Page 43 of No Escape

Will was thrilled. He’d always admired Jackson, and the man had somehow pulled it off, fighting off the persecution of Arthur Heinlein. Will just wished Valerie was there with them to celebrate. He hoped beyond hope that there would be an opportunity for that later.

“What about Valerie’s badge?” Will asked.

“He didn’t say,” Charlie said. “Let’s take any victory we can, for now.”

“Agreed,” Will said, raising his coffee cup. “Here’s to Jackson Weller.”

“To Jackson,” Charlie said, touching coffee cups. “Now let’s get the hell out of here. I’ll send this list over to local law enforcement to make sure they have a patrol car at each family member’s, if they don’t already. After that, we just need to figure out which relative John Murphy will try and get to next and be there waiting for him.”

***

John watched all the people on treadmills with disdain.

You can’t keep death at bay forever, he thought.

The wind howled outside, the evening weather turning once more into a storm, this time battering against the glass doors of a busy gym as John Murphy slipped inside. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and effort, the hum of treadmills and the clank of weights providing a steady, rhythmic soundtrack to the room.

John moved gracefully through the gym, his eyes scanning the rows of people lifting weights and pounding away on the exercise machines, searching for his quarry. He approached the front desk, where a young woman with a bright, energetic smile greeted him.

“Hi there! Welcome to the Iron Temple. How can I help you today?” she asked, her cheerfulness almost contagious.

John returned her smile, his eyes cold and calculating. “I’m looking for Tank Murphy. Is he working today?”

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “Uh, yeah, he’s here. He’s in the back, working with a client. Would you like me to get him for you?”

John shook his head. “No, that’s alright. I can find him. We’re… old friends.”

The woman nodded, still smiling but with a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “Alright then, just let me know if you need any help.”

John continued through the gym, weaving between the rows of weight machines and free weights. His gaze was locked onto his target, a hulking figure in the back corner of the gym, barking instructions at a young man struggling to complete a set of deadlifts.

Tank Murphy was a mountain of a man, his muscles bulging under the strain of the heavy weights he lifted effortlessly. His face was lined with the signs of a hard life, his skin tanned and leathery from years spent working outdoors.

But it was his eyes that betrayed the most about him—dark, cold, and filled with barely concealed rage.

He’d always dominated his younger brother with his sheer physicality. But John had trained in the Special Forces and was now a seasoned killer, and he would show him that the tables had well and truly turned.

As John approached, Tank finished counting out the young man’s last rep and turned to face him. His eyes narrowed as he took in John’s appearance, the air between them growing heavy with tension. He looked shocked.

“John,” Tank said, his voice a low growl. “What are you doing here?”

He ushered John over to a side door, which they both stepped through. John looked around and saw that they were in a small, red-walled weightlifting room, one that was obviously used for one-on-one coaching. But it was empty, and this made John feel glee.

No witnesses, he thought.

John smiled, his eyes never leaving Tank’s. “I’ve come to pay my respects, brother.”

The words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and for a moment, the only sound in the gym was the pounding of footsteps on treadmills and the ragged breathing of those pushing their bodies to the limit in the next room.

Tank’s face twisted into a snarl. “You’ve got some nerve showing your face here, after what you’ve done. Mom and Dad would be turning in their graves. They didn’t raise you to be a monster. You’ve… You’ve got to stop!”

John’s smile never wavered, but the cold, calculating glint in his eyes sharpened. “I’ve only just begun, Tank. And there’s no stopping me now. I serve a higher power than Mom or Dad. I serve justice. I am its champion.”

As the tension between the two men continued to build, the red paint around them seemed to fade away, the sounds of exertion and effort out of view in the other parts of the gym, diminishing to a low hum of activity. The storm outside raged on, a fitting backdrop for the conflict unfolding within, and one John knew he could use to his advantage.

The two men stared each other down, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. The air between them crackled with tension, and it was as if the empty room held its breath, waiting for the storm to break.

John thought of Jenny, his wife. Drowning in the dark as Tank and the others partied together.

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