When the Jester returns, the garage has grown quiet. The door is loud when it opens. I drag my attention up to him. He's wearing a sickening smile and holding a really fucking big wrench.
A groan gurgles in my throat and he makes that infuriating chuckle. He ambles in, like he has nothing going on in the world. He sets the wrench down, props it against my knee, then rips the tape off my mouth. Every cell in my body wants me to scream through the pain, but that's what he wants me to do, so I bite down. I'm seething, but I'm doing it quietly. He wants to hear my cries. It's always been that above everything else that satisfied his sickness.
He picks up the wrench and turns his back to me, a mockery that I can do nothing to him. He tilts his head to the side and says, “I'll admit, I really didn't think ya had it in ya ta pull that triggah. I guess I was a little proud of ya, finally grown some balls an' all. But that's quite a heavy debt to wage. I owe ya a big one, Freddy.”
I lift my chin through the gutting agony, look him in the eye and say, “You had that coming. You deserve to lose at least a hand, for every time you've laid a fucking hand on me.”
He's so fast, I barely see it coming when he backhands me with the wrench, the metal smashing against my right cheek bone. Sound is replaced by a steady, high-pitched tone. My glasses go flying. I can no longer see anything but a display of lights exploding where my vision should be. The blow snaps my head to the side hard enough to cause whiplash and my voice leaks from me in a desolate groan.
Just let me fade away, please, let me sink into darkness without feeling. May death come quickly and may I not fear to face it. Fresh blood slides down my face, the flesh no match for steel. I know it's split wide open, but it's numb. Shock, yeah, even shock would be welcome just now.
So, Charlie, I tried to do right by you. I did at least keep the heat off your sister. Maybe at the other end of this, I'll run into you, and I'll buy you a Bloody Mary from hell's bar. Maybe you'll finally be able to forgive my past. Maybe in eternity, we can even be friends.
Chapter 32 Kiss of the Dragon
Maria
Sweat rolls down my throat from my hairline. It's 2:58 AM. I've got the Dragon loaded and aimed out the window, my eye in the scope, watching the bustle in the warehouse yard. There are guards everywhere. I've yet to see Gram or Derrik.
Tears are drying on my face, but my gaze is steady. I still haven't heard from Frederick. Something happened. It had to, he would never do this otherwise.
Still, I'm waiting for the truck.
My right shoulder is propped against the warehouse wall to steady me, and the gun stock feels good braced between my arm and ribs. My whole world comes down to this moment. This is the man, the slime who took my brother from me as a cheap shot, Gram's favorite kind of shot. And I'm about to rearrange his definition of – well, everything.
I take a long breath to steady the anxiety that stirs. The sound of a truck. I can hear the delivery approaching just in time for three o'clock. Its engine sounds like shit. I kiss the Dragunov, nuzzle my cheek against her, and dip back into the sight.
The gates are rolling back and the bay door of Gram's warehouse is opening. I lift the gun slightly, to get a better view of the figures standing behind the door. Painfully slowly, the scene reveals a handful of grim-looking men with assault rifles, clustered around the one and only Gram Margalis. Still no Jester. My nerves drop into the bottom of my gut.
My hand twitches. I want to put a bullet between Gram's eyes right now, to watch those glasses go flying off his long, thin face, and see the spray of his brains behind him. I exhale, long, slow, and relax my trigger hand.
The truck is pulling through the fence, rolling so close to the threshold. It moves just like the Caddy did when I sailed her past that house in Biloxi. Just like that night, I know that there will only be one chance, one moment in which to act. If I miss it, if I freeze, I will fail. And just like that night, they don't see it coming.
The middle of the box, Frederick had said. I adjust the sight a couple clicks. I can see a glimpse of white tank from my angle. He succeeded. And all I have to do, inhale, is pull the trigger. Exhale. Just squeeze.
For a moment, I don't believe I did it. This is a dream. I'm about to wake up in a night sweat, hounded by my brother's ghost. The gun barely makes a noise, but that noise is like thunder on this quiet morning. There's hardly any kick at all. Seconds later, the world explodes.
I don't know what I was expecting, but the blinding flash makes me flinch away from the sight, and the sound – like the earth splitting apart – makes me stumble backwards. The gun hangs in my arms and my insides feel hollow, echoing that magnificent sound of Gram's empire being consumed by Frederick's genius.
My mouth hangs open for a time suspended in destruction to the beauty of the hues of orange, white, and blue. If any of those damned souls had time to scream, I can't hear them. I watch for a
