and how his conquering mankind was really doing us a favor, because the Old Ones doing it would be so much worse.”
“Marty was delusional, but he wasn’t entirely wrong either. But no, this is different. I’m not trying to hand the Earth over on a silver platter to one cosmic tyrant or another in exchange for a more merciful brand of slavery. War’s coming. You know it. I know it. Only, unlike Marty, I’m not big on surrender. I don’t want man to just survive. I’m in it to fucking win it. I want to destroy these things so badly it sends a message across the galaxy that mankind is not to be trifled with ever again. I know you feel the same way. So while everybody else gets squeamish, it’s time for men like us to rise to the occasion and do what’s necessary.”
I looked over the gaunt figure and scoffed. “We’re nothing alike.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Owen. But I know what you’ve done, the calls you’ve had to make, and the people you’ve left behind to do it.” My face must have betrayed my reaction at that, because Stricken immediately followed with, “Oh, don’t get mad at me. I say that as a compliment. When it really counts, you put the mission first. That’s an admirable trait.”
“If you’re admiring me, I need to reexamine my life choices.”
“It’s one trait of many. Don’t worry. I think the rest of you is garbage. Why one of the factions picked you as their champion, I’ll never be able to fathom. You’re too merciful. You’re too forgiving. You’re too soft. You’ve got the capacity to be effective, but you let human frailty hold you back.”
He could spare me the moral sanctimony. “Says the asshole who has had a few of his insane plots spiral out of control, like those things you created trying to copy Franks. Get to the point, Whitey.”
“That’s hurtful.” Stricken feigned being wounded. “You know how I wound up like this, Pitt? I used to be healthy, fit like you wouldn’t believe. I waltzed through Ranger School. I could run a marathon every weekend after banging hot chicks all week. I was one good-looking dude. But you know what happened to me?”
“Whatever you tell me will probably be a lie anyway.”
“That’s fair. But cross my heart, hand on a Bible, this is the truth.”
I had a sneaky suspicion that if Stricken actually touched a Bible, it would burn his hand. “I was guessing the whole sickly pallor thing, and your trying-too-hard codename, was because you sold your soul and now you’re cursed for it.”
“Actually, that’s not too
