Tanned Hide (2 page)

“
Possibly, but hear me
out--”

“
No. Hell, no,” Trecheon
said, and he pushed the paper and envelope away as if it’d catch
fire at any moment. “I’m putting myself and my business in danger
just looking at these things. This is suicide, Neil. Are you trying
to get yourself killed?”

“
It’s not so bad as all
that,” I growled, glaring at him. “If you’d just hear me
out--”

“
Neil, you’re talking about
going after one of the city’s top mobs. People have died
just
breathing
wrong on these people. And to my knowledge you’ve never
tackled anything bigger than company rivals and ex-boyfriends.
People that talk big, but can’t really back things up. These
people,” he tapped the envelope. “They can back things up. And they
will. You’re on your own.”

“
Will you stop playing the
fatalist for a moment and just listen?” I spat. “I have a plan. You
think I’d tackle this without a plan?”

“
Yes.” Trecheon sneered.
“Because you’re a special kind of crazy.”

He was probably right, but admitting
that would mean admitting defeat. “Damn it, Trecheon, you’re
supposed to be my friend. Can’t you just listen for six
minutes?”

Trecheon pasted both ears back and
narrowed his eyes at me. “Six minutes. That’s all you
get.”

I took a deep breath. “Good. Thanks.”
I pulled the papers out of the envelope and passed a picture to
him. A slim, golden doe with green eyes and silver earrings lining
both ears eyed the camera with a dark suspicion. “My
target.”

“
You’re going after Matron
Fawn,” Trecheon said. “The Draso-damned leader.”

“
Yes.” I shook my head.
“Look, Trech, everyone knows she’s a hard bitch.”

“
For lack of a better
word.”

I snickered. “Yeah. But her three top
underlings, her sisters--”

“
The Triple Danger,”
Trecheon recited. “Her personal hitmen, Neil. Not hired assassins,
but hardened, experienced killers. The sisters’ experiences make us
look like first-day-hires and their morals make us look like we’re
saintly Draso monks.”

“
Shut your damn mouth and
listen for a moment,” I snarled. “Despite their reputation, my
research suggests that they’re wanting to leave the business. They
want to settle down, start their own families, and do so without
the fear of rival mobs. But they won’t as long as Matron Fawn is in
charge. They feel a family obligation to protect her. But there’s
rumors going through the Family that once the Matron is gone,
they’ll disband and settle.” I grinned. “I just want to accelerate
their plans.”

“
And you think they won’t
retaliate if you kill their sister.”

“
I think they won’t know
who did it,” I said. “I’m a relatively unknown assassin, and a
sniper to boot. They won’t even know where to look.”

“
And you need me because. .
.?”

“
I need a spotter,” Neil
said.

“
You want me to sit with
you on some roof, with all my red fur and quills, broadcasting to
the entire Fawn Family that not only do I know you, but I’m helping
you take out their Matron.”

I narrowed my eyes. “No, I want you to
sit at a nearby café, pretend you’re my boss, and yell at me over
the phone. We’ve done it before. That way you can keep your
distance and still give me directions. And you get to yell at
me.”

“
I should be yelling at you
right now,” Trecheon said. “What’s in it for me?”

“
The magic hit.”

“
I don’t want my magic hit
to be the last thing I do on this Earth, Neil.”

Damn it, he was slipping out from
under me. “Trecheon, I need you. I can’t do it without
you.”

“
Well, you’re going to have
to, because I refuse.” He stood up and moved to leave his office.
“Sorry.”

I gripped his shoulder as he walked
by. “Trech, please. I need this.”

“
Don’t call me Trech.” He
brushed my hand off and headed for the door.

I had one more card to pull.
Trecheon’s honor. He doesn’t have a clue that I knew his hidden
weakness, but I knew he felt an obligation to help me. Some promise
he made ages ago to Carter, a fellow soldier from our troop that
went MIA in the War of Eons. I don’t know why he made that promise,
but I was going to milk it for all it was worth. I slid between him
and the door and looked him in the eye.

“
Trecheon. Please. I can’t
do this anymore. I need the magic hit before I go insane.
Please.”

Trecheon narrowed his eyes, and stared
for what seemed like ages, but then sighed. “I’m signing my death
warrant by helping you, aren’t I?”

I grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.
“Thanks, Trecheon. You won’t regret it.”

“
I keep hearing those
words, and every time, I regret it.”

“
Gotta keep that winning
streak,” I said. I slipped a copy of my plan into his hands. He
snatched up the sheet and stuffed it in his pocket, glancing all
around like a kid stealing candy.

“
Neil,” he eyed me. “Don’t
make me regret this. Okay?”

“
You got it, boss man,” I
said with a salute, and headed out the door.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Two

Two weeks later, in battered coveralls and carrying a tool box
and backpack, I approached the Diamond Dust Towers, a ritzy high
rise apartment building downtown. The doorman, a young Asian human,
gave me a strange look, but I smiled as if I belonged
there.

“
Here to fix the AC unit on
the roof,” I said. I held up an official looking piece of paper.
“The one affecting apartment 42?”

The doorman hesitated, but looked over
his guest list. “Name, sir?”

“
Whiskers HVAC Repairs,” I
said pointing at the list. “I got the call yesterday, I should be
there.”

He glanced a moment longer, then
nodded. “Yes, here you are.” He reached behind his tiny podium and
pulled out a card. “Here’s the code for the roof
access.”

“
Awesome.” I pocketed the
card. “Now, I’m working with some dangerous electricity up there.
Can I be assured that none of your lovely residents will be
venturing onto the roof?”

“
They’ll be informed,” the
doorman said.

“
Thank you, my good man,” I
said, taking a bow. “I shan’t be long.” I entered the building and
started climbing the steps of the twenty-five story tall building.
No one took the stairs anymore, so I was fairly confident I
wouldn’t be seen. Gotta limit the witnesses.

The problem with going after a top
notch mob boss was the vagueness they exuded around their person. I
knew the Matron was in the area, doing some sort of business deal,
but the details were hazy. After nearly six months of research, all
I really knew was that she was “downtown” and in one of four
possible buildings in six block area about a mile to a mile and a
half from my perch. It wasn’t ideal for my effective range, but it
was better than nothing.

I got to the roof entrance and tapped
in the code without looking at the card. Six months may not have
given me all the info I needed, but it did give me plenty of time
to drop a courtesy card for Whiskers at the front desk and sabotage
the AC unit for the apartment I needed. Mom had always wanted me to
go into some kind of steady business, but school never settled well
with me, especially after the war. She suggested HVAC instead, and
to please her, I begrudgingly got the certification. Who knew that
it’d make such a great front for my real job?

I walked to the edge of the roof and
sat down the tool kit, frowning. Mom could never know what I was
doing now. It would kill her. HVAC wasn’t great, but at least she
could pretend to be proud of me. She and Dad were never very good
at emotions, so their occasional pleased calls to my business to
ask for help was the closest I ever got to “I love you” as an
adult.

Besides that, they were more focused
on my brother anyway. To be honest, I was too. And who wouldn’t be?
Philip was only six, and as cute as any six-year-old puma could
be.

Mom and Dad had him unexpectedly late
in life, supposedly, long after I had already enlisted and toured
overseas. Part of me always wondered if they had had him
unconsciously as a replacement in case I died in war.

I shuddered. Not a good time for
family thoughts.

I dug through my tool box and pulled
out the components for my high powered Bruugermeiser sniper rifle
and assembled them, willing my mind to focus on the job at hand.
Rifle armature and bolt. Butt stock. Long sniper barrel. Scope.
Bipod. And finally the magazine. Ten rounds of .338 Lapua magnum.
Ten rounds were far too many -- if I didn’t do this in one, I
wouldn’t get a second chance -- but I wanted a full magazine to
balance the thing. After I finished setting up, I checked my watch.
2:34PM. Roughly six minutes until I could expect Trecheon’s
call.

To pass the time, I double checked the
earpiece buried out of sight in my ear, then the tap tracing the
call to apartment 42, then the sabotage job on the AC unit. A
two-minute job if I was quick. I disconnected the electricity,
fixed the part, and dug into my backpack for the last components
needed for this job. A smoke bomb and sound card designed to make
it look like a part of the unit burst. With luck, the smoke and
sound would muffle the sound of the rifle. I embedded the bomb and
card, then walked to the rifle and pressed the tiny trigger
mechanism behind the rifle’s trigger. Satisfied, I settled next to
the gun, checking street names near my four
possibilities.

This was the worst part of being an
assassin. The waiting. My heart raced, no matter how much I told it
to slow down. I nearly jumped when Trecheon’s call went
through.

This is it. No backing
down.
I pressed the earpiece
button.

“
Uh, hello?”

“
Brett Vernon, you simple
minded idiot, where the hell have you been?” Trecheon’s angry voice
came up through the earpiece. I pictured him sitting at the tiny
outdoor café near my target buildings, probably sipping a black
coffee to keep his own nerves down.

I searched his speech for a hint.
Vernon. There was a street named Mt. Vernon. I scanned street names
through the scope, but I needed time.

“
What?”

“
Work, you asshole,”
Trecheon growled. “I haven’t seen you in twelve days.”

Twelve. Floor numbers. That eliminated
two of the buildings. Another second of searching and I found Mt.
Vernon. Both possibilities sat on the street. I needed a cross
street. I eyed the two streets left. Lincoln or Weir. Last names.
Good.

“
Sorry, Mr.
Lincoln.”

“
It’s Weir, you moron,”
Trecheon said, finally narrowing down the building. “Don’t you know
the name of your own employer?”

“
Yes, Mr. Weir,” I
confirmed. “Sorry, I’ve been busy.” I eyed the building. The
farthest one on my list. Of course. This wouldn’t be an easy
hit.

“
Busy doesn’t cut it, son,”
Trecheon said. “You can’t just come and go as you please. I ain’t
running a country club, you know.”

The code words and phrases bounced
around in my brain. “Son” meant small party – limited witnesses.
Restricted comings and goings meant high inner security. Unwanted
guests would not be allowed in. But it was the use of “country
club” that lifted some hope in my chest. Relaxed guests. No one
suspected anything. No rooftop guards. In other words, no one to
check the bullet’s trajectory and pin it on me, at least not if I
got off the roof fast enough.

“
Yes, sir,” I said. “When
should I come in next?”

“
The third,” Trecheon said.
“6PM. I’ve got a hell of a job for you.”

Shit. Third floor, sixth window from
the right, difficult to see. I checked the window, but I didn’t see
anything. “6PM, sir?”

“
Hmm, maybe 5PM,” Trecheon
said. “Six might not give you enough time.”

I checked the fifth window. There she
was. Laughing quietly, sitting in a big plush red chair, drinking a
glass of some variety of mixed drink. Her earrings caught the low
sunlight. “Gotcha.”

“
Don’t be late,” Trecheon
said. “This is your last chance before I just flat out terminate
you.”

“
Yes, sir. Sorry sir.” I
double checked my magazine, tested the relative wind speed,
confirmed my math on the Coriolis effect with my phone, and prayed
the window wouldn’t send the bullet tumbling. One ear pointed
forward and one pointed backward, covering all angles. “I’ll be
there.”

“
You better.” Trecheon hung
up.

I waited a breath, then squeezed the
trigger.

The bullet flew, triggering the smoke
bomb and explosion sounds behind me, successfully muffling the
rifle’s report. The glass window disintegrated in my scope, and
found its mark.

The Matron’s head exploded. Just
exploded. I allowed myself half a heartbeat of disgust and shock
before backing off the rifle.