Blood List(31)

Paul lay back and let the sun warm his face and chest. Every breath hurt, but it was tolerable. A new wig crowned his head with long, blond, surfer-dude hair, and light blue contacts changed his eye color. A few hours sunbathing while the feds combed the area, and then he'd be headed home, or what passed as home these days. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, given the way the day almost went. Not bad at all. He closed his eyes and smiled.





Chapter 11





January 6th, 5:53 PM PST; Unknown location; San Diego, California.



Gene knew he was conscious by the dim haze of red-filtered light. He sucked air into his lungs, then performed a mental checklist of body parts. No torso wounds, right ankle hurts, not broken. Left foot hurts like heck, might be broken. Nose feels as big as a grapefruit. Hands tied, feet tied, and there's something over my head. A quick strain at his bonds brought pain. Wire.

He explored his options. His chair wouldn't budge. Any serious struggling would cause the wire to slice into his flesh. He didn't know how long he'd been under, and he didn't know where he was. It was deathly quiet. His heart hammered in his chest as claustrophobia crept in.

Calm down, Gene. A few deep breaths got him started, then he relaxed his hands. Breathe in. Then feet. Now out. Then arms. Breathe in. Then legs. Now out. He soon had control of his heart rate. His mind cleared while his chin sank to his chest.

"Okay. I give up," Gene said to the room in a voice more calm than he felt. "I'm not gagged, so I assume screaming isn't going to do me any good. What do you want? Why am I here?"

In response, Gene heard a soft ring, like a wet finger running along the top of a wine glass. It was the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding across metal. He clenched his teeth as renewed fear clawed into his gut. He wouldn't show a reaction.

Gene jumped as Paul Renner spoke from the darkness less than a foot in front of him. "I haven't decided yet, Palomini." Cold fear like he'd never known threatened to throw him into panic.

Marty's voice spoke in his head. Don't you give that motherfucker the satisfaction, boss.

Paul yanked the hood off his head. He sat at a dining room table in what looked like a typical, middle-class, American house. Gene looked into the eyes of the man he'd been hunting and realized he wasn't a predator anymore; he was prey. Renner held a large hunting knife in his left hand and scraped the blade up and down his blue jeans.

"Any idea when you're going to decide?" Gene said. Atta-boy, boss. Even though he knew it wasn't there, he took comfort in Marty's voice.

"You see…." Paul cleaned his fingernails with the knife. "I've got a bit of a problem to deal with. You've devoted most of the past few years to bringing me to justice, which is just cop talk for throwing my ass in prison. I've spent a lot of time spitting in your face and laughing at your efforts."

Gene didn't comment. It was better to let someone ramble rather than to interrupt. This was especially true if you're the one who's tied to a chair, and he's the one with the big knife.

"That's got to piss a guy like you right off, huh, Palomini?" Paul pointed at him with the knife, then went back to his nails. For all his cool, Paul didn't extend his arm all the way. Renner was hurt.

"Anyway, the reason that's a problem is that I need your help." Paul winced a little every time he breathed in.

I definitely cracked a couple of his ribs.

Gene coughed, incredulous. "I would never help a killer like you."

Paul's eyes brightened. He slid the knife back into its sheath and grinned. "I think you're going to take some convincing. My motives are pretty simple, Gene-o. Clients give me money, and I kill who they want dead. I think you figured that much out. What you don't know, though, is that more often than not I'm working for the same U.S. government you are. I've got way less rules tying me down, and I get my hands a lot dirtier than you're allowed to, but that's just the nature of the beast.

"Just like a Navy SEAL, for example, might have a different set of rules than a common soldier. When a SEAL kills for his government on a black op, it isn't always strictly legal, is it, Lieutenant-turned-Special-Agent in Charge Palomini?" Paul let the question hang in the air.

Gene kept his voice carefully controlled. "I wouldn't make that comparison, Mr. Renner."

"At what point does a paid government killer become a criminal? Just because the illegal work he does for the government is now illegal work he's doing for somebody else? You've killed people for a paycheck. You've ordered it done." He looked Gene in the eyes. "A job's a job, and this is mine. I'm not some crazy psycho. I even work hard to minimize collateral damage, especially when I'm using something flashy like a car bomb. You and I are not so different."