Blood Money (3 page)

Slake laughed under his breath. “Not bad, my
friend. Not bad at all.”

“Yeah, well I’ve had lots of practice.”

“I’ll say. When’s the last time you bought
the pitcher?”

Kelton shrugged. “I can’t say that I
remember.”

“Neither do I,” Slake said. “Next time, I’ll
have to make it a bit more challenging.”

“Please do,” Kelton said. “I’m getting sick
of you buying me beer all the time.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” Slake said. He
drank from his glass, grimacing slightly as it went down.

“You don’t like it?” Kelton said.

“Not really.”

“Then why’d you buy it?”

“I was just trying to pick something that
you wouldn’t know,” Slake said.

Kelton laughed, shook his head.

“I know, I know,” Slake said. “Silly me,
thinking you wouldn’t know what Black Honey was after one drink.
What the hell was going through my head?”

“I have no idea.”

“Neither do I,” Slake said. He pushed his
glass towards Kelton. “You can have this. I’m going to go get
something I can actually enjoy.”

Kelton drank his beer with a small grin on
his face and watched Slake move towards the bar with a grace that
belied his portly appearance.

They’d been working together for almost two
years, Slake lining up the jobs and Kelton knocking them down.
Although they were a good team, perfectly suited to each other’s
needs, there were no illusions between them.

Kelton trusted Slake as much as he trusted
anyone, but he knew their trust only extended so far. They were
business partners; no more, no less. They would protect the other
as long as it made good business sense, but no further. Neither man
expected the other to take a bullet to protect their relationship;
if forced to, each would give up the other to save themselves. This
was understood. And both men were fine with it.

Slake returned a short time later with a
pint of Coors Light. He sat down and proceeded to drain half of it
in a single, massive pull.

“Ahh, much better,” Slake said. “So how did
it go tonight?”

“Perfectly. No complications at all.”

“And our friend is still breathing?”

“For the time being,” Kelton said. “Although
if it were up to me, that wouldn’t be the case.”

“But it’s not up to you,” Slake reminded
him. “It’s up to the person who hired you.”

“I know,” Kelton said. He finished his first
beer and started on the second. “Still, guys like that little punk
shouldn’t be walking around. They deserve to be fertilizer for
someone’s lawn.”

“Maybe, but unfortunately, what someone
deserves and what they get rarely have anything to do with each
other.”

“That’s pretty deep, Slake. Give me a second
while I write it down.”

“Ahh, Kelton, always talking smack. One of
these days it’s going to come up and bite you in the ass.”

“Not likely,” Kelton said. “Besides, I left
our little friend with a parting gift to remember me by. On the
house.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I shot him in the foot.”

Slake closed his eyes. “Tell me you’re
joking.”

“No. Why?”

“Because you were only supposed to scare
him,” Slake said. “Not put him in the freaking hospital.”

Kelton shrugged. “What do you want me to
say? The little punk wasn’t getting the message, so I made sure to
give him one he wouldn’t forget.”

“Dammit, Kelton. I thought you understood
the job. Nothing permanent.”

Kelton waved this off. “So he’ll be limping
around for a while, big deal. It was only a .22. His daddy will pay
for the surgery, and they’ll fix him up like new.” He finished the
rest of his beer in one long pull. “I mean, who pays that much
money just to scare a guy anyway?”

“His father does, that’s who.”

Kelton looked at his empty glass for a
moment before setting it down. “Are you serious?”

Slake nodded.

“Why?” Kelton said. “So he wouldn’t have to
bail him out of jail anymore?”

“Pretty much,” Slake said. “The father was
afraid his son would end up spoiling the family name, and all other
attempts to get the kid’s attention just ended in failure. So he
decided he needed to up the ante a bit.”

Kelton tried to stifle his smile but
couldn’t.

“It’s not funny,” Slake said.

“Actually, it is.”

“No, it’s really not,” Slake said. “His
father is not going to be happy about this. And he’s not a guy you
want to piss off. There’s no way in hell he’s going to let
something like this go.”

“Fuck him. What the hell is he going to do
to me? He doesn’t even know who I am.”

“He does know who I am, though,” Slake said
softly, almost apologetically.

“You dealt with him directly?”

Slake nodded.

Kelton bit down on his annoyance. “Now why
would you go and do something stupid like that?”

“It was a special circumstance,” Slake said.
“We were brought together by a mutual friend and I had no other
choice but to meet with him. But don’t try and pin the blame on me
for this one, Kelton. No matter how the job was arranged, it was a
simple assignment. Go in, scare the kid, and get out,
without
permanently hurting him.
Is it really that hard to follow?”

Kelton opened his mouth to explain himself
further but Slake waved him off before he could say anything.

“Just give me a minute to think,” Slake
said. He leaned forward, closed his eyes, and started to massage
his temples.

Kelton stood up and headed towards the bar.
He returned a few seconds later with a pitcher of Coors Light and
two fresh glasses. A peace offering.

“I assume you took all the necessary
precautions after the job?” Slake said as Kelton poured them each a
new glass.

“Of course.”

“You ditched the weapon?”

Kelton nodded.

“And destroyed all your clothes?”

“I took care of everything,” Kelton said. “I
have
done this sort of thing once or twice before, you
know.”

“I know,” Slake said. “But humor me, okay?
Just this once.”

“Fine.”

“You tossed your shoes, your gloves, your
ski mask?”

“All of them,” Kelton said.

“And you left nothing in the house that
could be tracked back to you?”

“It’s as if I was never even there,” Kelton
said. “Just like every other job I’ve ever done for you. Or anyone
else, for that matter.”

“Then maybe I can play it off,” Slake said.
He looked down at the table and spoke softly, talking to himself
more than Kelton. “I’ll have to be proactive, go in and talk
directly to the father, apologize, give him his money back, tell
him it was a big mistake, tell him that I don’t know who you are,
that I’ve only worked with you a couple of times, that I’m never
going to work with you again, and then give him some bogus
information about how I reached you, a big giant bullshit
sandwich.”

“You think he’ll buy it?” Kelton said.

“Yeah, he’ll buy it,” Slake said. “But
you’re going to owe me big time after this.”

“I can deal with that,” Kelton said.

“You damn well better be able to. Otherwise
I’ll just tell him where you live and be done with it.”

“Yeah right,” Kelton said. “Then who would
you call when you needed a job done?”

“I’m sure I can find someone. After all, I
found you.”

Kelton snorted. “Yeah, you found me when I
showed up on your doorstep, asking you if you wanted to start
making some easy money.”

“You call this easy money?”

“It’s a hell of a lot easier than real
work.”

Slake tipped his beer in Kelton’s direction
and took a drink. “True enough, my friend. But do me a favor and
just stick to the assignment from now on. This freelance crap is
bad for my heart.”

CHAPTER THREE

It was just after 2AM when Kelton arrived at
the meager three-bedroom house he rented on the outskirts of
downtown San Diego. He parked his pickup in the driveway and headed
along the walkway towards the front door. He had just put his key
in the lock when he felt an itch in the back of his mind.

Normally, that single moment of intuition
would have put Kelton on high alert. He would have pulled his
firearm from his holster and barged into the room ready to put
three holes into the first thing that moved, or perhaps headed
towards the back door, where he could get a better look inside the
house before entering.

But having just finished an operation a few
hours ago, he simply chalked the feeling up to frayed nerves and
let it slide. He had no other choice, really, seeing as how he was
currently unarmed.

Besides, if someone was looking to settle an
old score, he’d already be dead. Any professional worth his salt
would have taken him down on neutral ground instead of waiting for
him at his home.

With these thoughts in mind, Kelton took a
deep breath, opened the door and stepped into his house.

Despite all his rationalizing, he
involuntarily held his breath as he crossed the threshold of the
room, exhaling only after a full five seconds of stillness.

The lights were off and the blinds were
pulled down, blocking the light from the street. The only
illumination came from the soft light of the green numbers of the
digital clock on the wall and the dim glow of the streetlights
behind him.

Kelton closed the door and walked directly
into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water
off the shelf, drank half of it, and headed towards his bedroom,
the plastic bottle still in hand.

He had just turned the corner when he saw a
one-inch flame appear in the darkness near the back wall of his
bedroom. The flame illuminated a surprisingly small area for just a
moment, allowing Kelton a brief glimpse of a shadowy, wrinkled face
behind the lighter before it cut out, leaving only the red tip of
cigarette in the darkness.

The red dot grew in intensity and Kelton
heard the soft sniffle of burning paper. A few seconds later a puff
of smoke shot towards the ceiling. Kelton stood silently, waiting
for his visitor to speak.

“Hello Kelton,” said the unmistakable voice
of a life-long smoker. “How are you doing?”

“Better than you, Walter.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

“Beg all you want,” Kelton said. “It won’t
change anything.”

The four-line opening was a long-running
tradition; a rehash of the first exchange they’d ever had, and
they’d used it to greet each other ever since.

“You mind if I turn on a light?” Kelton
said.

“By all means.”

He flipped the light switch and sat down on
the end of the bed. Kelton stared at his old friend’s features;
ringed, deep-set eyes on a wrinkled, gaunt face, small nose, thin
lips, and one side of his mouth turned up in a smirk that said he
always knew more than he was letting on. Walter’s face pegged him
at 80, but his demeanor and vitality spoke of a much younger man.
Kelton had no idea how old he actually was.

“Sorry about all this clandestine crap,”
Walter said. “But things are a bit sketchy right now.”

“No problem,” Kelton said. “Anything less
from you and I would have been disappointed.”

“What’s it been? A year since we last
spoke?”

“About that.”

“Keeping busy, I assume?”

“As always.”

“I’m sure you are,” Walter said. “There’s
plenty of need for a man with your attributes these days.”

“There certainly is,” Kelton said.

Walter took a hit off his smoke. “So, do you
have anything on your plate right now?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Are you looking for something?”

“I’m always looking,” Kelton said.
“Especially if it’s the right thing.”

“Good,” Walter said. “Because I’ve got a job
I need done, and it’s going to take someone that knows what they’re
doing.”

“Then it’s a good thing you got a hold of
me.”

Walter nodded. “Indeed.”

“So tell me about the job.”

“It’s an extraction.”

“Who are the players?”

“A young woman named Jessica Robbins and the
federal government. They took her into custody yesterday
afternoon.”

“And you need me to get her out,” Kelton
said. It wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

Kelton wasn’t surprised. He’d done a few
jobs for Walter over the years and they’d invariably had something
to do with taking something from the government.

“So, what did Jessica do to land herself in
custody with the Feds?”

“Oh, nothing special,” Walter said. “She
just created a vaccine for the AIDS virus and had the nerve to
suggest it should be distributed to people that could actually use
it.”

Kelton’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you
serious?”

Walter nodded. “She was working for a
government-funded company when she came up with it. Once it became
apparent her handlers were going to suppress the vaccine, I
contacted her about helping her get her findings out into the
public sector. After trading emails for about a week, I was able to
convince her that I could help. We set up a face-to-face meeting
for yesterday morning. Unfortunately, she never made it. Her
handlers caught wind of our plan and she was picked up in
transit.”

“How did they figure out what was going
on?”

“I’m not sure,” Walter said. “I assume they
intercepted one of her emails. Last I heard from her, she was
leaving the compound, a couple of hours before our meeting.
Obviously, she never made it. I found out a short time later what
had happened.”

“Where was she taken after they picked her
up?”

“A place up near Mammoth Mountain. It used
to be a federal safe house, but it hasn’t been in the rotation for
a couple of years. Only a select few people even know it still
exists in the system.”