Carter's Mark - Chapter 5
Chapter 5: A Decision, And A Break
“You’re not serious?”
Carter sipped his
coffee with vigor, as if it were the last cup he would ever drink. He made a simple nod without breaking his
stare on the mug in his hands.
“Well you’re not doing
it, right?” She had never acted like
this before.
“It’s part of the job
Gwen,” he replied, setting the empty mug on the low standing oriental table in
the living room.
“He’s your
father!” She was getting more and more
audible with each sentence.
“You know as well as I
do that he’s never been my father. He’s just a man to me.” Carter wasn’t going to raise his voice; it
wasn’t his style.
“He gave life to you,
James! Now you’re going to take
his?” Carter looked up at Gwen. She had always been so supportive of him, and
he had been killing and confiding in her for years. Why did she think he would have any
feelings towards his dad now?
“Listen, Gwen. The man I work for is much more of a parent
than either of mine ever were,” explained Carter softly. Tom and Carter agreed that not using real
names in front of others was a good precaution to take. “My father has never once been there for me,
and my mother…” Carter stalled.
“Your mother what?”
“My mother never
survived long enough to teach me much of anything.”
This seemed to lighten
Gwen’s mood significantly. She sat on
the chair opposite of Carter, and looked intrigued. “What happened to her anyways?” She pursued this new subject now, and seemed
to have temporarily forgotten the previous topic. “That is the first time I’ve ever heard you
mention her, except for the picture at your loft.”
“There’s not much to
say. She died when I was six. She went to the store one day to get medicine
for my flu, and got in a car accident. Martin…
Dad… I think he blamed me for her death.”
This was news to Gwen,
and she finally let her guard down and be close to Carter again. “So who took care of you?”
“The maids of the
house, until I was about nine. Then I
was able to fend for myself,” Carter explained.
There was a long pause. Carter enjoyed
silence whenever it surfaced itself.
Just as he was starting to dive back into his own thoughts and memories,
Gwen spoke again.
“James? When you would leave your house because of
your dad, where would you go?” This is
why he liked her so much. She was always
so intrigued by him, almost to the point of obsession. She was the only one who could get things
like this out of him.
“There was an older
man,” began Carter, “that lived down the way from my father’s house. I used to spend hours listening to his old
war stories, and learning all sorts of things about weaponry. The guy knew so much about guns. Called himself Beretta or something like
that. Never found out his real name. He didn’t tell me much about himself at all,
come to think of it. Part of me believes
it was he who tipped Wolf off about me.”
“Is he still alive?”
Gwen asked.
“Probably. Owned a gun shop near the end of town last I
remember. It’s been a few years
though.” There was another silence. Carter took in a few moments of it, then
added, “I’m going to bed.”
“Sleep?” inquired
Gwen.
“Whatever you want
doll,” answered Carter. Gwen hurried to
the front door, locked it, then followed Carter into the bedroom.
. . .
“Fifteen minutes
should be fine, thank you.” Seth entered
a vacant row, and took out his newly acquired pistol. As he loaded the gun, there was a low chuckle
close by when he struggled with the clip.
“First time at a
shooting range?” Seth spun around, and
looked over at the man in the stall next to him. “Yes,” replied Seth
simply. He gave the man a second look
before beginning to shoot. There’s
something vaguely familiar about this guy, he thought to himself. Immediately his mind switched however, to the
present matter at hand. Three weeks he
had searched for clues about the seemingly invisible man that had tried to
murder him in cold blood, on two different occasions. Everywhere he searched, he seemed to find
himself farther and farther away from the truth. The gun store owner knew nothing. His former co-worker Underwood was less than
helpful, and the brokerage he used to work for had burned to the ground a year
ago, and rebuilt. Life, at the moment,
was one big dead end.
His first round of
targets proved how much of a beginner shot Seth was. Only two of his twelve shots hit his target
from thirty yards away. Even his
attempts at killing a human outline on a piece of paper seemed futile. As he started on his second round, his
emotions overwhelmed him, and he broke down.
Why can’t I catch a break? How
did all of this happen? I’m going to
find you! I’m going to kill you!
After a few seconds of
clicking an empty barrel, he regained composure. It was another few seconds before he realized
that people were staring at him from their bays. “You okay?” asked the man in the stall next
to him. Seth again looked in his
direction, but this time he recognized him.
He was Roger Wyatt.
“Hey, I know
you,” Seth called out over the fire of
gunshots, that had started back up.
Wyatt looked at him, studying his appearance. Then a wave of astonishment came over his
face.
“Holy shit! Seth
Marks! How the hell are ya?”
“I’ve been better,”
Seth said. Maybe all hope is not lost.
The two agreed to leave the range after
a couple minutes of catching up. They
gathered up their gear, and headed out together. Once outside, Wyatt started up again.
“Wow, man, it’s been a
while,” said Wyatt, now a lot more calm.
“We all thought you left town.
Some even thought you were dead.
Man…” He stopped only to
breathe. “It’s been what, four
years? Wow… last time I saw you was that
night that we all got together at your house to talk about that moron Albert
Watson losing all that money because of our advice.” And there it was. Wyatt had given Seth in one sentence more
than he was able to accomplish in three weeks of investigation. He now had a newly found hope.
Over the next few
hours, and after a few pitchers of beer, Seth had nearly filled in all the
holes about his absence. After many
rounds of questioning, Wyatt finally seemed content to sit in silence. A few minutes passed, and Seth thought back
to when he and Wyatt used to go to lunch together, double dates with their
wives, and even give each other advice about life, which was a bad idea,
considering neither of them knew what was good advice. They had lost touch for months before the
shooting, with the exception of the get-together at Seth’s house, but they had
always been pretty good friends.
After minutes of
persuading, Seth reluctantly agreed to bunk up in the guest room of Wyatt’s
house. Wyatt had also agreed to help
Seth with his situation. It was a good
thing too, because Wyatt was much better with a pistol than he, and could teach
him a few things. Maybe, Seth
thought, he might even be willing to get his hands dirty. Things were definitely looking up.
After gathering an
address from the phone book the next day, (after a couple of calls to insure
they had the right one) the two set out for Albert Watson’s. His house was an Old English style house out
in the country, with stucco on the outside, and a thick, heavy looking
reinforced front door. Seth had decided
to use a different approach this time, and was not going to play it nice with
this man. From here on out, it was
hardball. He had gone over his plan with
Wyatt the night before, sure that he would not want to have any part of it. Surprisingly, he seemed thrilled to be
involved. Seth had learned that in the
last year, Wyatt had lost most of his money on the failed get-rich scheme
Underwood had mentioned, lost his wife to cervical cancer, and had had some
trouble with a loan shark, of which he had borrowed money from to save his
mortgage. It was a sad story, but Seth
was relieved that he wouldn’t have to go at this alone.
“Okay, we’re going to
split up. I think he’ll be the only one
here, judging by how secluded this place is.
I’ll go around the right, you left, and look for a way inside. Set your phone to vibrate, and call if you
find a way in.” After a swift nod of
acknowledgement, Seth started off towards the right side of the house. Had the house been in a neighborhood, it
would have been impossible to case the outside of it. Luckily, Watson lived far outside the city
limits of Savannah, and there were no other residences for miles on each side
of him. The two men were able to walk
around freely in all black, with gloves and guns, without any danger of being
spotted.
Seth edged himself along
the side of the house. He guessed that a
house this extravagant had to have a
security alarm on all possible entrances.
He had forgotten to mention this to Wyatt however, and a feeling of
uneasiness entered his stomach. He’s
a pretty smart guy, keep going, Seth thought to himself. He couldn’t worry about that now.
Rounding the corner to
the back of the house, Seth hadn’t found any way into the house. But as he was about to edge himself around
the corner, a man dressed in navy pajamas opened the back door and stepped out
onto the lawn. For a few seconds Seth
watched as the man fed his dog and started back towards the house. By the time he had gotten a few steps from the
door, Seth managed to sneak up behind him and put the barrel of his gun to the
back of his neck. “Good morning Albert,”
Seth whispered vehemently into his ear.
The hair on Watson’s neck stood up instantly, showing his fear of his
new visitor. Seth called out to Wyatt,
who appeared quickly from around the other side of the house. Just a short moment after Seth had put Watson
in a chair in the main room, he instructed Wyatt to search the house, as he
began his interrogation. Still pointing
the gun at him, he began.
“Do you know who I
am?” Watson nodded. He had a stern look on his face, but his eyes
clearly showed panic. “Didn’t have much
success with that hitman, did you?”
Watson only blinked as he heard these words. “It was only money Watson. Why end my life over it?” Seth waited for a
response, but didn’t get one. Talking
gently to this man was having no affect.
Reacting to the nervous man’s lack of vocal reaction, Seth grabbed a
handful of hair and jerked Watson’s head back and put the gun to his chin. “Talk!” Not a sound came from the man. Guess I’ll have to ask harder, Seth
decided. He let go of Watson, and stood
up in front of him again, his focus never leaving the eyes of his
counterpart.
“You don’t believe a
stockbroker like me has it in him to shoot someone, is that it? You don’t think you’re in any real
danger?” Once again, no sound from
Watson. Seth waited only a few seconds,
and then made a move. He raised his gun,
and fired twice, hitting both kneecaps.
He didn’t have to be a good shot from this close. Watson rolled off his chair onto the ground,
but the only sound that came from him was the exhale of breath as he made
contact with the wooded floor. Seth
turned him over, and gave him another look.
It didn’t take long, now that he wasn’t staring into Watson’s eyes, to
find the cause for the silence. A small
scar on the man’s neck, and a flat throat where an Adam’s Apple used to
be. It seemed as if his voice box had
been removed.
Seth took a moment to
think, and then sat Albert upright on the floor as Wyatt reentered the
room. He looked at the new state of the
injured man, then said, “No one here.”
Seth nodded then replied, “Listen.
Go find me some paper and a pen.”
He returned seconds later with a notepad, and a fancy, expensive looking
ballpoint. Seth received them, and held
them up for Albert to see. “All I need
is a name and an address. Tell me who
the hitman is and where he lives. If you
don’t know, then tell me who he works for, the man you spoke to about killing
me, and where he lives. Do as I say, and
you won’t die today.”
With the word die,
Albert’s eyes doubled in size. He
grabbed the pen, and scribbled something on the notepad. Then he stared pleadingly at Seth, who
grabbed the pad, and read:
Wolf
264 Beaty
“Hitman?” Seth
questioned. Albert shook his head. “Boss then,” he concluded, coming to terms
quickly with having yet another person to go through to get to his man. “All right then. Look at me,” Seth ordered.
Albert had lost quite a bit of blood, and was starting to lose focus and
slouch. Seth helped him by raising his
head to the eye level of his own with his off hand. Seth had taken a knee since injuring his
newly reacquainted client, and he was now staring again directly into Watson’s
eyes with great concentration. Holding
Watson up, Seth started talking softly.
Wyatt, feeling left out, made himself feel important by making another
trip around the house. Seth hadn’t
noticed.
“You know, my mother
once told me ‘money is the root of all evil.’
I didn’t quite understand that until this very moment. Mothers are so smart, don’t you agree?” The quiet demeanor of Seth seemed to frighten
Watson more than anything to this point, and he started shaking. “I love mine.
In fact, I love all of my family.
My dad, my grandparents, aunts and uncles. And my wife…” Seth hesitated. Then, still speaking softly, but now with a
touch of anger, he continued. “My wife
was a great woman, and I miss her. We
weren’t the perfect couple, but I loved her.
Now,” he yanked Watson’s head back into position, as it had fallen off
to the side. He was starting to drift in
and out of consciousness now. “Now I
have nothing. You have robbed me of my
family, my friends, my job, my life.
It’s good to see you’ve done well for yourself since I last saw you,”
Seth moved to catch a look at Watson’s scar, and continued. “You know, I’m after the man that tried to
kill me, and him alone. Consider
yourself lucky. You have it easy. I’m not going to hurt you anymore. Let’s get you cleaned up. You gave me what I need, and I think that
should count for something.” Seth
released Albert, stood up, and left for the kitchen. He returned minutes later with some rags and
a cup of tea. After tying the rags off
around his legs to stop the bleeding, Seth positioned the tea at Watson’s lips.
“Here, drink up, it’ll make you feel better.”
Albert opened his mouth, indicating he agreed to drink. After a few sips, Seth struggled the injured
man back into the chair, just as Wyatt reentered the room carrying a duffle
bag. He stopped dead in his tracks,
seemingly amazed that Seth had done all of this for the man. A confused look came over his face, but said
nothing. Seth stood up, and reached for
his phone. Dialing a set of numbers, he
started to pace.
“Yes, I need an
ambulance, my friend’s been injured.
Yes. 1418 Black Cherry
Trail. His name is Albert Watson, mine
is Seth Marks… It seems to be two deep
wounds in his legs… He won’t tell me how
he got them… Just hurry okay? Thank you.”
Seth hung up, and rounded back to Watson. “All right, help is coming, hang in
there. Us… we’re leaving, can’t be seen
here when the paramedics show up, you know?
We’ll leave the front door cracked.
See you around old friend.” Seth
and Wyatt proceeded out the back of the house, after opening the front door
slightly. Seth set the glass of tea down
beside Albert, on the floor on the way out.
“What the hell was
that all about? Why did you show him
mercy?”
“I couldn’t be
ruthless to the man after noticing what condition he was in Wyatt. I’m not cold-blooded,” responded Seth.
“But why did you call
the ambulance, they’re gonna know we were there!”
“Calm down friend,”
said half-hazardly. “I didn’t call the
ambulance. I was merely acting.”
Wyatt looked
relieved. Obviously, he didn’t want to
go to jail, not just yet anyway. “So why
did you let him live?”
Seth smiled. “I didn’t.” They had reached Wyatt’s
car. “The fool had Cyanide in his
cupboard. He sure did enjoy that tea
though.”
Wyatt stood beside the
car, simply admiring Seth for a moment, then said, “Brilliant.”
“Kill ‘em with
kindness. What’s for lunch?” Wyatt chuckled at that statement. They got in the car, and drove off back
towards the city.
. . .
Carter had just gotten
off the phone with Tom, and was now sitting at an outdoor table at the diner in
which Gwen worked, drinking coffee and planning. He had gone over most everything in his head,
and only lacked a few minor details before he felt comfortable with the job set
out in front of him. Unlike the other
assassins and hitmen in all the stories and fables, Carter liked to work
fast. It seemed to him that the longer
he waited, the more opportunities he lost for work. This did not mean that he was careless
however; he was very careful and strategic with his hits. As he looked around the diner at everyone
around him, something came to his mind.
He had been the person he was now for a long time, and he had never
really had a chance to lead a normal life. Two men at the table next to him
were having a seemingly important business discussion, dressed in suits, with
such stiff postures. A rugged man
dressed in old hunting clothes, eating lamb and thoroughly enjoying it. A mother feeding her child some french fries. After the hit on Felicity Rose, and now
having the job to kill his own father, Carter was becoming less and less happy
with his line of work. He now wondered
what it would be like to be just like everyone else. If he went through with his next assignment,
his soul would be at it’s most dark time.
After the conversation
with Gwen, Carter had lie awake in bed, thinking not about his job, but about
his future. Could he possibly be a
hitman forever? This was the first time
that James Carter’s conscience got involved in the decision making
process. He had tried to shake the
thoughts out of his head, as it had all seemed to come out of nowhere, but as
much as he tried to reason with himself about why he did what he did, all he
could think about was the thought of being done with it all. He had saved up enough money to leave it all
behind forever. He was sure that Gwen
would leave with him. The only thing
keeping him around was Tom.
Part of Carter
believed the main reason he did what he did was because of Tom. He truly was the father Carter never had, and
it was all he had known since he was a teenager to follow his lead. Part of him thought that he only killed to
please Tom. If it made him happy, it
made Carter happy. He was becoming a
human being with an ever-growing soul over the years, however, and it was
becoming more and more difficult to keep his thoughts from going against his
actions. He could not do this very much
longer, or he would never be able to live with himself. He had to tell Tom how he felt. Carter decided then and there that this would
be his final act. Could he possibly live
a full and happy life away from being a mercenary? Moreover, could he possibly do this to his
own flesh and blood? One thing was
certain: James Carter’s life was
changing for the better right then and there, at Gwen’s diner. And Gwen…
From the moment he had
met Gwen at her diner, she had been there for him. They took care of each other: Gwen looked after Carter, keeping him sane in
a messed up world, and Carter retroactively was company for Gwen, adding a
surge of life to an otherwise boring existence.
Gwen never once strayed from Carter’s side, and therefore, Carter never
mistreated her. What would she say when
she found out he was thinking of quitting?
Would her views of him change if he were to go through with the mission
at hand?
As she refilled his
mug, Carter noticed a faint smile from Gwen, but not a reassuring one. Her smile was one of uneasiness, one that
transferred a bit of the same feeling to him.
Focus, he reminded himself, and turned his attention back to his
planning. It would be just after dark
that night. He could get inside the
house, avoid anyone in his path, and finally confront his father. He could only hope that the structure and
form of the house was the same as it was when he was a child, as his father
always used to renovate, and redo the layout of the house before his mother
died. He didn’t do anything after
though, and he hoped this fact remained unchanged. Finishing the last bit of his coffee, Carter
laid a twenty on the table, and stood up.
The two rarely showed the public that they knew each other, and they
barely glanced at one another as he left.
As the day went on,
more and more thoughts rolled into Carter’s mind. This was one of the few situations in which
he was actually a bit frightened and skeptical.
The last time he felt this way he got bombarded by six men, and wound up
shot. As he walked down the street
towards Tom’s residence, he noticed something was wrong. A car sitting silently down the street from
Tom’s. It wasn’t much of a detail, but Carter
was able to pick up on it instantly, as he knew no one was allowed to park on
the street in this neighborhood. Only
outsiders, strangers to the area would not know this. Cutting through the yard, Carter went around
the back of Tom’s house, trying to remember if Tom had any enemies. Knocking once on an open back door, he walked
in carefully.
The uneasy feeling
grew stronger when Carter entered the house.
The door to Tom’s study was cracked, and upon entering he found the room
empty. He kept trying to make himself think
he had just gone out for something, looking around for some implication of why
Wolf had been so sloppy. Taking a look
around the house, Carter observed the white tile floor of the foyer, checking
to make sure it was clean, which it was.
There was nothing else out of the ordinary, and his dread settled
considerably as he left the house. Maybe
he left the back door on accident. “You
just can’t make mistakes like this in this line of work Tom,” Carter heard him
say out loud. Checking his watch, he
noticed that nightfall was closing in.
The moment had come for him to complete what would be his final
assignment.
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