Part 14 (1/2)
”What are you talking about?” I ask in frustration, racking my brain for what that something could be.
”Oh, let me see. What's in two days?” He raises one eyebrow at me and I get the familiar urge to yank on it. One of these days, I'm going to wax them off.
”Monday?”
He shakes his head, as if disappointed, and sighs dramatically. ”Annabelle, Annabelle. Two days from now is March 10th. Your birthday,” He emphasizes his words as if speaking to a child. ”We always spend our birthdays together.”
That's right, I'm about to turn eighteen. What Jackson said is true. We do always spend our birthdays together. It's one of the rare times that we do normal-people stuff, things real families do. ”I totally forgot.”
We enter my hotel room and he pulls me in for a hug. ”I know. You've had a hard time the past four months, but now I'm here to take you to Paris in time to celebrate.”
I pull back. ”Why Paris?”
He has an impa.s.sive look on his face as he says, ”Simon has received information.”
”What kind of information?” I step away from him and place my hands on my hips, knowing that something's up.
He gets cold look in his eyes from whatever he's thinking. Huh, he's wearing gray contacts. ”All sorts of wonderful information,” he says sarcastically. ”Sit down. It'll take a while to get through the list.”
Sitting down in a chair nearby, I look at him expectantly. ”Well?”
He also sits down, leaning back in a slouched position. ”Well, let's see. Where should I start first? How about Brazil?”
”What about Brazil?” I ask warily.
”Simon has received reports on your a.s.sa.s.sination methods in each of your past six a.s.signments, not including the current one.”
”And?” I ask, already knowing what he's about to say.
He shrugs his shoulders. ”Fine, here's what Simon heard. In Brazil you pushed the target out the gla.s.s window of a VIP booth at a soccer game.”
”Check,” I say while making a 'checking off' gesture with a finger in the air. This list is going to be long if Simon's computer geek gathered the info. The dude is nothing if not efficient.
He narrows his eyes at me, but continues, ”In China, you . . . nunchakued to death the target.”
”Check two,” I say, adding another check mark to my invisible list. ”I also threw some throwing stars at his jugular first.”
I think he's trying not to laugh, but I can't be sure. ”In Mexico, you took a wooden baseball bat to the target's head.”
”Check three.” Another check marked on the hit list. ”And I'd like to add that his head was rather large. It reminded me of a pinata.”
He chuckles before clearing his throat, putting his serious Jackson face back on. ”My personal favorite, you used a machete to make the kill in South Africa.”
”Check four,” I say, then grumble, ”I would not recommend that one, bro. Messy as h.e.l.l, I hate when the blood splatters on me.”
He grimaces and continues, ”I'm surprised you didn't car bomb the former IRA member when you were in Ireland. What's up with shooting them in front of witnesses? And Simon heard that you stole a bottle of whiskey from the bartender.” Wow, what a thorough report, I think sarcastically.
”A car bombing crossed my mind, but I was in a bad mood that day. By the way, check. And that d.a.m.n whiskey gave me a nasty hangover the next day.”
He gives me a 'whatever' look. ”Moving on, in India, you dressed up as an extra and sent a poisonous snake into the dressing room of that Bollywood actor.”
”Dirty rapist,” I mumble under my breath. ”And lastly, check six. That took some delicate planning and the snake was a b.i.t.c.h to catch afterwards.” I still feel guilty about giving up the chase and shooting it.
He shakes his head. ”Oh no, after tonight, I'm adding another check mark to the f.u.c.k-up list. A garrote, Annabelle? You know it takes forever to strangle someone to death.”
”They say you should try everything at least once,” I remind him sarcastically.
He looks amused by my annoyance. ”And who, exactly, are 'they'?”
I make an exasperated noise. ”Uh, you know . . . 'they', people, everyone.” Pointing towards the hotel room's windows, I add, ”Out there.”
He rolls his eyes. ”Whatever.” In a superior tone, he says, ”I don't really think that there's a general opinion that every method of a.s.sa.s.sination should be tried at least once. Simon taught us well, Annie. You need to stick to the basics. Gun, poison, bomb.”
I lean forward excitedly and point at him in triumph. ”Ha! You forgot knife! It looks like someone needs to re-read his a.s.sa.s.sin manual.”
He looks as though he's about to finally lose his patience. ”There's no such thing as an a.s.sa.s.sin manual, drunktard. Why don't we finish this conversation when you've sobered up?”
”Maybe I don't plan on sobering up.”
And, yep, he loses his cool. Standing up, he practically growls, ”And what's up with that? You never drank to this extent before. How many of the last seven jobs have you been drunk for?”
I look up at the ceiling. ”If I had to estimate, I'd say somewhere between one and seven of them.”
”So it's all of them, then? Are you still having that hard of a time getting over him?”
I shoot my brother a dirty look and say through clenched teeth, ”I don't want to talk about him.”
”Well that's too bad, because he's the other reason I'm here.”
”What do you mean?” Not sure that I'll like what I'm about to hear, as my heart begins to race.
”He's become a problem.”
”He's my problem, not yours.” I don't like Jackson even mentioning the word 'problem' in the same sentence that's referring to Gabriel.
”Simon doesn't think so.” Dammit! I definitely don't want Simon thinking along those lines.
”What does Simon think?”
”He thinks your 'experience' with Gabriel is affecting your work. He thinks that you've become reckless on your a.s.signments because you're heartbroken.” Jackson gives me a pitying look that makes me want to poke him in his fake gray eyes.
”I am heartbroken,” I whisper and my eyes well up with tears. Squeezing them shut, a few slip out to roll down my cheeks. I am never drinking again. It turns me into a big d.a.m.n crybaby.