The Beast That Was Max (2 page)

Pity for Lee and his thorn-tooth smile touched Max. He could never be what Max was. Their masters had chosen well by sending Lee with news of plan changes and foolish assignments. Another messenger might have had to answer to the Beast for the night's deceptions.

The Beast stirred, a jealous companion disturbed by soft sympathy. Its howl sent a shiver through Max, and whetted cruelty's keen edge. Max savored the advantage of his strange legacy. Sympathy evaporated. His mind turned back to Lee's question. He gave Lee a slight smile, showing him more than thorns.

"They're my nieces." Max opened the driver's-side door and got back inside. Best to keep moving, he decided, until he escaped the twisted prank of having to protect instead of kill. Even worse, guard a woman.

"Adopted nieces, Max," Lee shouted through the car window. "Makes all the difference." He tapped the glass. Max let him in. "Not to me."

Lee gave Max a wink and a leer as he settled into the passenger seat. Over the years, Lee had witnessed Max and the Beast at play. Whether he watched for sadistic, masochistic, or other reasons, Max had never quite understood. But Lee always proved sensitive enough to his own frailties to know to never join in the game. And even though he showed interest in the twins, Max made certain he saw the result of their lovemaking and understood they were a Beast of their own. For all of Lee's talk, Max was sure his comrade knew he would not last ten minutes with the twins. If he pursued them on his own, Max could not, would not, save him. But the talking was cheap enough.

Lee checked the glove compartment for the secured .45 and clips, glanced at the mirrors and the dashboard deck with the readouts from the car's anti-surveillance instruments. "To me, it would."

Max glanced at him as he pulled out onto the Grand Concourse service road.

Lee waved a hand. "But you're not me, I know. Fine. I'll help you with the bodies, no problem, but let's make it fast. We're running late, and we can't leave the pickup exposed too long. As a matter of fact, why don't you let the Blood of Killers handle this crap? They worship you, and they love cleaning up this kind of shit."

"I do my own sanitation. Just like I do my own killing. No guard duty."

"I said that when I heard they picked you. He's not the type, I said, unless you want her dead. But you see how it is."

Stopped at a light, Max picked up the car phone. "This is impossible," he said, punching in the number and securing the scrambled satellite signal.

"Yes," said the unfamiliar male voice on the other end of the line.

"Mr. Johnson, or Mr. Tung," Max said. Though the names were his own invention for his two main, anonymous contacts, the operator knew his identity through voice recognition and embedded signal codes. Calling up Max's file, the operator could see which government representatives normally dealt with him.

"Who the hell are they?" Lee asked.

"They are not available at this time."

"The men you call Mr. Happy and Mr. Smiley," Max said to Lee, who rolled his eyes. The light changed. Max followed the traffic flow onto the Saw Mill River Parkway. He spoke into the phone: "Who is available?"

"I can handle your call."

"Who are you?"

"The person handling your call."

The Beast roused itself, bureaucratic insolence catching its interest. In Max's mind, a young, clean-shaven clerk had his head smashed into a screen, a mouse jammed into his mouth, and a keyboard shoved up his ass. "Why am I on this job?"

Clicking keys followed a moment's dead air. "As far as I can see, you aren't. The rendezvous is south of your position, but you're heading north."

"Unavoidable business."

"We are your business."

The Beast roared. Max's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Do you really know my business? Would you like to find out?"

Lee tapped his thigh. "Max . . ."

The voice on the line wavered. "You were not briefed.”

“Not for this."

"Briefing you is not my job—"

"Puffing guard duty isn't mine. I want to speak to someone in charge."

"I—I'm sorry, sir, but there is no one available. And there is no time. You have an operative with you. Let him—"

"Did somebody forget who I am?" Max shouted. "What I do? Do you seriously expect me to carry this assignment out?" Max gunned the gas, weaved through the traffic. The Beast surged through his heart, chased blood through arteries until life's flow burned under his skin.

"You are more than what we use you for," the voice said, finding resolve as electronic beeps accentuated manic key tapping. "You are whatever we need you to be, for whatever we must use you for." It was as if Mr. Johnson had gotten on the phone to admonish him. Max wondered if the operator had reached his normal contact through his computer terminal, and if Mr. Johnson was furiously scripting appropriate responses to the operator's screen.

"None of this makes sense. How come I didn't get to pick my team?"

"There is none. You're solo. The way you like it."

"You people aren't even following your own security protocols. If this is a defensive operation, how can I work without a team?"

"There's a bigger picture, Max. You're used to a role, which you perform to an exceptional degree. But there's a lot going on right now, and everybody has to pitch in."

Max took a deep breath, curbed the Beast, brought the Lincoln down to the speed limit. He focused on the assignment flaws. "What am I supposed to do, not sleep? Who gets the food? Who patrols the perimeter? What if there's an emergency with the target? Security breaches in the setup?"

"We didn't think you slept." Someone laughed in the background.

"Put Mr. Johnson on."

"He's not here."

"Who's coaching you?"

"Is that the problem you're taking up satellite time to resolve?"

"What I want to resolve is an inappropriate allocation of resources. What I want to point out is that you're sending a killer to protect a target, with no backup or planning or coordination. What I'm telling you is that I feel like you're setting me up, and if you don't tell your superior what the hell's going on and get me off this assignment I'll personally kill the fucking bitch you want me to protect, and then I'll gut the bastards who were going to pick her up, and then I'll send the bunch back to you through the mail in three-by-five envelopes. Postage fucking due." He raised the phone to smash it against the dashboard. The Beast pushed him to sideswipe a passing car and send it crashing into the guardrail.

"Fucking clerks are taking over the world," Lee muttered, looking out the passenger window. "No wonder it's all going to hell." He met Max's gaze, winked. "Don't let them bully you, Max. But don't let them make you do something stupid, either."

The voice on the line settled into a cool, professional tone. "We realize your briefing has been inadequate. However, we know you are flexible enough to adapt to new situations. In addition, you have not been left entirely without resources. The safe house is fully supplied and equipped with electronic security, and the area will be monitored by local agencies for unusual activity. We can divert local assets to you if an emergency arises. And, because of the unusual circumstances, we have just been authorized to convert your assigned safe house to Nowhere House status. That should satisfy all of your concerns. You will not need a team because you will not be found, and there is a low probability of engagement with opposition forces during transport to and from the safe house."

A chill passed through Max. The Beast stopped short.

The Nowhere House was well beyond the wetwork world in which Max traveled. "Who is this woman? Who is after her?"

"It doesn't matter who she is," the voice said, toning down the strained formality of its speech. It was as if Max was communicating with several people at the same time, and he wondered if the man on the other end of the line was somehow channeling various officials and representatives assigned to deal with Max. Or perhaps he was simply mad. "The people after her are amateurs. It's the people she's going to who are important and require reassurance. They know you, even like you and your peculiar talent. They feel their property will be safe in your hands. More important, your presence raises her value. Getting the best to escort her is a sign of her importance, a badge of honor."

The Beast recovered from its momentary surprise and resumed pressuring Max to kill. "I can't do this.”

“What's so hard?"

"I've never done what you're asking. I've never had to protect anyone except myself."
And the twins
, he thought. But they were different. They meant something to him.

"You're an assassin, you know how you would kill her. Anticipate. Though, as I said, it's almost certain you won't see action."

"So I'm wasting my time. The hell with this. You do it."

"If you don't pick up this assignment, you will die.”

“You'd terminate our contract over this woman?”

“She is part of a plan. So are you. Changes require consequences. Reparations. Adjustments. Your defiance can serve the plan and sustain the value of what is being done, but only if you are punished."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Why not? Would you dare betray us?"

Max strained to contain the Beast. He wiped the sweat beading on his forehead. The hand holding the phone shook slightly. "She must be a hell of a woman."

"What is your mission status?"

Max grunted as if struck in the gut. "Operational.”

“Check your contact for time limitations."

Before Max could reply, the connection was severed. He put the phone back in its cradle.

"Nice job of pulling a briefing out of those assholes," Lee said.

"Thanks," Max said, with more of the Beast's grumble than his own voice.

"So I guess you're not going to tell me shit, either.”

“They said I had to check with you about time limitations."

"Let me make a call. Maybe we can buy some wiggle room." Lee took the phone, punched in numbers, spoke in low tones, listened, glanced at Max, cocked an eyebrow, checked his watch, hung up. "Damn. I was hoping to sneak over to City Island and pick up crab legs to go before my next drop. But I really do have to get this Fordham divinity student out of the city before the papal meat boys cut off a few of his heretical parts. Looks like my dinner goes the way of your passengers in the trunk. We're cleared to delay your pickup, but I hope you're not thinking of digging really deep graves."

"No digging."

Lee waited a moment, studying Max as if to gauge his mood, then pressed on. "Goddamn awesome rating a Nowhere House deployment, though. Better write down anything you want to remember that happened to you over the past forty-eight hours."

"I thought it was twelve."

"You believe government specs? I hung out for a weekend with a team one time before they went inside. Saw them a week later during a Tibetan incursion and they took a shot at me."

Max went over the events of the past week and found nothing worth saving. "There's nothing I need to remember."

"Well, don't forget the protocol and write yourself instructions on what you have to do once you leave the place, or you're going to be wandering around the South Bronx wondering what the fuck you're supposed to do with your new girlfriend."

"I know what I should to do with her."

"Easy, big fella. You're on company time."

Max pressed the accelerator, wove the Lincoln through the close traffic on the Saw Mill's winding roadway. Horns blared and high beams flashed in his rearview mirror. The Beast was disappointed over the failure of the other drivers' nerves. They exited at Tuckahoe, drove through quiet, tree-lined village streets with Colonials, split-levels, and the occasional overblown Tudor or small manor set on neatly trimmed lots. A stand of trees blotted out the lights of the surrounding neighborhood. Max slowed. Another house appeared, tucked among the trees. Max turned onto the gravel driveway, switched off the lights, let the car crawl toward a single light bulb shining over a side door to a run-down, three-story Victorian. A realtor's weathered For Sale sign and a construction company's renovation announcement were nailed over a faded movie production poster pasted to the door. Max popped the inside trunk release, cracked the door open.

A dog's barking drifted faintly through the surrounding woods. Cold air stung his lungs as Max got out and took a deep breath of suburban air. He picked out the blood scents of a cat's and an owl's kill, the chemical bites of fertilizer and cleansers, an intoxicating burst of the season's first, fresh growth.

He joined Lee at the back of the Lincoln, raised the hood, grabbed one end of a man's ravaged, naked corpse. Blood and shit stench mingled with the twins' sweet and musky markings, and with the smell of multiple orgasms spilled by all three. Max gritted his teeth, and was puzzled by the touch of jealousy. The Beast yipped with glee. Lee whistled, took hold of the feet, and stumbled along with Max as they headed toward a hole in the ground beyond the door.

"Not for nothing, Max, but what's wrong with the traditional incinerator dust-off or swamp dump?"