Night of the Assassin: Assassin Series Prequel, Russell Blake [good story books to read txt] 📗

Altamar was startled by a sound of scurrying from out of his field of vision, above his head.

“What the fuck? What’s that?” he hissed.

“That? Oh, that’s probably the rats, I expect. I remember the place was infested with them last time I was here,” the young man said conversationally.

“Rats? Then you can’t leave me here on the ground. Get me up,” Altamar demanded.

The young man appeared to consider it.

“No, you’ll stay where you are. Besides, you’ll soon have bigger things to think about than a few pesky rats,” he reasoned, and moved to grab the bottle he’d placed on the ground near the door.

“What’s that?” Altamar asked, his voice catching.

“No. Afraid not. You’ll know soon enough. I wanted to leave you something to reflect upon while I’m off picking up my money. You may not remember, but you hurt someone I care deeply about and I’m here to return the favor. That was why I wanted you alive, although once you made the offer of the money, I felt it would be poor manners to turn it down,” the young man explained, carefully unscrewing the top of the glass bottle.

Altamar stared up at him, horrified, as the young man approached. He renewed his struggle against the chains. “No. You promised you’d let me go,” Altamar protested.

“I did. And I will. But I never promised you’d want to be let go,” he said, and then poured a small amount of the acid on the cartel boss’ face, careful to avoid splashing any on his own clothes or shoes. Altamar’s skin began to bubble and smoke, and his eyes immediately ulcerated as the fluid seared through the lids. Altamar’s agonized shrieks were bloodcurdling, but had no effect on the young man. They were in the middle of nowhere, the big house abandoned and Jasmine’s home a quarter mile away. There was no one to hear the screams, which gradually died as some acid entered his mouth and cauterized his tongue and throat. The young man resealed the bottle and placed it on the stall next to the lantern, and then turned, unbuckling his pants.

“I’d rape your sorry ass as well, but I’m afraid I’d catch something. So instead, I’ll leave you to the rats. They’ll come soon enough,” he disclosed as he urinated on Altamar’s face, rinsing off most of the acid so the man would remain alive. He wanted the agony to last as long as possible, and he didn’t want the scumbag to get off lightly by dying after a few minutes of unspeakable pain.

“I’ll be back after I get the money you so generously offered. I should have held out for five, but since it’s not about the money, two is more than enough – no point in being greedy, and it would be harder to carry. When I get back, if the rats have left anything of you, I’ll release you just as I promised. Without a face, but then again, you’ve done as bad or worse, so you can’t really complain,” he reasoned. Altamar gurgled, choking. It was now hard to tell given the condition of what had been his face, but the young man thought he might be choking, the acid having removed his nose along with most of his skin and tendons. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a pocket knife, which he opened as he approached the drug kingpin. Kneeling down, he stabbed it into the man’s windpipe just above his clavicle, and then stepped back to study the wound. Blood frothed forth, and he turned and trotted out to the truck, returning a few seconds later with a pen. He used his teeth to pull out the ballpoint mechanism, leaving a slender tube, which he first blew through, and then jabbed through the bloody opening. He listened attentively, and was rewarded with the sound of air moving in and out through the pen, albeit labored breathing – but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“There. You’ll live. Although you’ll wish you hadn’t. I’ll be taking the lantern. The rats seem to prefer the dark for their work. They seem emboldened by the night. Have a nice rest,” he said, and then walked out of the barn and shut the door. The big Ford Lobo engine started, and the last thing Altamar registered as the wheels crunched on the gravel outside was the sound of the exhaust disappearing in the distance.

Then the rats came.

Chapter 8

A green Ford Explorer pulled into the darkened lot of the little restaurant. A man got out, carrying a backpack with two million dollars in it, carefully sealed in Ziploc freezer bags. After surveying the road and verifying he was alone, he swung the rear of the SUV open and withdrew an inflated tire inner tube. He strapped the backpack securely to the tire using two bungee cords and stuck a cheap plastic flashlight into the exterior flap of the bag, the lens sticking out partway. He gingerly carried the ensemble down the banks to the edge of the Canal Rosales, and scanning the area again, flicked the switch on the flashlight before putting the inner tube on the water’s surface and pushing it out towards the middle of the moving current. He watched as it floated slowly away from him to the middle of the fifty foot wide canal, the little light bobbing as it made its way downstream. Once it was out of sight, he returned to his truck and drove away.

The young man spied on him from a hundred yards downstream through binoculars, noting the passage of the floating treasure as it moved slowly by him, and watched the man’s tail lights disappear down the road. Once he was satisfied that he was alone he ran down the overgrown bank as far as he could make it, before diving into the canal. Within a few minutes he had caught up to the tire. He switched