Storm Surge

"Oh,"
said Luigi, reposefully, "I don't mind it. I killed the man for good
reasons, and I don't regret it."

"What
were the reasons?"

"Well,
he needed killing."

-Mark Twain,
Pudd'nhead
Wilson

Man plans,
God laughs.

-Jewish
Proverb

This is a work
of fiction. All places, people and events portrayed herein are products of the
author's imagination. No resemblance to any actual persons living or dead is
intended or should be inferred.

CHAPTER ONE

Chernov
regarded the dead bodyguard on the
floor in front of him and sighed. He looked up into the barrel of the gun
pointed at him.

“How many?” he
asked.

“Excuse me?”
Mercer asked.

“How many of
my men did you kill to get to this point?”

A
slight pause.
“It’s good that you care.”

Chernov’s
lips drew taut. “Some of those men
were family.”

“Five,” Mercer
said. “I’m sorry.”

“Really?”

This time, the
answer came back without hesitation. “Yes,” Mercer said. “None of this had to
happen.”

“You’re wrong.
Everything here was inevitable.”

”Nothing is
inevitable. Everything is a matter of choice.”

Chernov
noticed the slowly spreading red
stain at Mercer’s left side. “Looks like one of them at least managed to get a
shot off.”

Mercer didn’t
look down. “It’ll heal.
Just a graze.”

“Maybe you’re
slowing down.”

“Not enough to
make a difference.”
Chernov
didn’t answer. “My offer
still stands,” Mercer said.

Chernov
looked up, a glimmer of hope in his
eyes. “Even after….?”

Mercer nodded.
“Even after.”

Chernov
stared into Mercer’s eyes. “You’re a
strange man, Mercer.”

“Not really. I
think I’ve come up with a pretty good solution to our mutual problems.”

Chernov
shook his head,
then
shrugged.
“Agreed, then.”

Mercer nodded,
sealing the deal. “I’ll need the pictures.”

Chernov
hesitated.

“He needs to
know.”

“Yes. Okay.”
Chernov
took an envelope out of his desk drawer and handed
it over. Mercer took
it,
put it in his jacket pocket
without a word. He nodded once, then left, stepping over the bodyguard’s corpse
on his way out the door.

***

The client was
a short, ugly man with bad skin and thinning hair. He fumbled nervously for a
cigarette. “So,” he said, “it’s done?”

Mercer sat
across the table from him, a glass of water in front of him.

“Man,” the
client said. “
Whod’ve
thought you’d end up taking
down Alexi
Chernov
?”

“I suppose you
did,” Mercer said. “Would’ve been nice if
youd’ve
told me he was the one after you when you hired me.”

The client put
the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He looked at Mercer appraisingly. “Would
you have taken the job?”

Mercer
shrugged. “I would have charged more.”

“Well, now
he’s dead, I guess you got a bonus coming.”

“Oh, I didn’t
kill him.”

The man looked
stunned. “What?”

“The deal was
,
I protected you from him. I did what I said. He won’t
bother you anymore.”

The client was
becoming agitated. “Bullshit. You think you scared him off?” he said, his voice
rising. “Are you crazy?”

“No. I didn’t
scare him. We made an arrangement.”

Comprehension
dawned in the client’s eyes. He tried to stand, but Mercer had his gun out
before he was halfway there. “Sit down. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The client sat
down. His hands shook until he put them on the table.
“Son of
a bitch.
He bought you off.”

“Barry,”
Mercer said. “Don’t insult me.
Chernov
hasn’t paid me
a dime.” He took the envelope out of his jacket pocket with his free hand and
shoved it across the table. “You also didn’t tell me the truth about why he was
trying to kill you.”

The client
looked at the envelope. He picked it up, felt what was inside. His hands began
to shake again.

“Go ahead,”
Mercer said. “Open it.”

“Look, I can
explain,” the client said. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Open it,”
Mercer said again. “And spread the photographs in front of you.” The man didn’t
move. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Mercer said.

The client
took the photographs out of the envelope and spread them on the table. He
didn’t look at them.

“I don’t blame
you for not wanting to see them again,” Mercer said. “They’re hard to look at.”
The client didn’t answer.

“Barry,”
Mercer said, “
this
business...it's tough on people. If
you're not careful, it can turn you into something you don't want to be.”

“I can
explain,” Barry said, more weakly this time.

“You've got to
have rules to live by, Barry. You have to have some kind of a code. Otherwise,
you're just another dumb killer.
An animal.
Don't you
agree?”

A glimmer of
defiance flashed in Barry's eyes. “I guess.
Since you've got
the gun and all.”

“Yeah,” Mercer
said. “I do. And I'm good with it.
Which is why you hired me.
But I also have some rules about using it.
Like I told you at
the beginning.
Remember?”

Barry just
nodded.

“I don't know
if you do, Barry,” Mercer said. “Why don't you tell me?”

“Well, for one
thing, you said you never went back on a contract.”

Mercer nodded.
“And that's part of my problem, Barry. What else?”

Barry shook
his head. Sweat was beading on his forehead. “I don't remember.”

Mercer sighed.
“I guess not. You only remember what benefits you, am I right?”

Barry's voice
trembled. “Why don't you just get it over with, Mercer?”

“Because
I want you to understand, Barry.
I don't want you to die thinking you got sold out for money. I want you to know
that you brought it on yourself. And how.”

“Why?” Barry's
voice cracked.

Mercer smiled.
“Because it'll hurt more that way.
So let me remind
you of the rules I set out. I don't kill anyone who doesn't need killing.”

“Yeah,” Barry
said. “And who gets to decide that?”

“I do. I'm the
only one I trust.”

“So what, you
think you're God now?”

“No. I don't
think God would have the kind of dilemma I have.” He gestured down at the
photographs spread on the table. “Look at what you did, Barry. You beat her to
death. You killed her with your bare hands.”

Barry looked
up defiantly. “And I’d do it again. Bitch was cheating on me.”

“Yes. Did you
also know she was pregnant?”

“That’s how I
knew she was screwing around. Ten years ago, after I was married, I got a
vasectomy. She was pregnant, it wasn’t by me.”

“I know,”
Mercer said.
“Doesn’t mean you had to kill her.
Or
Chernov’s
unborn child.”

Barry went
white. “It was…” he stopped.

“Yeah.
Like I said, Barry, there was a lot
you didn’t tell me. I don’t like being kept in the dark. But I wasn’t going to
go back on my word. And there was the problem. You clearly need killing here,
Barry. But we had a deal. So when I found out the real truth, why
Chernov
was after you, I made
him
an offer.” Mercer
sighed. “He didn’t believe me at first. There was a lot of totally unnecessary
bloodshed before he agreed that what I was proposing was a reasonable way out
of our problem.” He stood up. The gun never wavered.

“Please,”
Barry said. “Don’t.”

“See, Barry,
I’d promised to keep you safe. Then it occurred to me. The word I gave was that
I'd keep you safe from the people who were trying to kill you. I didn’t say
anything about keeping you safe from me.”

Barry leaped
up, tried to turn and run. Mercer shot him once, the bullet striking his temple
and spinning him the rest of the way around. He walked over. Barry was shaking
and twitching on the floor. Mercer stood watching as the convulsions slowed, then
stopped. There was no question the man was dead. Not with that much of his head
gone. He wouldn't need a second shot. Mercer took out a handkerchief and wiped
his prints off the gun. He leaned over and wrapped Barry's fingers around it.
There’d be no gunshot residue on the weapon, but maybe no one would look too
hard after they saw the pictures on the table. With a little luck, whoever
investigated would decide that the man had killed himself in a fit of remorse
over what he’d done, and good riddance. Mercer left, stepping over his former
client’s body as he did so.

The next day,
Mercer was enjoying a late lunch in a favorite diner when he looked up to see
two men in long back coats coming in. They looked around as they wiped their
wet, snow covered feet on the mat, scanning the few people there. Their eyes
came to rest on Mercer. He was reaching for the pistol in the briefcase beside
him when he saw
Chernov
standing behind them, holding
a briefcase of his own. He relaxed. There wouldn't be any killing with
Chernov
in the room. He always kept several layers of
people between himself and the killing.
At least in public.
The two men took a nearby booth and
Chernov
slid in
opposite Mercer.

“Shame about
Barry,” he said.

“Not really.”

Chernov
gave him a tight smile. “You’re
right.” The waitress came.
Chernov
ordered coffee.
Mercer asked for the check.

“You have put
me in an awkward position,”
Chernov
said.

“Sorry.”

“I am in your
debt,”
Chernov
went on.
“Very much
in your debt.
But one of the men you killed getting to me was my
sister’s youngest son.”

“He didn’t
leave me much choice.”

“No doubt, no
doubt. But you see my problem.”

“I do. You're
caught between two different rules.
Just like I was.”

Chernov
sighed. “Always with you it is
rules.”
“You know I'm right,” Mercer said. “One rule says you have to kill me for what
I did to your sister's boy. Another says you have to let me live because of
what I did to Barry. If you weren't a man who lives by rules, you wouldn't be
sitting here scowling at me. I'd either be dead or you'd ignore me.”

“Your problem,
Mercer, is that you think you can make up your own rules. It doesn’t work like
that.”

“It’s worked
pretty well so far.”

“So
far.”

“So, what
solution have you come up with? I'm interested.”

Chernov
sipped his coffee. “Have you ever
considered retirement, Mercer?”