The Assassin's Prayer (15 page)

Cobb
snorted. “Who you calling old, missy? Kain, drag your scrawny little butt into
that cabin right this instant, ‘cause you and me are gonna have ourselves an
honest-to-God arm-wrestling contest so I can prove to this sassy-mouthed granddaughter
of mine that I can whup your ass any day of the week and three times on
Sunday.”

Kain
had retrieved the duffel bag from the truck while listening to Larissa and
Cobb’s good-natured banter. He now slung it over his shoulder and joined them
on the walkway. “Think I’ll pass on that, Matt,” he said. “You scare me too
much.”

In
the trees nearby, an owl hooted. Deeper in the woods, some sort of prey
screamed as it fell to a predator in the continual cycle of life and death. Out
here, existence was reduced to its simplest form, and Kain found that soothing.
A slight breeze stirred the pine needles above them. Kain knew better than to
let his guard down, but maybe they had found a place they could actually rest
for a few days.

Cobb
put his arm around Larissa’s shoulders and guided her back to the cabin. “Hear
that, Lissy? Kain says I scare the piss outta him. Smart man.”

Grinning,
Kain followed them into the cabin. Cobb really had gone hermit, stripping away
the trappings of civilization. The floor was nothing but bare boards covered
with a couple of cheap throw rugs. The walls were stuffed with pink insulation
held up by a few strategically-placed sheets of wood-grain paneling. An ancient
wood stove squatted in the corner, a rickety table and a couple of
straight-backed chairs occupied the center of the room, and a gas stove and slop
sink took up most of the west wall. Gas lamps hung here and there, copper
tubing snaking along the exposed rafters. A half-wall with a doorway cut into
it separated the kitchen/living area from Cobb’s bedroom—or what passed for a
bedroom in this ramshackle lodge.

“The
Taj Mahal it ain’t,” Cobb said, “but I call it home. Got a couple of gas tanks
out back for the lights and stove. There ain’t no plumbing—sink just drains out
under the cabin—so if you feel the need to bleed your bladder, you’ll have to
take a walk; outhouse is on the other side of the road.” He deposited Larissa
in a battered arm chair next to the wood stove, then turned to Kain. “Of
course, you and I bein’ males and all, we can just step out on the porch and
let it hang over the side. Nature is our urinal, ya know? But don’t let me
catch you asking Larissa to give you a hand, if you know what I mean.”

“Grampy!”
Larissa’s cheeks flushed red.

Kain
just shook his head and smiled. Cobb was a real piece of work and he would
never change. “I think I can handle things myself, Matt.”

“You
want to handle your thing yourself, that’s your business. Just make sure you
clean up after yourself.” Cobb headed for the stove, his step spry and lively;
he looked like a wizened old leprechaun. “Now, while I whip us up some java, you
go ahead and tell me just what brings you two all the way out here.”

Kain
gave him the bare-bones version, sticking to the basics. By the time Cobb
fetched some mugs from the cupboard over the sink and filled them with
fresh-brewed coffee, Kain had brought him up to speed. He omitted the part
where Larissa had confessed that she had never stopped loving him. He didn’t
figure it was any of Cobb’s business and besides, it wasn’t something he really
wanted to think about right now.

Cobb
set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Kain. “Hope you like it black,” he
said, “because I’m all out of cream and sugar. Need to take a trip into town
and fetch some grub pretty soon.” He put a cup in Larissa’s hands, then sat
down at the table across from Kain. “One thing you should know. That Frank
Giadello scumbag you mentioned? He’s dead.”

“How
do you know?”

Cobb
pointed at a small battery-operated radio sitting on a pine plank shelf. “Heard
it on the evening news. They’re speculating it was some kind of gangland
rivalry, one crime family taking out another. They nailed Giadello right in
front of his house, just outside the gates. Took out two bodyguards and then
proceeded to put some serious killing into him. News report said he was hit by
over twenty bullets, so somebody really wanted him dead.”

“Rene
Perelli,” Larissa said.

Kain
nodded. “Sounds like she finally got some payback.”

“And
then some,” Cobb said. “So you can scratch him off your list of worries.”

“You
catch the names of the two bodyguards?”

“Yeah,
uh, just give me a minute.” Cobb’s brow wrinkled for a few moments, then he
snapped his fingers. “Torlini,” he said. “Andrew, maybe? Can’t think of the
other guy’s name, but I’m pretty sure it was French or something like that.”

“Jean-Luc?”

“Yeah,
that’s it. Jean-Luc.”

Kain
leaned back in his chair. Hard to imagine Jean-Luc dead; the big guy had seemed
almost unkillable. But it was just as well, because the bond of brotherhood
between Jean-Luc and Pierre had been deep and once Jean-Luc found out Kain had
blown his brother’s head off, he would have stopped at nothing to have his
revenge. Which meant Kain would have had to put a bullet in him. Better that
his blood had been shed by strangers.

Kain
leaned forward again, hands wrapped around his cup of coffee, the chipped porcelain
warm against his palms. “So Silas is still alive.”

“You
don’t know that,” Cobb countered. “From what you told me, there’s a good chance
he’s worm food by now. And even if he is alive, you took out his eye, for god’s
sake.”

“All
the more reason for him to come looking for me.” Kain watched a moth, drawn by
the light, thump against the window, beating its powdery wings to tatters
against the glass.

“He
really hate you that much?” Cobb asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“When
it comes to me and Silas,” Kain said, “hate might not be a strong enough word.”

 Cobb
set his cup back down on the table. “Been my experience that there comes a time
in every man’s life when he has to bury the past so he can face the future.”

Kain’s
eyes automatically went to Larissa, but he didn’t even let the thought take
hold. His fingers tightened around his cup. “Tell you what,” he said to Cobb.
“I’ll think about burying the past right after I bury Silas.”

Cobb’s
eyes narrowed. “If you think vengeance will make you feel better, you’re a fool,
Kain.”

“It’s
not about vengeance,” Kain said. “It’s about justice. It’s about tipping the
scales back.”

“Bullshit!
Don’t play word games with me, boy. You and I both know that the day you put a
bullet in Silas’ face the only thing that’ll be on your mind is revenge. You
call it whatever you want so you can sleep better at night, but it won’t change
the fact that killing Silas is about cold, hard vengeance. Nothing more. And
certainly not anything as noble as justice or the damn scales.”

“And
why shouldn’t I have my vengeance?” Kain said hotly. “I’ve killed for the government.
I’ve killed for money. So why shouldn’t I kill for my own reasons?”

“I
never said you wouldn’t have your vengeance,” Cobb replied. “I just said it
won’t make you feel any better.”

“Only
one way to find out.”

“Enough,”
Larissa interjected. “I didn’t come all the way out here to listen to you two
bicker. Travis, we need to get your head stitched up or you’ll have one nasty
scar.”

Kain
and Cobb stared at each other across the table. Not in animosity, but mutual
respect, each trying to understand the other. Kain knew the old man meant well,
but he didn’t have all the facts, didn’t understand just how deeply Silas had
betrayed him. To Kain, the thirst for vengeance was as natural as breathing, a
dark impulse deeply rooted in his heart and soul. He could no more let it go
than he could lop off his own leg.

Cobb
ended the moment by standing up, going to the sink, and pouring the remains of
his coffee down the drain. “Well,” he said, “I think I’ll get out of here and
leave you two alone. If you don’t mind, I’ll take Joe’s truck.” He chuckled. “Guy
loves that Dodge. Maybe I’ll tell him I found it dumped in the woods. He’ll be
so happy to have it back, he’ll probably give me a reward. There’s a beat-up
old Toyota out back if you need it for some reason, but she runs cranky when
she’s cold.”

“Grampy,”
Larissa said, “what are you talking about? There’s no reason for you to leave.
Stay here with us.”

As
usual, Cobb pulled no punches when speaking his mind. “I’m getting out of here
for a couple of reasons. For starters, like I said, I need to fetch some
groceries, so I can get that business taken care of in the morning. I’m friends
with Joe and when I bring him back his beloved truck, he’ll let me stay at the
motel tonight for nothing, so don’t sweat it. But most importantly, unless I’m
seriously mistaken—which I usually ain’t—I think some time alone would do you
two a world of good.”

“Matt,”
Kain said, “it’s not like that.”

Cobb
snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, kid, and maybe one of these days you’ll
actually start to believe it. Now, where are the keys?”

“Grampy,”
Larissa said, “you can’t be serious.”

Kain
knew better than to argue with Cobb once the old man’s mind was made up. “Keys are
in the ignition. Can I give you some money for groceries?”

“You
insult me by trying to give me money,” Cobb retorted, “and you’ll know how it
feels to have a bunch of dead presidents stuffed up your tailpipe.” He went
over and pecked Larissa on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lissy. Try
not to give Kain too much of a hard time, huh? He’s not that bad a guy.”

Larissa
smiled, apparently resigned to the fact that Cobb was leaving for the night. “Don’t
worry, Grampy,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I know he’s not.”

Cobb
shrugged into a light jacket and exited the cabin with a final wave. Kain
locked the door behind him and watched out the window as Cobb made his way to
the Dodge Ram, which started immediately. The headlights punched through the
darkness as Cobb deftly executed a three-point turn and began the rumbling journey
back down the rocky road. Even here, inside the cabin, Kain noticed how long it
took for the sound of the engine to fade from earshot; noise traveled a long
way out here in the wild. But eventually silence returned to the woods. They
were alone.

Kain
turned away from the window and went into the bedroom, which consisted of two
wooden bunks and a dresser with a cracked mirror hanging over it. Both bunks
had foam mattresses, but only one had any linen. No surprise there; Cobb hadn’t
been expecting company.

Kain
went back into the other room where Larissa was still sitting by the wood
stove, holding her hands out to the warmth. “Find anything interesting?” she
asked.

“Found
out why your grandfather insisted on leaving.”

“Really?
Why?”

“There’s
only two bunks.”

“He
didn’t need to leave just because of that. I think you and I are mature enough
to share a bed without making a big deal about it.”

“Well,
the problem is solved. We each have our own.”

“How’s
your cut?” she asked.

Kain
reached up and felt his scalp wound. There was a thin crust of coagulation, but
beneath the blood was wet and sticky. “Still bleeding a bit,” he said. “Need to
get it cleaned and stitched.”

“See
if you can find the stuff and I’ll patch you up,” Larissa said. “It’s not like
I have anything better to do.”

Kain
found some First-Aid supplies in the cupboard above the stove and a sewing kit in
the dresser in the bedroom. Meanwhile, Larissa heated up some water. When it
was warm enough, she had him sit down. She dipped a washcloth in the warm
water, wrung it out, used her fingers to locate the cut, and then scrubbed away
the dried blood as gently as possible. Kain felt fresh blood oozing from the
gash. She picked up a bottle of iodine and poured some onto the cloth. “This is
going to sting,” she warned, then pressed the iodine-soaked cloth against the
cut.

Kain
heard the bubbly hiss of the antiseptic doing its work. “Yeah, that smarts,” he
said.

“That
means it’s working,” Larissa said. “If you think about it, the most painful
things in life are also the most cleansing.”

Kain
grinned. “You sound like a fortune cookie.”

“Joke
all you want,” she said, removing the cloth from his forehead, “but it’s true.”
She felt around until she located the needle and thread and handed them to
Kain. “I need you to sterilize the needle and then thread it for me.”

There
was a box of wooden matches on the table. Kain struck one and it flared to life
with a hot hiss. He then ran the flame along the length of the needle until he
was satisfied it was sterile. He extinguished the match and tossed it in the
sink.

Threading
the needle was tougher than he had anticipated. It seemed like the length of thread
had a mind of its own, an evil mind that stubbornly refused to pass through the
eye of the needle. It was worse than trying to cram a cobra through a keyhole. He
could field-strip and reassemble an M-16 in under thirty-five seconds, but it
took him over three minutes to get the needle threaded. His fingers felt clumsy
as sausage links. But at last it was done. “There,” he said, handing the threaded
needle back to Larissa.