Andrew Vachss - Flood

“You ever work before?”

“I did some jobs, local jobs-not in Africa, though.”

“How’d you know this was an African operation?” I said, sounding surprised.

“I know these things. I just read between the lines,” he said, grinning his winning snake’s grin.

“You do combat or penetration jobs?”

“Either one, man. Either one.”

“You got your choice with this operation.”

“You got a lot of guys signed up already?”

“We got ten men besides you already on-board here in New York, another fifteen in Houston. I understand our people on the Coast are doing real well too. You got any particular specialty? They pay extra for that, you know the scene.”

“Interrogation,” said the Cobra. No smile this time.

I nodded, then told him, “You’ll have to bunk with us for a few days until we’re ready to shove off. The accommodations are pretty good, we got food, TV, access to phones. We even bring in a whore or two every couple of nights.”

“I get my own,” he said quickly.

“Yeah, well, once you’re in we can’t have people just walking around the streets, right? Security. We bring in what the guys want.”

“Yeah…”

I figured he was thinking he didn’t know me well enough to ask me to bring him a kid for him to practice his specialty on.

THE WAREHOUSE LOOMED in sight. Max rolled in the front, slipped out from behind the wheel, and went back to close the door, all in one continuous motion. I knew he’d be hitting the switch to tell Flood the cargo had arrived.

Max opened the door on my side, I slid out, he walked around the back of the Plymouth, and opened the Cobra’s door. Wilson climbed out, stretched himself, yawned. He looked at Max, said, “He’s a zip…” in a surprised voice. I shrugged my shoulders in a what-can-you-do? gesture and pointed to the stairs. The Cobra started to climb, seemed to hesitate when he heard something, then realized it was just a radio. Hearing Hank Williams sing “Your Cheatin’ Heart” seemed to add a spring to his step. As he completed the first flight I slipped past him to show him the way to the second, where Flood would be waiting, leaving Max behind him. The Cobra was in a box, but not the box where he belonged-not yet.

I got to the door of Max’s temple and we couldn’t hear the music anymore. I pushed aside the bamboo so the Cobra would precede me, and we all went inside-

And there stood Flood in the black robes, in a room lit only by the flickering candles on the altar.

“What the fuck is…?” He spun around to face me. He saw the double-barreled sawed-off leveled at his chest, and stopped. He glanced at Max and saw the warrior, now wearing the same black robes as Flood.

“Give me the passport,” I said, “and if your hands touch anything else you’re chopped meat.”

The Cobra reached slowly for his breast pocket, saying “Hey, look… man, look. I got it. It’s here. What’s going on…?”

He placed the passport gently on my open palm. Flood stood watching-still as stone. I held the passport in one hand, slid my thumb inside and flipped it open to the first page. There was his picture-and MARTIN HOWARD WILSON in government lettering. A valid passport, just like he promised. I nodded to Flood and Max.

The Cobra stood with his hands at his sides, waiting to see if he’d passed the test. I prodded him forward with the scattergun until he was close enough to see the little red table. Close enough to see the metal spike with the dark wood handle wrapped in red silk. Close enough to see the picture of Sadie and Flower-to see his own photograph. Then he knew.

Max and I stepped back, away from him. I spoke to him in a calm voice-no more mystery. “Look, pal. It’s a job, you understand. This lady has a beef with you and she hired us to bring you here. Now it’s between you and her. We’re out of it. Only you don’t leave until it’s settled. That’s it.”

The Cobra stood there, staring straight ahead-his mouth was open, his breathing was bad. Then Flood spoke up, her voice thin and clear, without a tremor. “Martin Howard Wilson”-like a judge handing down a sentence-“you killed that child. Flower. Her people are dead. I am of the child’s blood and I want yours in payment-”

“What is this shit -”

“Shut up,” I told him, moving the shotgun for emphasis.

Flood went on as if nobody had spoken. “I will fight you. Now. In this room. On this ground. We fight to the death. Only one of us leaves this room. If you defeat me, you will be free to go.”

The Cobra looked at me. I nodded. “That’s the deal, pal. One of you leaves the room.”

“I beat this cunt and I leave? No problems?”

“No problems,” I said, and stepped back.

FLOOD BOWED TO Max, bowed to me, and turned to bow to the altar she had made. The Cobra unbuttoned his fatigue jacket with one hand, slowly, so as not to provoke me into blowing him away. He was wearing only a black T-shirt under the jacket, the butt of a small automatic protruded above his belt.

“Your choice,” I said, stepping slightly to my left. Max moved out of the line of fire.

The Cobra used only his thumb and index finger to pull it out-a nasty little.25-caliber Beretta, more than enough to do the job at close range. He held it by the butt and gently tossed it in my direction. It bounced off my thigh-my eyes never left him.

Still watching me, he knelt and unlaced his combat boots, took off his socks, put them on the floor. A look of profound disgust flashed across Max’s face.

I walked toward the Cobra: the scattergun backed him away until I was between him and the boots. A glance showed what I expected-a sheath stitched up one side of the boot, with the knife handle sticking out the top. I kicked the boots away and stepped back.

He looked over at me, giving it one last try. “Can I talk to you?”

I shook my head. He looked at Max’s face, saw his future, and turned to face his past.

Max and I faded back against the walls, leaving the Cobra and Flood alone on the deck. Flood shrugged her shoulders, causing the lovely silk robe to fall to the floor behind her. She faced the Cobra wearing a black jersey top with accordion folds in the shoulders over flowing white silk pants. Around her waist was a white sash, tied so that its tails revealed two black tips.

Flood flicked her foot and the discarded robe flew off the deck and came to rest against the altar. She spread her arms wide to the Cobra-and bounced toward him on the balls of her feet.

The Cobra ran to meet her, shifting his upper body so it was parallel to the ground and firing a sharp roundhouse kick off his right foot. Flood flowed under the kick without changing her position, and he whipped the left foot back to the ground and lashed out with the right-Flood wasn’t there.

I looked over at Max-the Cobra was quicker than I thought he’d be, and he was fighting her correctly. An amateur would try and use his greater upper-body strength against a woman, but his longer legs gave him more power with less risk. Someone had trained him well-his concentration on Flood was total. Max and I weren’t in the room for him anymore.

Flood still hadn’t moved. The Cobra faked a chop with his left hand, spun into a tightly controlled back-kick, and used the forward momentum to fire three quick chopping strikes in one burst. The first two missed-Flood took the last one on her elbow, spun into it, and twisted her hips to launch an elbow at his exposed face. The Cobra leaned back, his lips parting as her arm shot by, but Flood kept spinning, aiming an eye-dart that just missed, raking the side of his face. First blood. The Cobra rolled to the floor and lashed up at her ankles with his heel, supporting himself with his palms.