Matt Hilton - Cut and run

Now that his pulse had calmed somewhat and the breeze was helping to clear the smell of smoke from the car and the cobwebs from his mind, he was beginning to think a little sharper. Draft plans were beginning to take shape.

After a couple of miles of following frustratingly slow traffic, he took the Focus off the highway on to surface streets of a housing scheme not dissimilar to Liberty City. He followed the streets until he found what he was looking for. A convenience store was like a candle to moths, drawing people to its doors with the promise of bargains. Rickard parked the Focus in a row of similarly non-intrusive vehicles, blending himself among the clientele going in and out of the store. Unlike the others who parked nose in to the kerb, he reversed into the parking space in order that he'd have a quick getaway if the cops turned up. He angled his mirrors so he could discreetly check anyone coming towards him from the direction of the store and then swept the roadway with his gaze. Happy that he wasn't attracting any untoward attention, he pulled out his mobile phone and tapped a hot key.

The phone rang a half dozen times.

The buzzing in his ear told him what he'd already taken for granted. Any other time his client had picked up almost immediately but this time there was reticence in answering. Probably wasn't expecting a call from a dead man, he thought. Except enough time had passed since the attempt on his life back at his apartment for the news to have filtered back that he'd escaped unscathed. However, the last thing expected of him would be for him to call in now.

'Rickard?'

At the sound of the voice he blinked slowly.

'You were perhaps expecting someone else?'

His retort was ignored. 'Why didn't you call in sooner?'

'I've been rather busy.'

'So I've seen. Things are getting out of hand up there. I lost some good people.'

'They weren't that good,' Rickard said.

'Obviously not. Joe Hunter took them out easily… he's more dangerous than I thought.'

Rickard felt a dull thud in his gut. Something squirmed there, reaching for his heart. The serpent stirring.

Hunter took them out.

Rickard had no sense of speaking the words aloud and was surprised to hear an answer. 'I sent a team to offer you assistance. They spotted Hunter and rashly believed that they were his equal. All but one of them was killed.'

Rickard struggled to comprehend what he was being told. Finally he understood. The diner. The shoot-out. Those were the people his client was talking about. Of course there was no way that he'd get a confession about the three who'd come to his apartment.

'You shouldn't have sent anyone.' His words were loaded.

'I thought it best.' No argument. 'Hunter has proven himself to be the most dangerous of your targets. The situation with Imogen Ballard told me that the job would require more than one man to complete.'

Rickard grunted. 'I told you, circumstances overtook me in Maine. It does not mean I'm incapable of finishing the job. Alone.'

There was a long pause. The ticking of the cooling engine, a distant bark of an excited dog, was all that filled the seconds.

'I have reconsidered our arrangement.'

'In what way?' Rickard asked.

'You were employed to set Hunter up. I wanted him to suffer greatly. I wanted him to lose people he cared for in the knowledge that he could do nothing to stop their deaths. He was to have no one to turn to, no place to hide. But it seems all of that was ridiculously grandiose of me. I should have simply had you take him out at the first opportunity, allowed you to kill him.' Rickard couldn't argue with that: it was what he'd thought all along. So he just listened. 'The plan has backfired. It has caused problems I could do without. I said I did not want a trail leading back to me.'

I am a trail to you, Rickard realised.

But that was not what was said. 'Hunter killed three of those I sent to help you. One of them is still alive and in the hands of law enforcement. I can't risk having him mention my name.'

'You want me to kill him?'

'No, I have other people who will do that for me.'

'I'll do it.'

'No, Rickard. I want you to disappear for a while. The police are looking for you now. So is Joe Hunter. I will pay you for your services to date and will also see that you receive a weighty bonus. However, that is it. You must have no more involvement in this case.'

'That's not the way I work.'

'I understand your disappointment, Rickard. But that's the way it must be.'

'You don't understand what I'm saying…'

'I do. You took the job on the understanding that you would ultimately kill Hunter. Professionally you want to see that task through. I know that you wish to finish things but it's better this way.'

'Better?'

'You delivered exactly what was asked of you, it just did not have the result I was hoping for. From here on in I wish to play things differently.'

'You're saying that you're severing our contract?'

'For the time being. However I may use you again in the future.'

'Use me?'

'You're disappointed. I understand. I will compensate you well: believe me, you will be happy with the bonus I mentioned.'

'I am more than disappointed,' Rickard said, his voice low. He had begun to shake, vibrating like a tuning fork.

'Rickard, you are going to drop out of sight for a while. My own people will deal with this from now on. Should I need your services again, I will contact you.'

The line went dead.

As though his strength of will could summon the voice again, he pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the soft whoosh of blood through his skull. He sat like that for some time, vision glazed over as he stared into middle space. But the voice didn't come back. All that happened was that the trembling inside him intensified. He was like a pot coming to the boil, about to spurt scalding liquid everywhere. And now his effort of will was aimed at bringing that under control.

First he closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket. No way would he hit that hot key again. The phone would go unanswered, adding further insult to what he'd already suffered.

He started the car and nosed out into the roadway, blinking his blurred vision away as he swung north. He drove a shade below the speed limit. Careful and considerate: it was a struggle because his rage demanded speed and reckless manoeuvres and perhaps a little mayhem and destruction along the way.

I may use you again.

It was those words that angered him most.

He inhaled deeply and then shuddered out a long breath.

No one uses me, he thought. He laughed at the absurdity of it. But the laughter would fool no one, let alone him. So he stopped laughing and chewed at his bottom lip.

He was a professional killer of men, a craftsman, and a master of his art. No one used him. His services came with an unconditional guarantee of excellence. It was a contractual partnership, one that he would never shirk once the deal was made, and a binding promise that his client could not step away from either. Once you were in you were in for the journey. Of course, the manner of his trade meant that a broken contract could not be pursued in the same way as other businesses. The client's offer of a 'weighty bonus' just did not cut it. Compensation wasn't the issue. His standing as one at the top of his tree was. No one used Luke Rickard then threw him away like he was a senseless thug scrabbling in the dirt for a handful of scattered coins.

His plan to get out of the country now took on a far more pointed purpose than avoiding a manhunt.

'Man, this takes me back, guys.' Rink was nipping the tip of his tongue between his teeth, enjoying every minute of the experience.