29. Brian

TWENTY-NINE

brian

It’s the first week of October, and once again I’ve slipped out of the house while Mina sleeps. That woman could sleep through a hurricane. I’m sitting across the street and a couple of houses down from the famous Uncle Martin. I was right that he was the next on the list to send the kid to. I don’t know why he wasn’t the first. I guess Eliza just looked better on paper. People always assume all women are maternal, and sometimes a kid pays for that miscalculation.

I should know.

It’s a rich but not flamboyantly rich neighborhood. Stryker’s businesses, both legitimate and less so are very successful, and Martin was a part of that success. He was supposed to be at that meeting on the Fourth of July, but he’d gotten hold of some bad tuna and apparently spent the entirety of the night in the bathroom instead. I heard rumors when I was skulking around at Stryker’s memorial.

Officially Stryker is just missing—along with all the other men that were at the meeting that night—but they know. They know that many people don’t just randomly wander off to go find themselves. There’s talk that Martin was the one who killed everyone—or hired the hit at least. He wasn’t. He really did eat bad tuna. He’s the luckiest motherfucker in the world because if he’d been in that building that night, Aidan would be with the next guardian on the list right now.

Martin has taken over as CEO of Stryker, Inc. He’s the top boss of both the front business and the back business, but there’s whispering that legal provisions were made for Aidan to take over when he comes of age.

Martin’s house is surrounded by several other houses, each a polite-enough distance apart. Each house has both a generous front and backyard.

The front door opens, and I shrink down in my seat when the kid comes out with the golden retriever.

I know this obsession I’ve developed isn’t healthy.

My window is cracked so I hear when he says, “Good job, Baxter!”

The dog wags his tail as if a small child’s approval of his pooping habits is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And then they go back inside.

It makes me uneasy having listening devices inside this house. His Uncle Martin is a career criminal. I worry they’ll do a sweep of the house at some point and find what I’ve planted. I’m just making sure the kid is okay, and that my lack of self-control with Eliza doesn’t land him in a worse situation.

I thought it was a good sign when Martin let the kid keep the dog. So far I haven’t heard any signs of abuse. If he considers Aidan a threat to his criminal empire, he doesn’t let it show. But Martin is getting on up in years, so maybe he plans to retire and hand the family business over to the kid. I guess we’ll find out.

I jump when the burner phone on my dash rings.

“Talk,” I say, not even glancing at the number. Only a couple of people have the number to this burner, and I’m not one for pleasantries and small talk.

“Is it done, yet?”

I sigh and roll my eyes. I swear working for this motherfucker isn’t worth two million dollars. “Not yet, Dante. He’s always under heavy guard. Halloween night at the Masquerade Ball is the best time. I’ve told you this.”

“If you don’t want the job, I can give it to someone else,” he says.

“For your sake, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. It’ll be done Halloween night.”

I disconnect the call before he can say anything else. Less than a minute later, the phone rings again.

“What!” I bark.

“Umm, Brian, I-I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”

Windsor. The target, helping to plan his own murder. I plaster on a fake smile because I once heard you can hear a smile over the phone. I’m not sure if I believe that, but I’ll use whatever techniques are available to appear more human when necessary.

“Not at all,” I say. “What do you need?”

“Well,” he hesitates a moment, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself not to snap at him. The last thing I want to do is spook the horse. “I was just thinking… I have a conservatory about a few acres back from the house. You could use that space.”

“Conservatory like a greenhouse?” I ask.

I think he just nodded because I don’t hear a reply, then finally, as though realizing he’d nodding at me through the phone, he says, “Y-yes, Kind of. It’s not entirely glassed in, only one half of it. I thought the other side could be cleared out for your use.”

“And how exactly will I lure Dante to the greenhouse?”

“I haven’t thought of that part, yet. It’s just a quiet space where no one will see or hear anything.”

“Is that all?” I ask.

“For now. If there’s any other way I can be of assistance, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Will do,” I say and disconnect the call.

So far he’s called me on three different occasions making suggestions on weapons, body disposal, where I can hide things in his house, and how security will be diverted… I almost feel bad for the guy.

Almost.