“So why didn’t you?”
Chilly leaned in closer towards Tom and smiled. “Because we’re not terrorists,” he said softly as he pushed the needle into Tom’s neck and slowly pressed the plunger. He then removed the needle and stood up.
Tom groaned and put his hand over his neck.
“What the fuck did you just give me?”
“Don’t worry… it’s not going to kill you. In fact, it might just do the opposite.”
Tom sat up slowly from the floor, the pounding in his skull suddenly subsiding. He looked up at the man he’d been chasing all this time and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. That’s been the problem with you all along, Tom. You and the rest of the idiots you’ve managed to pull into this… all of you scrambling around, trying to insert your egos and authority in a matter that you couldn’t possibly begin to understand. It would be comical if it weren’t so pathetic.”
“But how can you not consider yourselves terrorists?” Tom asked. Despite his anger, a sudden, calming sensation was now beginning to flow through his body.
“You said it yourself. A terrorist terrifies or kills for political or personal gain. And yet we’ve never terrified anyone – at least not with those goals in mind. Perhaps we’ve scared the hell out of a few bystanders at times, but that’s just the unfortunate reality of our work. I can also assure you that we have no collective affiliation with any government or political organization. Nor are we religious fanatics.” He paused and shook his head. “Christ, I can’t even tell you the last time I was in a church.”
“Fine,” Tom replied. “So you’re not terrorists… you’re mercenaries.
That still makes you just a bunch of hired killers.”
“You’re half right… we were hired.”
“So you’re not killers, huh?” Tom asked sarcastically. Chilly shook his head.
“Then how do you explain five dead Petronus researchers?”
Chilly looked over at Chip and smiled. “Should I tell him?”
Chip nodded his head. “Sure, why not. He’s not going to remember any of this anyway.”
“Tell me what?” Tom demanded. He paused to shake the sudden lightness from his head. “And what do you mean I’m not going to… to remember any of this?”
“They’re not dead, Tom.”
“Bullshit.”
Chilly shrugged. “They’re not dead.”
“How do you expect me to believe that?”
“Because you’ve already seen it for yourself. After all, Alex’s men killed me in Amsterdam, and I’m not dead.”
Tom started to respond when a knock on the door leading to the alley interrupted him. Chilly looked down at him and smiled. “I think this will help clarify everything,” he said, turning and opening the door. The short, pudgy man that had left just minutes earlier shuffled back into the saloon, a large backpack slung over his shoulder. Behind him, Max and Tall Tommy walked in carrying a long, heavy object wrapped in a black plastic bag between them.
Tom noticed white wisps of smoke-like frost rising from the plastic bag’s surface and realized it must have come from a freezer. He leaned back nervously as they laid it on the floor in front of him.
“That… that’s a body bag.”
“Yes it is,” Chilly replied. He raised his hand and his colleague tossed him the backpack. He opened it and pulled out a pair of latex gloves.
Tom watched with detached curiosity as Chilly slapped on the gloves and then handed a pair to the other men. Whatever had been injected into him was now having its intended effect. Despite what was happening, an overwhelming feeling of euphoria now gripped him. A smile slowly stretched across his face as he glanced at the men standing around him. “So who’s in the bag?” he asked dully.
“The package.”
“The package? What does that mean?”
“Dublin?” Chilly said tersely as he began to unzip the bag. His short, pudgy colleague stepped forward.
“The package is a twenty-six year-old female from Phoenix,” Dublin said flatly in a thick Irish accent. “Died from a stab wound to the liver by her boyfriend last night. Her family has requested a cremation… and that’s what they’re gonna get.”
Tom watched as the body bag was opened and suddenly held his breath. The pale thin body of the young woman was eerily calm and serene. She looked even younger than the age the Irishman had stated. He found it difficult to look away from her dark brown eyes as they stared vacantly up at the ceiling. Then he noticed the long, copper-brown hair that framed her beautiful, unblemished face. “She… she looks like Jeri,” he said quietly, watching as Chilly examined her.