Page 1 of Cowboy
1
COWBOY
FIVE YEARS AGO
“Tell me again: why the hell are we doing this?” Dylan asks, his gaze moving around the dark, quiet housing estate. This was once assigned to become the biggest housing estate in Dublin. Five years later, half-built houses that are never going to see the light of day are scattered along the land.
“You’re the one who wanted to come with me,” I remind him. “This isn’t our first job for The Agency, Dylan. I’m capable of doing what Travis needs without backup.”
He shakes his head. “You need an alibi when shit hits the fan, Ciarán, and yes, we’ve been working for the agency for the past year, but it’s always better to have two of us incase shit hits the fan.”
He’s right, he has. Dylan and I have been best friends since we were kids. He’s always been at my side. No matter what shit I get myself into, he’s always there with me. Including me owing Travis James over five thousand euros because I stole from him over a year ago, some stupid, signed memorabilia card that was worth over five grand. It was a stupid mistake that's led me to become a killer for The Agency. Travis gave me three jobs to do, and the moment they were done, I thought I was done, but it turns out I’m damned good at what I do and I quite enjoy it. So I stayed on. Now, whenever Travis needs someone, he calls me. Dylan's also part of The Agency. Whenever we have jobs, we always go with one another.
"Fine," I mutter, pulling my hood tighter around my face. "Let's just get this over with."
We creep toward the nearest half-finished house. The smell of damp and mold hits us as we step inside. Our footsteps echo on the bare concrete floors.
"What, exactly, are we looking for?" Dylan whispers.
"There's a package hidden in one of these houses. We need to find it. From the intel The Agency has, there's a trafficking ring starting to emerge between London and Dublin. The Agency needs this package as it could lead them to whoever is behind the ring."
We move from room to room, our flashlights sweeping across empty spaces and debris. After clearing the third house, I begin to wonder if this is a wild goose chase.
Thankfully, not even ten minutes later, Dylan discovers a loose brick in the fireplace of the fourth house. We carefully nudge the brick loose, and once we have it free, we see a hidden compartment behind it. Nestled within the dusty alcove is the package we’ve been looking for. The worn edges of the parcel make it seem like it’s been here since the builders abandoned the estate five years ago. It’s time to make our swift exit and rendezvous with Travis, who’s currently on a job here in Dublin too. I slide the parcel into my pocket, making sure it’s secure before we leave.
Suddenly, Dylan grabs my arm. "Did you hear that?"
I freeze, straining my ears. A faint scraping sound comes from outside, followed by hushed voices.
"Shit," I hiss. "We're not alone."
We duck behind a partially constructed wall, my heart pounding. I listen close, hearing their footsteps and their voices growing louder, which means they’re getting closer.
"Who the hell could that be?" Dylan whispers, his eyes wide with panic.
I press a finger to my lips, urging him to stay quiet. The voices are getting closer, and I can make out at least three men moving toward the house we're currently in. Fear grips me as I realize how dangerous this is. Could they be the traffickers themselves?
"We need to move," I breathe, barely audible. "Now."
We crouch low as we inch our way toward the back of the house. The floorboards creak beneath our feet, and I wince at each sound. The voices outside pause, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think we've been discovered.
Then, a gruff voice calls out, "Check the basement. They said it'd be there."
My blood runs cold. The package. They're after the same thing we are.
I grab Dylan's sleeve and pull him toward a half-finished staircase leading to the upper floor. We ascend as quietly as possible, our backs pressed against the wall. From our new vantage point, we can see shadowy figures moving through the ground floor.
"What now?" Dylan mouths, his face pale in the dim light. I have no doubt that mine looks exactly the same.
I scan the room, looking for any possible escape route. The window. It's our only chance. I point to it, and Dylan nods in understanding.
As we make our way to the window, I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure they can hear it. We reach the window, and I struggle to pry it open. It's stuck; probably from years of disuse and exposure to the elements.
The footsteps are getting closer. Dylan joins me in trying to force the window open. With a final, desperate push, it gives way with a loud screech.
"Hey!" a voice shouts from behind us. "Stop right there!"
Without hesitation, I shove Dylan through the open window. He tumbles onto the scaffolding outside, and I follow right behind him. Bullets whiz past us as we scramble down the metal framework.
