Page 35 of Heston
This time Heston growled at London instead of Bates, needing her to understand the consequences of what she did there today. “I appreciate you want to kill this creep, but be sure you understand that if you drown him, some hiker or fisherman, maybe a little kid, will find him next spring, and it won’t be pretty. But if that’s how you roll, say the word and I’ll push him back in. Hell, I’ll load his boots with rocks to make sure he sinks. Doesn’t matter to me. They’re already as heavy as the anchor he would’ve used on you. He’ll go straight to the bottom. He’s weak from blood loss. Won’t last long. Is that what you want?”
Tiny crystal tears clung to the tips of her lashes. “I never did anything but support and encourage him,” she replied. Her voice was so damned small and lost, it was all Heston could do to keep his hands to himself and not pull her into his arms. “I thought he was my friend, Hes. We shared shitty canned meals together and worked twelve-hour shifts and” —she swiped a hand over her eyes— “stuff. Like… like friends.”
“I do know,” Heston agreed. But he also knew this was the precise moment she’d reached the pinnacle of all that independence she’d been chasing. And here she was, immersed in a man’s dirty world, faced with the ugliness soldiers abroad carried out in hopes their loved ones back home wouldn’t have to. “Kelsey didn’t deserve getting shot, either,” Heston reminded her as kindly as he could.
“I didn’t do that!” Bates bellowed. “Uh-uh, that’s not on me!”
“Then talk,” Heston ordered. “Who shot Kelsey and Alex Stewart?”
“You’ll let me live?”
“You think you can bargain? With what? The hairy balls Asher has no doubt already cut off your sniper friend?” Heston gave Bates a rough shake that had him leaning face first over his watery grave again. “No deals. I want names and I want them now.”
“Drop him,” London said, her voice oddly flat. “He’s lying. Everything he’s ever said was a lie. Just do it, Hes. Push him back in, now. Before anyone sees us.”
Heston stared her down, caught her sly wink at the same moment Asher walked up behind her. “You sure?” Heston asked, playing along with whatever was going to happen next.
London’s head bobbed, making her turquoise hair shiver and ripple like waves in a tropical lagoon. Heston put a hard hand in the middle of Bates’ broad back and—
“Former Sergeant Ryan Malloy of Defense Forces Ireland!” Bates screamed like he’d been electrocuted. “He paid me to shut her up. Said she’s too damned nosey, doesn’t listen to her superiors like the bitch should. That she needed to learn a lesson, once and for all. He’s the best of the best! You can’t kill him!”
“Already did,” Asher said matter-of-factly from behind London. As if to prove it, he tossed a bloody bag over her shoulder. The way the bag bounced before it rolled alongside Bates sure looked like it held two balls instead of a head.
Bates tipped onto his hip away from the trophy. “No, no, no! Fuck! He’ll kill me for sure now!”
Ah, so Ryan Malloy wasn’t the mastermind behind the scheme to end Alex and Kelsey.
“Malloy can’t kill you. He’s already dead, right, Agent Downey?” Heston asked.
Asher smirked. “Yup. Caught him sighting-in on my good buddy, London, with that fancy computerized rifle of his. Never saw me coming. Sliced a big smile under his chin, neat as a whistle. Chucked his fat ass out of the tree he was hiding in. Sure ain’t smiling now.”
Bates’ groan was almost comical.
“Who’ll kill you now that Malloy’s dead?” Heston snapped. “Tell me and I’ll keep you safe.”
“He can do that, you know, Devon.” London was back in control. But Heston couldn’t help wondering where her knife was. Sure wasn’t in her hand.
“I can’t, I just c-c-can’t,” Bates whined. “You guys don’t understand how these things work.”
“Then don’t tell us,” London replied easily, almost kindly. “It’s okay. We understand. You’ve had a really hard day, Devon. I bet you’re tired. Why don’t you lean back and—” She whipped anarm around Bates’ neck and, in a heartbeat, her blade was under his chin and against his bouncing Adam’s apple.
“No need to worry, good buddy. I’ll take good care of you,” she soothed wickedly. “Either you tell Heston what he wants to know, or I end you right here and now. You won’t have to worry about Malloy’s boss killing you. Think about it. Won’t be much left of you next spring once the trout in this lake feed on you all winter long. I’ll bet they’re real hungry this time of year. Ravenous. They’re carnivorous, you know, and they like bacon. Uncooked. With a lot of fat left on it. Fat, Bates. Just. Like. You.”
Made cutthroat trout sound—well, cutthroat. London also had Bates eating out of her hand. She’d tucked the blade’s dull side against his throat. Her knife wasn’t hurting him as much as it was helping Kelsey and Alex. Heston pursed his lips and blew her a kiss and a wink. She winked back. The lady was damned good at PsyOps mind games.
“Tristan O-O-Obermeyer,” Bates muttered.
“Secretary of State Tristan Obermeyer?” Heston asked in disbelief. “That Obermeyer?”
“Yeah, yeah, him. He’s tight with the guy running to be the next US ambassador to Ireland. Michael Keane. Guess Wilde saw Malloy with them in DC last month. Obermeyer was pissed. Said Wilde recognized him. Even said hi to him and Keane. Said she had to go before she blows his cover and ruins everything. Told Malloy to finish the Stewarts, then asked me to, you know…” Bates blinked down into the frigid hole where his water-filled boots still dangled. “Malloy sub-contracted me to take her out because… Shit. Because I owe him for… for…”
“Spill,” London whispered. “I remember that trip to Washington DC, and yes, I saw Secretary of State Obermeyer with Keane. They were talking outside Estadio’s on Fourteenth Street, Northwest. Didn’t know Malloy was there with them, though. Why do you owe him?”
Bates’ chest puffed before he wheezed, “I gamble, all right? Got in a little over my head the last time I was in New Jersey. Malloy put in a good word for me and—”
“And now you owe some shark who works for Keane. How much?” Heston asked.
“Fifty thousand. Doubles in forty-eight hours if I don’t pay up. You gotta understand, I didn’t have a choice!” Interestingly, Bates didn’t correct Heston saying‘now you owe some shark who works for Keane.’Was Michael Keane the new Irish Mafia boss? Or had he always been the top dog in charge of drug and gun running, prostitution, extortion, and a dozen other illegal enterprises in Boston? Which begged another question: Did Alex know?
