The Last Option
Chapter Forty-Four: The Darker Side of the Assassin

Duncan threw water on Joao and he woke up, finding himself tied to a chair and with a severe headache. They were in the middle of a forest; Joao looked around and a little further to his right he could see his Ford Taurus in the middle of the undergrowth. He looked at the man in front of him; the blue eyes seemed to want to penetrate his thoughts.

Duncan lit a cigarette and took a deep puff, then slowly released the smoke.

"I hadn't smoked for almost five years," Duncan said, still looking Joao in the eye, "and now I'm back at it, thanks to you and your friend the brainless one. Come to think of it, it's a nasty habit, you know?" Duncan threw the cigarette butt in front of him.

"And I caught it again because of you!" Duncan shouted, stomping violently on the cigarette butt again and again. Joao watched him undeterred.

Duncan left the cigarette butt under his foot, mixing it with the dirt. Then he turned to look at him again.

"I see you're a tough guy," he said, pointing his index finger at him. "You're tied up there and you haven't started begging for your life."

"I don't have to," Joao said. "When you've lived and had a miserable life, death can be liberating. I'm ready to leave this world and I'm not afraid of death, I made a pact with it a long time ago." "And what pact is that, may I ask?"

"We agreed when she came for me I wouldn't cry or beg for my life, and she would instead take me quickly."

Duncan looked at him for a few seconds and then gave a small cynical smile.

"Well, I have bad news for you, my friend," he said, bringing his face close to his. "I'm not death, just a messenger sent by it to do its work, and I have no pacts with anyone, so I assure you that you will die. Oh yes, of course you will die, but in the worst possible way and very slowly, and believe me you will wish you had begged me to kill you quickly, if not in the process."

Joao swallowed saliva, feeling how those blue eyes made fear invade his body.

"Now, let's start with the most important thing," Duncan said, as he made his way to the car. When he got to the car, he opened the trunk, took out a large cloth bag and returned with it to where Joao was, threw it on the floor and opened it. Joao saw it was full of tools, but he could only make out a hammer, pliers and a saw on top of it. Duncan took out a pair of gloves and put them on.

"You know, when I started in this work I used to eliminate my targets face to face, looking them in the eye as I took their lives with a knife or any other object capable of inflicting as much pain as possible, but then I softened somewhat, and began killing with a rifle and at long range, abandoning that method for good. But rarely today has it been awakened in me, and I can't wait to kill with my bare hands again. Sadly, you will be the one to put me back on that path." He leaned in front of him again, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Let's see, I'm going to ask the questions, and you will answer them, okay? It's like those TV quizzes where they ask you questions and you win prizes. Have you seen them? This time, the biggest prize I can offer you is a quick and painless death."

Joao didn't say anything, he just watched him.

"Are you ready?" Duncan took a pair of pliers out of his bag and showed it to him. "The first prize will be that I won't do anything to you with those pliers. If you answer correctly the first question, which is: who sent you to kill me?" Joao gritted his teeth, still looking him in the eye.

"I see you're not going to answer. Well, let's get started then; I'd tell you to shout all you want, since no one will listen to you here, but I know you won't, because you're a tough guy. I'll be a little disappointed, as I like to hear my victims scream and plead, but partly I also like it when they don't, as it gives me the freedom to be a little more rough and demanding. Believe me: I'm going to enjoy this."

Captain West arrived at the house accompanied by Scanlon. On entering, they saw the body lying on the living room floor in a pool of blood. The rifle in his hands. Ahead they saw the other rifle, between the hallway leading to the bedrooms and the kitchen. They also saw the wall perforated by bullets.

A uniformed officer approached them and stood in front of them.

"We found security cameras and motion sensors in the surrounding area," he told them. "In the first room is the computer that recorded the images."

West and Scanlon went to the room indicated; the computer was indeed there, but disconnected.

"Take the computer to the computer crime experts," West ordered the officer, "although I'm sure we won't find anything. Most likely, the surveillance videos have been erased."

"What do you think happened here?" Scanlon asked.

"I don't know," West walked out of the room and looked back down at the rifle on the floor, pointed at the kitchen. "Whoever fired the shots was caught from behind, but they didn't kill him, maybe the people they came looking for took him to get information from him."

"What if it wasn't "they" but "him"?" Scanlon suggested.

"Do you think it's our killer?"

"What you can be sure of is that a security system like this with motion sensors and cameras isn't paid for by just anyone, much less small-time thugs or gang members."

"You're right, but that still doesn't tell us if our killer was here," West walked over to look at the dead man on the floor. "When we know who our friend here is we may have a lead."

"I'll talk to my informants and see what the word on the street is," Scanlon said, "and see how they're doing. Maybe they know what happened here."

"That's fine with me," West agreed, as Scanlon left and he continued to observe the house and everything inside it.

Half an hour later, a young, thin African-American man walked up to a Ford Mustang parked near the Hudson River dock. Scanlon got out and motioned for the man to follow him, starting to walk down the boulevard to the river's edge. "How have you been, Reggie?" Scanlon asked. "Do you like the job I got you?"

"I'm fine, brother, and I really appreciate what you did for me."

"I'm glad, I hope you finally get your life together and get off the streets."

"You know as long as I'm your snitch I can't get off the streets, man. You have to get me out of this."

"I promise to leave you alone soon, but right now I need your help. Tell me what's going on in the streets of your neighborhood right now. What's the word out there, because we have one dead and one missing at the moment over there." "Dude, everyone knows you are looking for the murderer of the millionaire, as well as one of his relatives."

Scanlon stopped suddenly, looking at him intrigued.

"One of his relatives? How's that?"

Reggie made an annoyed face, he didn't like being a snitch and telling the police what was going on in the streets.

"There's a confirmed rumor going around the streets that a relative of the murdered millionaire is offering a reward for the man who killed him, but he wants him alive. If they kill him, they don't collect the reward. Everyone is mad as hell, brother, and wants to collect the reward, but most don't dare because the guy is really dangerous. Last night, a couple of Mexican junkies were saying a cousin of the Benelli's was going to take advantage to get revenge and collect the reward at the same time. I don't know if he's done anything about it yet, brother."

"Does that relative of the millionaire have a name?"

"He didn't say his name, he just gave a number of a disposable phone number so they could call him if they found the murderer."

"Do you know the number?"

"No, bro, I don't get involved in those things, you know that well."

"Could you get it?"

"I'll try, bro, but I can't promise anything. The information is only available to very dangerous people and mob bosses."

Scanlon pulled a couple of hundred dollar bills out of his pocket and handed them to Reggie.

"Thank you, Reggie, you've been very helpful. Let me know as soon as you get the phone number." Scanlon walked back to the Mustang and got in, starting the engine and quickly pulling into gear.