Bernard DeLeo - Cold Blooded

“Obviously, you didn’t believe me about the overseas package I have stashed away.”

“I told them, Nick. They thought they could absorb it.”

“Tell you what, just to keep this in the family, I’ll send you a hint of what will come out. Check the bulletin board for a coded file in fifteen minutes. Call me when you get a look at it.”

Nick disconnected, went to his safe room downstairs, opened the safe there and brought out his notebook computer with satellite uplink. Minutes later, Nick uploaded a file. Twenty minutes after that, his satellite phone vibrated.

“Are you out of your God damned mind?” Frank shouted in a smiling Nick’s ear. “Where the hell -”

“Now you know how serious this is, Frank,” Nick interrupted. “Let’s keep our eye on the prize. Your friends don’t think they can absorb my enlightenment anymore, do they, buddy?”

“Small doubt about that, you prick. You better pray we don’t find out where your package is overseas.”

“Did I say I had only one? Sorry.”

“Shit!”

“I’ve had a lot of years ‘absorbing’ the way things work, Frank.”

“Call me when you have the flash drives. You have a blank check for now.”

“That’s the spirit. See ya’.” Nick ended the call and went to clean up the small mess he had made taking out Jenson.

The safe room door opened and a smiling Nick entered. Rachel, Jean, and Deke huddled together on the bed in Nick’s upstairs safe room. Deke’s body lay sprawled over his companions’ laps.

“Sorry about that. You three can come out now and go back to bed.”

“What happened, Nick?”

“Negotiations.”

Rachel smelled bacon and coffee. She walked down the stairs, breathing in the enticing aromas with relish. Sleep had come in fits of dozing nod-offs in between jerking upright at every sound. Rachel arrived at the stair landing and noticed the newly cleaned and freshly polished section of hard wood floor to her left. She skirted it carefully and continued into the kitchen. Nick, in black pajama bottoms, gray strapped t-shirt and slippers, stood at the stove watching a griddle. He smiled at her as she walked up next to him. Deke was already prone next to Nick’s feet.

“I bet you make killer pancakes.”

“Hardy har har.” Nick chuckled, looking surprised and impressed with her ad lib. “I have to watch these, so you can get your own coffee. With your vast expertise though, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all.”

“I’ll manage.” Rachel giggled, filling the cup already set out for her. “You didn’t say how well the negotiations went last night.”

“Very well, with only a few rough spots I’m sure are now worked out. After our walk to the beach, I’ll introduce you to the owner of my favorite café on the avenue. He’s always shorthanded, and the hours would be flexible.”

“I thought if I decided to stay it would be as the wife of a rich novelist,” Rachel replied, sitting down at the table.

“I’ve found over the years it’s best to make yourself appear handy and a hard worker. Projecting an image of wealth will usually draw attention we could do without. You don’t want your skills getting rusty, do you?”

“Surprisingly, I like waitressing. The majority of people I’ve met are real nice. I’ll talk to your friend about the job. If I get any difficult customers, I’ll have you kill them.”

Rachel felt relieved when Nick laughed in appreciation of her needling.

“Good one. Jean won’t be a problem either. We’ll get her into a school and I can help with dropping off and picking up. To make it all work we have to go real soon and pick up those flash drives. I’ve done business using Florida as a base of operations in the past. We’ll stay at a condo down in Sarasota I know about.”

“Will there be any more negotiations?”

“I don’t think so, but let’s not kid ourselves, there will always be tradeoffs, Rachel.”

“Does Jean have to be involved?”

“She’s a very big part of my anticipated cover. It’s not an ideal life for a kid, but it’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative on your horizon with the US Marshalls. Give it six months. If it’s too much for either of us, I’ll set you up somewhere nice.”

“Sounds fair, but what in hell made you decide to do this? I mean, you could quit the Diego part of your life and keep making money writing.”

“Not to put a frown on your logical musings, but I believe you’re leaving out the psychopath part of my makeup. We don’t do well in retirement.”

“Oh…yeah, I…I did forget.” Rachel felt the hairs at the nape of her neck stand up. She watched the pajama clad Nick smiling as he made pancakes. “Do you think it possible you could care for me eventually?”

“I care for you already. Otherwise, I’d have dumped you at the first sign of complications,” Nick answered, meeting Rachel’s gaze. “It’s all new to me, which is sometimes a good thing. We psychos don’t like a lot of changes. We’re neat to a fault, precise in our language, good with kids and dogs, and we like our patterns. When I find something out of the ordinary I want, even with the changes in my patterns it brings, the positives usually outweigh the negatives.

“Like being an assassin?”

“I am an assassin. What I was referring to is my writing. It made an incredible diametrical enhancement in every aspect of my life. I had a persona and work I could talk about. I even do book signings.”

“We’re an experiment then?”

“Life is an experiment, full of choices. You have a choice now,” Nick stated plainly. He brought the covered dish full of pancakes to the table, along with a spouted serving cup with heated syrup. After taking the bacon out of the oven warmer, Nick called up to Jean, but didn’t get an answer.

“Well then for now I choose life.”

“I’ll try to keep your regrets at sixty/forty.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll be relatively satisfied with your choice over half the time.” Nick grinned, pointing at Deke. “Deke, go get Jean.”

The dog streaked off upstairs, much to Rachel’s amazement. “I can’t get that damned dog to sit, let alone fetch.”

“Deke’s already made his choice.”

Rachel huddled into her coat, hunching her shoulders against the cold salty-tasting breeze blowing in from the ocean. Blue sky peeked out amidst the multi-grey colored clouds roiling across the sky. Nick had ordered his two charges to dress in practically winter clothing. Walking down 12 thStreet and across Lighthouse Avenue toward the ocean, Rachel and Jean quickly understood why. Nick and Rachel sat on the two fold up beach chairs Nick had brought along, watching Jean and Deke explore the rock formations on Otter’s Point Beach. The ocean surface, unlike the strong breeze, was dead calm. The waves lapped gently at the rocks. Large kelp formations covered sections of the water offshore. Nick pointed out two otters zipping around amongst the thick, green leafy vines.

“Is it always this empty down here in the morning, Nick?”

“Yes, except on the weekends. I usually walk down around five-thirty in the morning on weekends. Weekdays, I seldom see anyone until nine out here, except a couple joggers.”

“Are you going to write me into your next book?” Rachel watched Jean poke into a tide pool while Deke romped around her, expecting something to be dislodged from the water.

Nick shook his head, snorting derisively.

“Why don’t I just surrender myself to the law while I’m at it? This writing gig is supposed to be a cover for us not an autobiography.”

“Don’t you write Diego’s adventures using your own hits as a template of sorts?”