Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

Sarah closed her eyes, fought off the fear and the claustrophobia. With her eyes closed she could imagine that she stood in an auditorium, gathering her thoughts before giving a lecture. There were voices in the room now, and the sound of furniture being knocked over. She opened her eyes. There was a crack in the paneling from the radiator’s heat, a crack that allowed a glimpse of the men ransacking the apartment. There were two…no, three of them. She didn’t think they were Redbeard’s men…they were too loud, too clumsy. Most of them. One of them though…her eye was pressed against the crack, eyelashes brushing against the rough wood. While the others darted around, a bald man moved to the couch and placed a hand on the cushion, felt the heat from her body still lingering. She shuddered as though he had touched her.

“Go check the roof,” ordered the bald man.

Sarah saw a man in a long leather coat rush out the door, heard his footsteps beating up the stairs, not even trying to be quiet. It was the middle of the night, but the neighbors knew well enough not to investigate sudden noises.

“The bitch is gone,” grumbled a tall, freckled scarecrow.

The bald man picked up a container of half-eaten Chinese food on the coffee table, remnants of her dinner. Sniffed it. “Thermal this shithole. I’ll decide if she’s gone.” He put his feet up on the coffee table, dug in with the chopsticks. A glop of chicken and bean sprouts fell into his lap on the way to his mouth. He went back for more.

Scarecrow circled the living room, using a handheld thermal imager to look for her. He scanned the stuffed chair, the hutch, walked out the ceiling and the floor. He hit the walls too, the unit beeping as he passed the radiator.

Sarah bit her finger to stop her teeth from chattering, sweat pouring down her face.

Scarecrow kept walking. When he finished, he started toward the bedroom.

“Don’t forget to get around the closet,” said the bald man. “And behind the shitter!” He started on the leftover sweet-and-sour pork, chewing with his mouth open.

Leather coat came back. “Nobody on the roof. It’s a jump to the next building, but she could do it.” He laughed. “If she was motivated.”

The bald man licked the chopsticks clean, stood up from the couch. “Toss the place. I’ll hit the bedroom and check her personals.”

Leather coat tore a mass-produced picture of the Great Mosque in Jerusalem off the wall, examined the back, then threw it onto the floor. He moved around the room. The desk was emptied, drawers overturned. Bent the TV screen in half.

Sarah turned away from the crack in the paneling, listening to the sounds of destruction, breathing through her mouth. Roasting. She had rented the apartment months ago, hoping she would never need it. Hoped she would never need the hiding spot either. She couldn’t believe they had found her. She had been so careful. These weren’t Redbeard’s men…it had to be the Old One who had sent them. She peeked out again through the crack.

“Little missy travels light,” scarecrow said to the bald man, as they walked back into the living room. “Just a toothbrush in the bathroom, no purse, no notepad, no papers.”

The bald man sat on the couch with a quart of milk in his hand, drinking straight from the carton, and the idea of him raiding her refrigerator enraged her out of all proportion.

“I don’t know about Ibn Azziz taking over from Oxley,” said scarecrow. “They say he don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t pump whores. How can you trust somebody like that?”

“That’s what a grand mullah is supposed to be like, you heathen prick.” The bald man shook his head. “All that matters is if he pays the bounty.”

“I’ll take Oxley any day,” said leather coat. “Man knew how to throw a party-”

The bald man chucked the empty milk carton onto the floor, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “This Ibn Azziz, he’s in a hurry. We’re going to work steady with this one.”

Sarah shifted slightly in the hiding spot and a raised nail scraped her arm. The Old One hadn’t sent these three men-they were bounty hunters. The Black Robes had a small army of mercenaries under contract for their dirty work, ex-army, ex-police, ex-cons. Even so, the Black Robes had never dared to challenge Redbeard directly. Now they were actually going after his niece?

“We got here five minutes sooner, we would have caught the bitch,” said scarecrow. “I could have bought a new car with my share.” He booted an antique mahogany bookstand, shattered the thin wood. “If asshole hadn’t stopped to take a piss…”

“I got a weak bladder,” said leather coat.

“Yeah, and if you didn’t have a weak bladder, I’d be riding in style tomorrow.” Scarecrow played with one of those Filipino flip knives that went snickity-snick. “Now maybe one of the other teams is going to collect the reward.”

Other teams? Sarah tasted dust in her mouth.

“We’ll find her,” said the bald man. “Little girl can’t hide forever.”

Scarecrow jabbed the couch with his knife, drove the blade in and out without passion. “What do the Black Robes want with her anyway?”

The bald man sat on the couch watching scarecrow play with the knife. “Don’t know. Don’t care, either.”

Sarah heard liquid splash on the floor, and leather coat saying, “Ahhhhhhhhh. That’s better.”

“You’re disgusting,” said scarecrow. Stuffing from the couch drifted across the floor.

The bald man stood up. “Let’s call it a night. She’s on the run now, scared and not thinking straight. We’ll catch little miss high and mighty another day.”

Sarah listened to them shuffle out, slamming the door behind them. She didn’t move. She stayed where she was, in the cramped darkness. She hated the dark. She had slept for years with a night-light on. Redbeard had tried to break her of the habit, but even he had been forced to give up. Rakkim…Rakkim had slept on the floor next to her bed when she had nightmares. It had been the only thing that helped.

The living room was quiet. She was half dozing from the heat. How had they found her? What mistake had she made? She changed outfits every time she left the apartment. Sometimes she dressed as a good fundamentalist. Sometimes as a modern. Sometimes as a Catholic. She never took a direct route to the apartment, never went to the same grocery store twice. Still, they had found her. Her eyes burned and she didn’t have room to wipe them. She was going to have to move again. The bald man had said she was going to be scared and not thinking straight. He was more right than she wanted to admit.

She craned her neck. Squinted at the luminous dial of her watch. It had been over twenty minutes since the bounty hunters had left. Her legs ached, and her lungs were heavy from the heat, but she stayed where she was. If you can’t be smart, be patient, that’s what Redbeard used to say, his insult the price of his wisdom.

She wished Rakkim were here. He would know what to do. She had wanted to tell him what she was up to, she had argued that he could be trusted, but the answer had always been the same. Trust no one. Sarah should have told him.

Her leg was cramping and her nose itched. A few nights ago she had walked within a block of Rakkim’s club, close enough to hear the music from the Blue Moon, close enough to imagine walking in and having a drink with him, her hand on his knee under the table. Instead she had turned away, angry with herself for getting too close. The Blue Moon would be the first place anyone would look for her. In spite of everything she knew, these last few days she had acted as though it were another game between her and Redbeard, just another round of hide-and-seek. The appearance of the bounty hunters tonight had put that lie to rest. Redbeard was the least of her worries.