Young Love Murder (23 page)

Exiting the stall, I check my appearance in the mirror above the sinks. I’m wearing a black wig with bangs, black sunglasses, brown leather jacket with fur lining and brown leather gloves. The cold winter day in Dublin is a valid excuse for the gloves, which will ensure that no fingerprints are left behind. The old-fashioned pub doesn’t have surveillance cameras, but the wig and sunglasses help to hide my features from anyone sober and in possession of a good memory.

I don’t feel entirely clearheaded after drinking five shots of whiskey, but I’m anxious to get the job done. I’ve tried to keep myself busy over the past two months with work. Idle time leads to thinking about things that are better left in the past. Two months in the past. Killing Xavier Sanchez last November seems like a lifetime ago. 

I grip the porcelain sink and shake away thoughts from the past that are trying to intrude on my present. My plan is to follow Doyle and his criminal comrades to the car they have parked in the alley behind the pub, where I’ll pull the trigger. Maybe I should hold off on the kill and plant a bomb under his car. Seems like a more exciting way for Doyle and Walsh to die. Despite being a tad drunk, I don’t feel very relaxed. I feel anxious and wound up. Closing my eyes, I roll my neck back in an effort to relieve some of the tension. It’s doesn’t work.

Gabriel’s face flashes through my mind and pain viciously stabs my heart. Grinding my teeth, I reach back to grip my gun. The action soothes me, gives me a sense of control. It doesn’t last long. 

I can hear Gabriel’s voice in my head as we made love for the first time,
‘I love you, Anna’.
Then I hear his bitter last words to me,
‘
I hate you so much that it’s killing all the love I had for you'
. Remembering, my heart dies all over again.

I grip the gun handle so tightly that it causes my hand pain. The comfort from the action fades. My other hand is still gripping the sink in front of me. I pull the gun out of the holster and use the back of my hand holding the gun to push my sunglasses up and wipe away my tears at the same time. 

My pain turns into anger. It’s the only way to cope. Anger at myself for hurting Gabriel. Anger at Gabriel for not believing me when I told him that his dad was a monster. Anger at Xavier for being a monster and forcing me to kill him. Anger at all monsters for making my job a necessary evil. Anger for having to be born into this existence. If I’m forced to feel anything, anger is the easiest to deal with. Anger, I can control. 

Clenching my teeth, I tap the barrel of the gun against my forehead, trying to force Gabriel out of my head. I feel impatient and panicky. I need another shot. I need action. 

Clicking the safety off I turn on my heel to barge out of the bathroom, re-entering the crowded pub. Instead of passing by Doyle’s table again, I stop in front of it and let off four shots. Down drops one dead crime ring leader, one dead right-hand man and two dead thugs. As I pass by the shocked bartender on my way out, I reach over the counter for the bottle of Irish whiskey he was pouring for me earlier. 

Using my back to push the heavy front door open while leaning my head back, I take a drink straight from the bottle. Walking out onto the street, right before the pub door closes, I hear a woman scream and men shouting. 

You’re welcome
, I silently tell the world.  

Gabriel

Miami, Florida - February 14th

Happy Fuckin’ Valentine’s Day. Max insisted on taking me clubbing to cheer me up and get my mind off of my missing girlfriend for a while.
Bad idea.
I met her at this very same club. At least I’ve got the good sense to get drunk. Maybe by the end of the night I won’t remember my name, let alone
hers.
Or how much I wish she’d been real.

It’s been over three months and both the police and the private investigators that I’ve hired have come up with nada. It’s like she never existed. Of course, I know better than that. She felt pretty damn real to me. If she’d never existed, then my life wouldn’t be so screwed up. I haven’t told anyone about what really happened the night my father was killed. The night that heartless bitch destroyed my world and tore out my heart in the process. 

At the club, Max and I meet two chicks I’m contemplating taking back to my house. It’s not like my mom will care since she’s all drugged up on prescription meds. Anti-depressants, pain killers, you name it, she takes it. She’s like a fucking zombie nowadays. I lost both my parents that night in November.

The few times she’s been coherent enough to have an actual conversation, I’ve tried talking to her about my dad. She swears up and down that she has no idea why anyone would want him dead. That he was a legitimate and honest businessman, a good man. Then she breaks down and takes more pills until she can’t think anymore. Funny, I’m using alcohol for the same thing tonight.

Aunt Lucy has taken over my dad’s business interests until I’m old enough to run the companies on my own. She says the same things my mom does about my dad, that he was a good and caring man. My relationship with him wasn’t what I would call good or bad. Sure, I didn’t see him much growing up because he was always traveling on business, but when he was around, he was a good father. If he was some sort of drug lord criminal someone would have known about it.

So, here I am on Valentine’s Day, sitting across from Max at a booth in the VIP section, while some chicks we just met draw out lines of cocaine and start snorting away. Nice. They look up at us with expectant looks on their faces. One of them holds out the rolled up dollar bill for our use.

Max waves his hand in a gesture of refusal and takes another drink of his beer. I stare at the lines of white powder for a moment then, with a shrug, accept the rolled up dollar bill, leaning over to snort a line. Why the fuck not? When I straighten back up, Max has a look of disapproval on his face. I don’t care, because I can already feel the high coming on.
Nice, really nice.
 

One of the girls moves closer and starts kissing my neck. I could really care less which one. I feel better than I have in months. The depressing feelings are being pushed aside by a feeling of euphoria. I smile at Max and he looks mildly surprised. Guess I probably haven’t done that in a while. There hasn’t been much to smile about.

“Let’s go to your place.” The girl lifts her face up to mine and kisses me on the mouth. 

Great idea.
“Okay.” I look at Max. “We’re going to my house, wanna come?”

Max looks unsure, but finally shrugs and says, “Why the hell not?”

As we exit the booth and the club, I take my first good look at the girls we’re with. They’re both attractive enough. The one that was all over me is a pretty blonde, my old type. Yes, I think this is exactly what I need. I haven’t gotten laid since Anna. I think it’s time to get back in the game. I can’t sit around for the rest of my life obsessing about finding her. When the time comes I’ll deal with her. But for tonight, I’ll use this girl to forget her. Oh, I
will
find her, no doubt, but until then, why shouldn’t I have a little fun? After all, I deserve it.

By the time we get to my house forty-five minutes later, my high is fading fast. Our dates are starting to get on my nerves and Max seems moody while security pats down the girls for weapons in the driveway. He pulls me to the side, a few feet away from our company. “Gabriel, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” I give him a bemused expression.

“Bringing girls back to your house like this?”

“You never had a problem with me bringing chicks home before.” And I highly doubt these two coke whores are assassins like Anna.

“That was before Anna. I mean, she was kidnapped. She could still be alive out there somewhere and it just feels like you’re cheating on her.” Max looks so earnest in his defense of Anna that I want to laugh. I don’t, that would raise questions I’m not ready to answer.

Irritatingly, it kind of feels that way to me too. Although my brain tells me that I owe the bitch nothing, my heart says differently. My heart is too stupid to know when it’s been ripped out. The imbecilic organ just keeps on beating for her anyways, each thump a syllable of her name.

I’ve never told anyone, not even Max, that Anna wasn’t really abducted by the supposed masked murderer. I’ve never told him that Anna
is
the murderer. I suspect that Max still has a thing for her, but isn’t suffering the misery of loving her. He thinks of her as a damsel in distress, just his type.

A part of me wants to tell him the truth. I don’t know why I don’t. I guess I just feel like the knowledge is between me and Anna, our filthy little secret. I’ll deal with her myself without others’ interference. Don’t want to risk anyone notifying the police of her involvement before I get the privilege of choking the life out of her. 

Max has a pained look on his face, whispering sadly, “Just say the word, man, and I’ll go looking for her with you.”

“Where?” I scoff. “I have investigators on it and the police are conducting their own search. Don’t worry, Cuz, the moment she’s located, I’ll be on a plane to get her.”
Kill her,
but I keep that comment to myself.

Max gives me an odd look. Perhaps the wording of that statement wasn’t what he would expect from a grieving and distressed boyfriend. But that isn’t what I am. I’m a man scorned. I laugh to myself and Max gives me another odd look. 

Shrugging, I turn back to where security has finishing with patting down the giggling coke-heads. “Do they look smart enough to commit murder?” I bark at one of the security men. 

He looks up at me from where he’s kneeling on the ground. “Are they on something?”

I paste a shocked expression on my face. “What are you trying to imply?”

He stands up, rolling his eyes. “Never mind.” 

I turn on my heel and walk up the steps to the front door. My high is just about gone and I’m over caring if anyone joins me at this point. The girls
ooh
and
aah
at the opulence of my family’s home. Not that we can be called a ‘family’ anymore. It’s more like a prescription drug-addicted mother and her bitter teenage son.

Making my way up the staircase to my room, I announce, “This is my room,” to the girls. Max takes a seat in front of the television. 

“Wow. Your room is the size of my entire apartment,” the blonde says. 

“Um, okay. Sucks for you, I guess.” Turning on some music, I sit down in an armchair near Max. 

The brunette goes to sit by Max and the blonde gets right to business, straddling me. We start making out and, out of the corner of my eye, I can see Max and miss brunette doing the same thing. Feels like junior high all over again. Pulling away from the chick’s eager tongue, I shoot Max a look that tells him to get lost. He takes the hint and leads his girl out of the room, probably to the guest bedroom he sleeps in sometimes. 

The blonde and I start getting hot and heavy. Her taste and scent are wrong. I close my eyes and see Anna’s face, imagine she’s the one making those needy noises. Why the hell not? Leaving my eyes closed, the girl on my lap starts fumbling with the zipper on my pants while kissing my neck. “Anna,” I murmur. 

The blonde makes a bitchy sound that only the most irritating of bitches can make. “My name is
not
Anna,” she hisses.

Leaning my head back against the headrest, so she can see my condescending expression, I tell her, “You should probably get the fuck off me then.”

She looks shocked, opens her mouth as if to say something and then closes it again. Jumping off of me like my crotch is on fire, she marches to the door. Before slamming it shut, she yells, “Asshole!”

So. The fuck. What?

Max enters the room less than five minutes later. “I’m taking the girls home.”

“Good riddance,” I mutter. 

He looks unsure. “
Okay
, anyways, think about what I said. I know the private investigators and the police are searching for Anna, but when we graduate in a few months we can start looking on our own.”