The Rasner Effect (33 page)

“But…”

“There
is
no mercy out there, Clara! Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“Yes,” she answered although she really wasn’t a hundred percent positive.

“Then what am I saying to you?”

“You’re saying…” She inhaled. The air burned a little going down her throat, but when it hit her lungs, felt like absolute heaven. “You’re saying I have to decide what I am.”

“No, it’s not a choice! It’s just who you are! You can’t change your basic instincts without getting screwed for it.” Rick rubbed the barrel of the gun with his right palm. “Figure out who you are. Accept it, embrace it, but for god’s sakes, don’t lie about it, not to yourself.”

Clara let out the breath as she stared across the yard at the empty oak tree branch. She folded her arms across her chest, but quickly moved them away. It reminded her too much of that jacket.

“I don’t think I know who I am yet.” She sighed and looked away from Rick again. He reached out with his left hand. She flinched away and he laughed. She realized he wasn’t about to attack her again and let him pat her on the back of the neck.

“Once you’re there tonight, face to face with that monster, you’ll know exactly who you are and what you want to do. At that point, this will all make sense.”

Clara nodded. She understood the message Rick tried to give her, or at least she thought she did. She still wasn’t sure what she’d do when she saw her mother later that night. Deep down, she hoped the woman wouldn’t be home.

“Can I take another shot at the can?” Clara asked.

Rick held out the gun. She took it and waited while he stepped behind her.

Clara pointed the barrel of the gun at the small tin target. It balanced on the branch, just a few inches away from the bullet hole. Both seemed to be laughing at her for missing the first time. Clara closed one eye and lined up the shot. Another distraction, this time a mosquito buzzed near her ear. This time she wouldn’t waiver. She eased her finger on the trigger. The gun went off. The can flipped in the air and dropped, joining the pigeon in the grass.

“Not a bad shot,” came Jen’s voice from the doorway, “for a novice.”

Rick and Clara turned toward Jen, who stood with her hands on her hips.

“Derrick gassed up the van and the others are ready.” She took a handful of Rick’s shirt and pulled him to her.

“Welcome back. And good luck.”

Jen cupped her hands around the back of Rick’s head and leaned in, touching the end of her nose to his. She brought her chin out and pointed her lips toward him.

“I won’t need luck! I’m killing that fat bastard tonight,” Rick spoke against her lips.

Jen pulled back with a roll of her eyes. She slapped him across the shoulder. “Rick Rasner, you are still as frustratingly oblivious as ever.”

Rick eyed Jen with a befuddled expression that made Clara smile.

“What the hell’s the matter?” Rick shouted at Jen.

“Nothing. Better get to it. You don’t want to keep the general waiting.”

Jen turned her angry stare on Clara, who stiffened up and lost the humored face. Maybe someday she wouldn’t be so nervous with Jen around. She also realized Jen had picked up on this and did nothing to try and alleviate her nervousness.

“Go ahead, Rick, I’ll take care of our new young gun.”

Jen’s eyes dropped down to Rick’s crotch as his posture was still hunched slightly. “Maybe you want to put some ice on that before you go,” she suggested with a smirk.

“Very funny,” he mumbled. He turned and walked in through the back door leading into the basement.

Jen circled Clara, who remained still. What the hell was she doing? Was she going to teach her a lesson the way Rick had? She resolved to keep at the ready. Jen’s hand snapped out and took the gun from Clara’s hand. She then strolled to the ledge and set the gun down.

“Well,” Jen said with a cocky grin. “Let’s get you ready.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Nighttime. Dark streets due to the many broken streetlights. Graffiti covered the large tightly-packed apartment buildings as well as the sidewalk and street. One of the projects of downtown Brooklyn—not a good place to be at such a late hour. Or any hour.

Jen steered the tan Lincoln Continental around the corner. The headlights picked up only two vehicles parked along the curb. One a red ’78 Dodge, propped on four milk crates, missing its wheels, the second stripped down and burnt beyond recognition. Jen noticed how out of place the Lincoln was on this particular street. She eased up ahead of the Dodge, stopping in front of the second of four apartment buildings.

Jen checked out the building, but not with the same intensity as Clara in the passenger seat. Jen’s temper had flared during the ride here. Clara stared at her throughout the entire trip. She hadn’t spoken a word the whole way.

“This where she lives?” Jen asked.

“Yeah, third floor,” Clara answered.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve been there before, yeah.”

“Then let’s do this.”

Jen shut off the engine by jerking a short-shaft screwdriver out of the ignition. Clara hadn’t moved a muscle. The girl seemed lost in thought, a trait Jen had become familiar with from Rick. She hated it.

“What’s the matter now?” Jen growled.

“I’m just thinking.”

“You’re thinking about what?”

“If this is wrong…” Clara’s eyes blinked rapidly as though she had something in them. “I mean, I hate her, I really do, but two wrongs don’t make a right. It just makes me wrong too, don’t it?”

Clara looked at Jen, hoping for validation perhaps. She wasn’t about to hold this kid’s hand. She could sink or swim on her own, though Jen had to admit she seemed to have held her own with Rick earlier. She acknowledged Clara with a roll of the eyes and, “Where did you pick up
that
philosophical nonsense?”

“Miss Hefner. Whenever someone messed with me, she grabbed me before I could do something. That’s what she told me.” Clara’s voice dropped as though shy about repeating the advice. “One time she made me write it five hundred times. After I did it, she said it was too sloppy. And she made me do it over again.”

Clara brought her right hand up in front of her face and turned it from one side to the other. “I had blisters on my fingers, and my wrist hurt for a week.”

Jen smacked the dashboard with the palm of her hand. The noise startled Clara out of her self-induced trance.

“Two wrongs don’t make a right, is that what you think? How are you at math?”

Clara finally looked at Jen. “I’m good at math, it’s my best subject.”

“Then let me ask you this. What do you get when you bring two negatives together?”

“Two negatives? I…” Clara dropped her head in thought.

“A positive, Clara, they make a positive,” Jen snapped.

“A positive, yeah, I knew that,” Clara raised her eyebrows and gave Jen a nervous smile.

“Good, and now you’re going to have the opportunity to make a positive for yourself.”

Jen was careful to keep her voice sweet and considerate. It wouldn’t help for the girl to read it for what it was—a honey-coated bit of blarney to boost the girl’s sagging ego. “Rick is taking a very big chance on you. He wants you to have your retribution. I do hope you are going to make him proud.”

Wearing a firm look of determination, Clara turned to look at the doorway of their intended building. “I want to. It’s just…”

“It’s just
what
?”

“Well, you murder all the time, right? You hurt people.”

“Yes we do. Rarely good people, though. We don’t kill innocent or upstanding citizens. Those sorts of people never associate with the kind of folks we do business with.”

Clara remained silent, rubbing nervous hands together in her lap.

“Even when I was your age and my father ran the organization, I remember the profiles on those we were hired to execute. Every single one deserved it. Believe me, the world is a better place without them.”

She leaned toward Clara and whispered, “They hurt people, much the way the woman…” she nodded toward the apartment building, “in that building hurt you. That’s why you are going to do this.”

Clara’s dark eyes widened and then narrowed. Jen, unsure which decision Clara would opt with, reached for her gun, in a holster inside her denim jacket. It was now up to Clara, Jen decided. She was prepared to leave the girl’s body behind if necessary. She would make it quick and as painless as possible, out of respect for her partner and long-time lover. She knew Rick would be very disappointed; he had some great plans for this girl.

Finally, Clara looked at Jen and nodded. “I deserve this. She deserves this.” She tipped her head at the apartment building. “I want to hurt her…like she hurt me.”

“Then enough talk, young lady.” Jen slowly brought her hand away from her weapon. Perhaps this wouldn’t be a wasted trip after all. “Let’s take care of business.”

“Do I get a gun?”

Was she serious? Jen couldn’t tell. “You don’t need a gun. This should be more personal for you than that.”

Jen reached over Clara and opened the glove compartment. She pulled out a Wakizashi knife, pointed the blade up, removed the scabbard, and placed the Wakizashi in Clara’s lap. The slightly curved six-inch blade glinted in the meager light. It was sharp, sharper than any blade had need to be—Sanaga would’ve made sure.

Clara picked the blade up by the ivory grip. She held the four-inch handle in her right hand and slowly rubbed the forefinger of her left hand against the sharp edge. For a brief moment, she wore the same expression Jen had seen on Sanaga’s face dozens of times.

“We found two of these in that disorganized mess Derrick calls a basement. Sanaga really worked some magic on this one. Rick has the other one now as we speak.”

“It’s nice.” Clara said. She held the blade in front of her face.

“You take that knife and jam it right into her throat!” Jen made her voice cold and direct. “With your free hand, cover her mouth so she can’t make any noise. Twist the blade so it remains loose. Got it?”

“Yes, in the throat.”

Jen laid the fingers of her left hand against the soft spot on Clara’s lower throat just above her chest—just inches below the finger marks Rick had given her earlier. Jen wished she’d been there to witness the girls’ training session. If she’d managed to ball-bust him, she must’ve done all right. She pressed firmly on Clara’s throat with her first two fingers. “Right here.”

Jen tossed the scabbard in the back seat and pushed the driver’s door open. She stuck her left leg out of the car, stopped, and added, “When she stops struggling, pull the knife out and we leave. Do you understand everything I’ve just told you?”

Jen waited for an answer, but all she heard was silence. She turned around to see Clara eyeing the blade with wide eyes.

“
Clara
!”

Clara’s head shot up and swiveled her way. Her mouth hung open and sweat oozed across her brow.

“Do you understand everything I just told you?” Her patience wore thin; this was a mission and she had no time to coddle.

“I…yes, I-I understand,” Clara said.

Jen looked around the street again and then stepped out of the car. “Do not leave the knife there. We don’t want to give them anything with which to trace us. Let’s go. Keep the weapon under your shirt until you’re face to face with your target.”

Jen shut the driver’s door with a soft click. On the stoop of their intended building sat two teenage boys, both probably about eighteen—one African-American and one Hispanic. They wore dirty jeans, tank tops, and light blue bandanas. The smoke coming from their hands, she figured, came from marijuana joints. They eyed the Lincoln.

The Hispanic boy pointed a finger at Jen while talking to his friend. He stood up and ambled in her direction. “I’s think you in the wrong zone, lady.” He laughed. “You and your real nice car.”

Jen gave an exaggerated sigh. “And if anything were to happen to my real nice car…” She removed her revolver from the holster and pointed it in the boy’s direction. Both he and his friend ran off the stoop and sprinted down the street.

“I’ll come out here shooting and ask questions later!” Jen shouted after them. “All right, Clara, it’s time!” She slapped the roof with one hand while slipping the gun back inside her jacket. “Let’s go meet Mama!”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Seated in the passenger seat of the van, Rick held the Wakizashi. His fingers wrapped around the blade’s handle. He fidgeted in his seat. Anticipation made it difficult for him to remain still. He noticed the pair of eyes focused his way.

“Shouldn’t you be looking at the road?” he asked.

“Probably.” Derrick turned his attention to the highway stretching out in front of the white van. They traveled at eighty-five miles an hour. In silhouette, Rick saw the man’s raised eyebrows. “What
is
it?”

“Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t look all right.”

“I’ve had a buzzing in my head ever since we left Brookhill yesterday. It’s distracting and annoying, puts me in a real foul mood.”

“I don’t remember you ever being in anything but…” Derrick mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Rick pulled down the visor to examine his face in the small rectangular mirror. With his hair greased and slicked back, the scar stuck out like a neon sign. He rubbed his finger over it.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this right now?” Derrick asked.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I?” Rick shook his head. He was getting tired of Derrick acting more like a mother hen than a partner.

“Well, you’ve been back in action for a little over a day, after seven years of…well, you have to consider it might have made you a little…”

“Rusty?”

“Yes. Among other things.”

“I am not rusty. If anything, I’m well rested and more motivated than ever before.”

“I still think it would have been a better idea to hold off a while. To wait and plan before just jumping into a mission this personal.”

“I’ve waited long enough.” Rick took another look at himself in the vanity mirror, then slapped the thing up against the ceiling. “I remember Straker standing over me all smug, and mocking me while I was strapped on the table. I swore to that fat asshole I would make him pay. I told him I would return to kill him.”