Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

"Pair of what?"

"Johanssons. Cans. Funbags. Jesus H., don't they teach you young guys anything?"

Rakkim smiled back at the three moderns waiting outside a coffee shop, businesswomen with high heels and blue streaks through their hair. "Well, mostly we pay attention to see what you old guys do and then we head in the opposite direction."

"You been married, what, five years? Might as well be five minutes. You'll find out." Colarusso wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I tried talking to Anthony Junior but he don't listen to me. Never has. You he listens to. No fucking justice."

"Not in this world."

"Not in the next one either, that'd be my guess." Colarusso pushed a bit of hot dog bun back into his mouth with his pinkie, a drop of mustard falling onto the toe of his shoes. He wiped the offending stain off on the back of his trousers, kept walking.

"You find out anything for me, Anthony?"

Colarusso cut across the street to the park, Rakkim beside him, neither of them glancing at the traffic that screeched to a halt. A horn blared but Colarusso stopped that with a look, kept walking, finally sat down on a bench at the edge of the park. A good spot. One that offered a view of the lunchtime crowd eating on the grass and the passing sidewalk parade. Colarusso spread his arms across the back of the bench, enjoying the sun. "Did you know that Anthony Junior wants out of the Fedayeen?"

"Yeah. It's in the works. Should take another week for the approval to go through."

"You did that?"

Rakkim shrugged.

"Honorable discharge?"

"Man was cited twice for conspicuous bravery under fire, Anthony. What do you think?"

"You sure? His commander said no way they were letting him go before his seven-year commitment had been met. Said they invested too much money in his training."

"It's true. The genetic boosters alone cost close to a million dollars."

Colarusso belched into his fist. "Commander offered Anthony Junior another promotion. Said he could have his choice of posting. Gave him the God-and-country speech."

"It's a good speech. Works most of the time," said Rakkim, watching the people passing by the park. "Anthony Junior…is he sure?"

Colarusso nodded. Quiet now. Rakkim gave him time. "He said…he said he was done with it all. Just… done, " Colarusso said finally. "I think something happened in that little town in Colorado during the last Mormon counterattack. He won't talk about it, but I think it turned things for him."

"Then it's time for him to pack it in." Rakkim watched a kid, a moderate Muslim, walk between two moderns engaged in conversation, the kid lightly bumping them, apologizing profusely. "That kid in the green silk jacket…he's good."

"What do you mean?"

"He pulled off a double play on those two moderns, which is a tough move, but what's really nice is afterwards he never changed his pace. Most boosters make a score like that, they tend to bolt."

Colarusso squinted after the kid. "Never a cop around when you need one, is there." He turned to Rakkim. "That was you once, right?"

"Right."

"Then you lifted Redbeard's wallet and he caught you."

"I was nine and I was overconfident."

"You're still overconfident," said Colarusso. "Redbeard must have liked that, though, bringing you home and everything." He dabbed at his upper lip with the handkerchief as Rakkim stayed silent. "Had to be a reason. Not like he thought a thief would be a good playmate for Sarah. Probably just wanted a son. Man needs a son."

"If that's what he wanted, he gave up on that idea soon enough. I think…maybe I was a project for him. See what he could teach me. What he could turn me into."

Colarusso laughed. "Well, fathers and sons…one way or the other, they always disappoint each other."

"I asked you a question before about Senator Chambers. Would it help if I bought you another hot dog? Maybe throw in a side of chili fries?"

"No." Colarusso patted his ample belly. "I'm watching my weight." He waited until a bus passed, the rumble of the diesel echoing. "Senator Chambers looks clean."

Rakkim tracked the security blimps drifting over the city, sunlight gleaming off their electronic arrays. "Looks?"

"Only thing that caught my eye was in the last eighteen months, two of his longtime servants retired." Colarusso blew his nose into his napkin. "Both of them are dead now. One had a heart attack. One drove his car into a bridge abutment at a high rate of speed." He put away the handkerchief as the bus pulled away in a cloud of black smoke. "Wouldn't have thought anything of it…except you're asking questions."

"How old was the servant who had the heart attack?"

"Forty-seven. They say the good die young. Guess you and me, we'll live forever."

"You have the details?"

Colarusso slid a datastick into Rakkim's hand. "Full run-down on both of them. Any chance you'll tell me what this is all about?"

"Did you cover your tracks?"

"No, I been gobbling pretty-colored paint chips so now I'm retarded," said Colarusso.

"Sorry."

"You and Sarah got plans for tonight? Marie's planning on ruining a piece of meat and you're welcome to share."

"Can't do it. Sarah's dragging me to the university for a meet-and-greet."

"Sounds painful."

"You want to go in my place, I'll gladly eat Marie's food."

"Hard decision, but I'll pass." Colarusso scratched at a dried blob of something on his suit jacket. "I appreciate your help with Anthony Junior."

"He did his duty. If he thinks it's time to come home, then that's what he should do."

"He wants to be a cop. You believe that?"

Rakkim shook his hand, lost in Colarusso's mitt. "That's great."

"Yeah…" Colarusso beamed, lightly ran his fingers over his badge. "He said he likes the discipline and the camaraderie of the department, reminds him of why he applied to become Fedayeen. He said he wanted to do something that would help people, but he worried about the killing part. I told him most cops go their whole career and never draw their sidearm…and the ones that have to, well, somebody's got to stop the bad guys." He nudged Rakkim in the ribs. "Although I did tell him to forget that nonsense about helping people. That kind of talk will get him laughed off the force."

"Quarterback of the Atlanta Rednecks used to live here," said Deshane, pointing at the house on the hill as they turned off the country road, the Cadillac lurching over the potholes.

They had been escorted to the car by one of Crews's deacons, but Deshane, clearly under orders, drifted far back from the other vehicles in the entourage. Gravenholtz had threatened the driver, but the Old One interceded, told him to settle back and enjoy the ride. They had been driving for almost an hour now, out past the outskirts of Atlanta and into the pinewoods. They hadn't seen headlights or taillights in twenty minutes.

Deshane beeped the horn and the heavy steel gates slowly slid back from the entrance to the mansion. He waved at the guards flanking the private drive.

The guards waved back, assault rifles slung awkwardly across their shoulders, whiskey bottles in their hands.

"Great fucking security you got here," muttered Gravenholtz from the front seat.

"They's just bored," said Deshane, a young black man with cornrows and sad eyes. "Pastor Crews said they can't have whores visit the guardhouse anymore. That didn't sit well."

"Yes, I can imagine," said the Old One, seated in the back with Baby. "Not really much for them to do out here, I imagine."

"Yes, sir," said Deshane. "Nearest neighbors about four miles away."

Baby rolled down the window, inhaled. "Honeysuckle. I missed that smell." There were no lights in view other than those from the house on the hill.