Noble Intentions: Season Three (13 page)

Jack looked across the way, scope
to his eye, and saw a grin on the face of the guy on the catwalk.

Had someone opened up a bottle of
nitrous oxide, or was Jack missing something?

He adjusted his stare and saw one
of the men behind Thornton reach inside his coat, pull out a gun. The guy took
a quick step forward, placed the barrel of the gun to the back of Thornton’s
head, pulled the trigger.

Two of the Middle Eastern men
flinched to their left, bringing their right arms up to cover their face.
Naseer’s movements were opposite. He flinched right, shielded with his left. A
leftie, Jack figured.

All that remained in the spot where
Thornton had stood was a pink cloud of mist. It hovered in the air before
settling on Thornton’s lifeless body and the surrounding floor.

Naseer straightened, resumed his stance,
looked down. Disgust spread across his face.

“Dammit, my shoes are ruined.”

He doesn’t care about the dead
man
, Jack thought,
only his precious shoes
.

“Well done, Owen,” Naseer said,
nodding to his right. “I didn’t think you’d do it.”

The man on the catwalk rose, headed
toward the ladder.

“I gave you my word,” the man named
Owen said. “You didn’t need that guy up there.”

Naseer shrugged. “I’ve seen men
crap on their word before. Until proven, a man’s word means a little less than
nothing.”

“It means everything with me,
Naseer.”

“Did you ever give your word to
him?” Naseer gestured toward the dead man on the floor.

Owen dropped his head, lowered his
stare toward Thornton’s lifeless body.

“That’s what I thought,” Naseer
said. “Regardless, you’ve demonstrated your loyalty to me.”

Owen nodded. So did the guy next to
him.

“Now, the money?” Naseer said.

“I’ve begun the transfers,” the guy
next to Owen said. “We should have twenty-five percent transferred by noon. The
rest will take a few weeks.”

“Why a few weeks?” Naseer said.

“We don’t want it to look too
suspicious,” the guy said.

“But within two weeks they’ll know
he’s dead.”

“Transfer it all,” Owen said.

“We can’t do that,” the guy said.

“Do you know the codes, Owen?”
Naseer said.

“Yeah.”

Naseer nodded.

Owen spun and shot the other guy in
the forehead. The man stood there for what seemed like two seconds too long.
His wide lifeless eyes locked onto Owen. The horrified expression frozen on his
face. He fell to his knees, then collapsed forward. The pool of blood that
leaked from his forehead merged with that of Thornton’s.

“I knew I was right about you,”
Naseer said.

“What’ll we do about the bodies?”
the guy from the catwalk said as he crossed the floor toward the group in the
middle.

Naseer looked around, his stare
stopping close to Jack. “Those tarps up there.”

An icy chill traveled down the
length of Jack’s sweat covered back. He had nowhere to go. His only option
would be to fight. He pushed the M40 aside in favor of the MP7. Thirty rounds
in three-burst shots. Ten chances at five guys who were likely all armed.

The guy who had been on the catwalk
walked toward the office, veered to the left, climbed the ladder. He walked
toward the metal cage.

“Yafi,” Naseer said.

The man on the catwalk stopped,
placed his left hand on the metal cage, cupped his right hand over his mouth.
“What?”

“Forget the tarps. It’s too risky
to take the bodies. We’re going to burn the place down.”

So Yafi turned and crossed the top
of the office and climbed back down the ladder. He met the other men in the
middle of the room. He and another guy moved the bodies beneath the overhang.
Jack heard what sounded like crates and pallets being tossed around.

Old dry wood. A makeshift funeral
pyre, he figured.

Then Owen left, followed by Naseer
and the rest of the men. The door slammed shut. A clattering sound followed.
Chains drug through welded-on door handles. A heavy clicking sound reverberated
through the warehouse.

Jack realized he’d been locked
inside the warehouse. He strapped the MP7 across his chest, tucked the M9
pistol in his waistband, held the M40 rifle in his left hand. There were two
ways off the platform. The catwalk and a fast drop. He chose the drop. Quicker
was better. He turned and let his legs slide off. He placed the rifle on the
edge and lowered himself. Eight feet of emptiness remained between his feet and
the floor. He reached over the top and grabbed the rifle, then dropped to the
ground with bent knees. He rolled to his right, came to a stop and rested on
his back. Pain lingered in his left knee and both ankles. His lower back felt
like a weight bore down on it. He sat up, turned his head. Behind him were the
bodies hastily covered in flammable materials.

He waited for the smoke and the
flames. The warehouse remained dim and dusty and quiet. He took a chance and
forced one of the windows open. The window was practically glued shut by years
of dust and grime. After a minute of struggle, it gave way an inch. The sounds
of industry at work flooded in. He rose up, peeked through, saw no one. He
tried the door, which, as he suspected, bent but did not give. Chains rattled
as he pushed. The men must have planned to return later to set the place
ablaze.

It made sense. The best option was
late at night. It’d be dark and semi-deserted. The fire would have time to
spread and do the damage they needed it to do.

Jack returned to the window, took
one last look around the warehouse and stared at the pile of kindling atop two
lifeless bodies. Jack noticed Thornton’s Breitling Chronomat. Stainless steel
case and band, blue dial, black sub-dials. A good looking timepiece. It easily
cost eight thousand dollars. Jack pulled it off the dead man’s wrist and
stuffed it in his pocket. He’d let Dottie decide what to do with it. Then he
found each man’s wallet, removed their identification and money and credit
cards. He tossed the empty wallets on the bodies and replaced the wood he had
moved.

“Good riddance,” he said as he
turned away.

He hid the M40 in the corner behind
an undisturbed pallet, then he forced the window open a few feet and climbed
through. The soles of his shoes hit the street with a heavy thud. He looked
left, turned right, began walking.

Three hours later Jack stood in the
middle of the road two blocks north of Dottie’s house. He stepped to the front
of the cab, handed the driver four ten pound notes and thanked him for the
ride.

By this point, there were a few
things Jack had accepted as fact.

Mason had known why Jack was in
town. If the guy had a part in what Jack had just witnessed, then he might be
waiting for him at Dottie’s. The guy might have even tied up any loose ends
there. In fact, Dottie had told Jack not to return to the house. She wanted him
to stay at a hotel. She’d feared for their safety from the beginning. Why take
such a risk? Thornton had already placed himself on a bad path, one that led to
his death without any intervention.

The house stood on the east side of
the street. Jack walked on the west. He passed by, not too fast and not too
slow. He glanced over every few steps. The semi-circle driveway appeared to be
empty, but high hedges blocked part of it. The house appeared empty too, at
least from what he could see. The drapes were drawn, the windows closed. After
he passed the property, he crossed the street and turned left, then left again,
placing him on the street that ran parallel behind the house. He recalled that
the lot behind Dottie’s had been vacant. Nothing but trees. The dense woods
offered plenty of cover. Every step Jack took, he veered to his left a little
until he found his elbow rubbing against a tree. He took one quick look to his
left, then vanished into the wooded area.

The woods were thick, but the
ground manicured and free from roots and shrubs. The air smelled sweet,
naturally so from trees and flowers in bloom. He jogged a couple hundred feet
and came to a stop ten feet from the edge of the woods. He pulled the scope
from his pocket and put it up to his right eye. The windows were shut, but the
blinds and drapes were open. The bedrooms appeared empty. The living room, too.
He checked each kitchen window, expecting to see Dottie and Leon at the table
or by the coffee maker. But they weren’t there.

No one was.

Please tell me they got out in
time
.

He took a few steps forward, hid behind
a thick oak, closed his eyes and listened. Heard a lawn mower off in the
distance. Children playing. A dog barking. Wind chimes blown into motion by the
light warm breeze that brushed Jack’s face with air carrying the fragrance of
cherry blossoms. Nothing out of the ordinary. And that was good enough for
Jack.

He crossed the lawn and climbed the
stairs to the door that opened up across from the kitchen table. He turned the
knob, surprised to find it unlocked.

“Hello?” he called through the two
inch opening. A risk, for sure. Mason or one of his men could be inside. He
figured it better to draw the wolf out from its den rather than to walk right
into it.

There was no response.

He pushed the door open and stepped
into the kitchen. It smelled of disinfectant with a hint of lemon. The coffee
pot was empty, the maker disassembled, a stack of brown filters neatly set to
the side.

“Hello?” he called again.

And again, no response.

Then he saw something that he was
certain hadn’t been there before. A teddy bear atop the kitchen table. Brown
and ragged and dressed in a pair of blue overalls. Dottie didn’t have kids of
her own, so it didn’t belong to a grandchild. He didn’t take Leon to be a
father, not with the dedication he showed to Dottie. Maybe he’d been wrong.
Maybe it belonged to one of the maids’ kids.

He continued through the house with
a plan to check each room. He didn’t get past the base of the stairs, though. A
car pulled into the driveway and stopped by the front door. The windows were
covered, so he couldn’t tell who was out there. He shut his eyes, listened,
heard a man speaking, then a woman. Dottie and Leon, he supposed.

There was the sound of a key
turning a lock, then the cracking of an old door that sticks in the frame,
warped after decades expanding and contracting.

Dottie walked in first.

“Jack?” she said. “What are you
doing here?”

“I wanted to tell you in person.”

Dottie’s gaze dropped an inch or
two, she turned her head. Jack thought he saw the beginnings of a tear or two.

Leon walked in behind her.

“What are you doing here, Jack?”

“Beginning to feel unwanted,” Jack
said.

“You shouldn’t have come here,”
Dottie said, her voice shaky. “What if someone followed you?”

“Between Leon and myself, are you
really worried about a couple guys showing up here?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

Jack heard two more voices, both
female, one recognizable. Dottie took a step back, reached behind and closed
the door. Jack looked over her shoulder, wondered who was out there.

“So tell me, how did it go down?”
Dottie said, strong and in control. She leaned back against the door. Leon
stood by her side, grabbed her hand. She gripped his so hard her knuckles
turned white.

“I didn’t have to do anything.”

“What?”

“His own guy shot him from behind
then offed the third guy in their group.”

“Who?” Leon said. “What did he look
like?”

“I can do better than that. I know
his name.”

No one spoke for a few seconds.

“Owen,” Jack said.

“Son of a bitch,” Leon said. “Why?”

“They were meeting in a warehouse
with Naseer, Yafi, and a couple others. Thornton was trying to prove he had the
biggest balls in the room. Didn’t work out so well for him. Best I can tell,
Owen and Naseer were working together before this happened. It wasn’t a spur of
the moment thing. It was premeditated.”

“Was it quick?” Dottie asked.

Jack nodded, added, “Painless. Dead
before he hit the ground. Never saw it coming.”

Dottie’s expression didn’t change.

“Did you want it otherwise?” Jack
said.

She didn’t reply.

“Same thing for the other guy,
although he saw it coming. Thornton was in the back of the head, the other guy
was between the eyes.”

Leon shook his head. Dottie wiped a
tear from her cheek, the only one that fell.

“One more thing,” Jack said.

“Yes?” Dottie said.

“Mason Sutton. You know him?”

“What about him?” Dottie said.

But Jack didn’t reply. He didn’t
speak because the door opened and a memory walked in.

And she looked more beautiful than
Jack remembered.

“Jack,” she said.

“Erin,” Jack said.

“Shit,” Dottie said.

“Dottie,” Leon said. “Come with
me.”

Dottie looked between Jack and
Erin, shook her head, said, “Shit,” again. Then, she allowed Leon to pull her
toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Erin
said.

Jack took a step forward. He wanted
to smell her, touch her, make sure she was real. Her hair was darker than the
dirty blond it had been seven years ago. Her eyes were still green, lips still
full. She looked better than she did back then, more mature, in a good way.

“I…” The words wouldn’t form.

“Auntie Dottie called you up, did
she?”

Jack nodded.

“Not about me, I hope.”

Jack shook his head, unable to
break the stare.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,
Jack.” A smile, quick and playful, danced on her face.

“I never thought I’d see you again.
Not after the way things ended.”