Seeing Red [Story Preview]

Chapter 5: Red

My head is pounding. Fuck this. I haven't been this hung over in a long time. I amble into the kitchen, pressing the appropriate button on my remote to automatically shut all the blinds in the great room. They come down over the floor-to-ceiling glass windows slowly like an eyelid, blocking out the bright rays of sun. Foggy memories of last night start flooding in. Some tall blonde woman, half-sitting on my lap, trying to get me to tell her about my family or some personal bullshit. Her desperate attempts for my attention culminating in a quick VIP lounge fuck and no invite back to my place. I never bring women back to my apartment if I can help it. I don't like random people in my space, especially when it gives them the wrong idea about my intentions. I throw back a glass of water and swallow a few Advil along with some multivitamin blend that is supposed to short-circuit the effects of a hang over. Last night had been my attempted night of reprieve, and a shitty one at that. But today I have to address the recent information from my old contact. Which unfortunately means cracking the box of my past life open even wider.

I go into my study off the side of the kitchen and pull out a burner phone from the bottom drawer of my built-in credenza. The phone feels like a memory in my hand, so familiar and distant at the same time. It's been a while since I've used one of these. A long while. I turn the thing on and start to dial the number that called me two days ago. Because of my past jobs back in Chicago, I'm very good at memorizing numbers, descriptions, directions, instructions, no detail too small. You get good at that shit when the accuracy of your memory is the difference between life and death.

I finish dialing the number and start pacing the study. Even though the blinds are closed, a hazy light spills along the narrow strip of space where the windows met the floor. I run a hand through my hair nervously as I wait for a voice to pickup.

"Haystacks! Thank fuck you answered."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry, habit. Burner?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Yes. Listen. It was Wilson."

"Wilson who?" I rack my memory for any Wilson's but come up empty.

"Gerhart, few years younger than you. Left Hen's about 5 years ago."

"Shit." I bitingly curse into the phone, leaning my back and head against the cool concrete of the wall. Wilson Gerhart hadn't even been involved in the heavy shit. He was only put on medium jobs and short-term gigs.

"How?"

"Gunshot, back of the head. In his home." I cringe at the description. It was textbook and all too familiar.

"Home? Still in Haystacks?"

"Nope, living in New Jersey. New name, new family. Whole thing. I think – "

"That's why they thought he was me." I finish my contact's sentence, the pieces already falling quickly into place. I know we both understand who I mean by they but never a good idea to say more than what is absolutely necessary on these calls.

"Do they know?" My voice comes out like gravel, rough and angry.

"Well, they know their target was wrong. They don't know where the right target is." I breathe deeply at his words, the urgency cutting through his ambiguity. Basically they know Gerhart wasn't me, which means they know I might still be alive. And that is a big fucking problem. But if they don't know where I am or who I am now, I have time.

"How much?" I feel myself going into full tactical mode, muscle memory kicking into overdrive.

"Month or two max." The line goes dead and I throw the burner at the wall opposite my desk. It's ironic realizing how many people I have at my beck and call at my company. People who will fucking cut up my food and feed it to me if I want them to. But in this situation, I have no one. There is no one I can turn to for help, for assistance. Even my contact is risking his life giving me these small, two-minute updates. I also have to wonder at the legitimacy and intentions of his information. Even with the limited information I have, I can be certain of two things. My old boss wants me dead and if I don't come up with a plan of action fast, he'll get what he wants.

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