SO COLD
SPADE AVENUE WAS A wealthy area. Fat cats slept in archetypal, red-bricked Georgian houses with dormer windows projecting from sloping grey-slated roofs. Trimmed vines hung above front doors with square shaped lanterns on both sides and rocky paths that led the way to gates with wrought iron spike strips with two masonry brick pillars. Front gardens were a pleasing sight with rose bushes of the softest pinks and velvet reds, and fountains with marble statues spouting clear water, surrounded by fallen leaves from overhanging oak trees.
Bruised blue clouds with a greenish hue grumbled, threatening to unleash a heavy downpour to flood the earth and its sleeping inhabitants. The wind, a howling child, grabbed and tugged with greedy hands, forceful in its claim. The weather was turbulent, unstable and refusing to settle, wildly passionate in its desires.
It was quarter to twelve.
I was a blur in the darkness, a smudge in a painting of black. My body catapulted over the gate of Number Seven of Spade Avenue, home of Simon Garner, a high ranked cult member and friend of my father. Irvin followed suit, dressed in attire similar to mine: patrol boots, combat trousers, lightweight jacket, tactical gloves, a paintball mask and a rucksack that weighed heavy. He landed quietly, on the tips of his toes.
Crouched, I surveyed the area, keen eye on the scope of my gun, breathing soft, searching for any sign of movement as Irvin moved ahead, sprinting towards the side of the house. There was a slight static in my ears as he instructed. "Move in."
Trevor wasn't with us, a waiting driver in a van, a god in the sky if trouble arose. He had been called away by Cole on urgent business so we had to do everything by ourselves, and there was no room to make mistakes. Mistakes could be deadly.
Our energy was on fire, a manic sort, restless and nervous.
We were as prepared as we possibly could be in a situation with a deadline that was a week too earlier. We had to find and capture Simon Garner before Cole and his men moved in and murdered him. Cole was on a mission to find and decapitate the heads of all my father's friends, and refused to slow down enough to listen to an opposing opinion. Simon Garner was to be executed but not before his skull was cracked open and his heart was split open, revealing his wickedest secrets.
With crossed fingers and a rub of the lamps at the gate, I hoped for Lady Luck to listen to my silent prayers, I needed whatever sprinkle of gold dust she tossed my way for tonight. I was holding out for a perfect execution (no pun intended).
I reached Irvin's side, and unzipped my rucksack, fitting my gun in the tight space and pulling out my tranquilizer. Irvin pulled out a laminated card – his membership card for a coffee giant – and wedged the card between the door leading to the kitchen and the frame. He struggled for a short while and the card hit against the lock, tap tap tap, before he managed to pry a corner into the lock, pushing the card in and feeling the latch slide back. "Yes," he whispered in victory.
Simultaneously, there was a sound of water nearby, a splash. Irvin froze, masked head snapping towards me and I held out a finger to him and crept ahead, keeping to the side of the building, gloved hands gripping the tranquilizer gun tightly, finger on the trigger. Dim lights lit up the pool where a bikini clad woman – the wife, a sharp featured woman with legs that went on forever – climbed out of, wrapping a towel around her body, face clearly stressed and body tensed by worries in her head. Perhaps she found out about her husband's infidelity or perhaps her thirteen year old had an eating disorder. Whatever it was, I didn't really care. She needed to be taken out. I squeezed the trigger. The dart flew and hit her thigh. She let out a gasp of surprise, pain and confusion splattering across her features and she looked down, crumbling beside the folding lounge chairs.
"What is the situation?" Irvin transmitted.
"Wife at the pool. She's no longer a complication. Over."
"Good. We have a problem," Irvin dispatched, "there's a deadlock on the door that wasn't there last week. We need to find another way in. Heading your way. Over."
"Keep a look-out for me," I radioed as I caught sight of him. "Eyes on the house." I set the tranquilizer down on the ground and moving quickly, I hoisted the wife up by the armpits and dragged her to rest on the lounge chair, throwing her legs down and tucking her arms by her side, and finally, brushing her hair across her face in case someone happened upon her. Hopefully, they'd assume she was asleep.
I picked up the tranquilizer gun and set off towards the lounge room. The door was slightly ajar and with a quick sweep of the windows, I saw that the dark room was empty. Irvin touched my arm, halting my stride. "There's been too many problems and it's only been five minutes. Something feels off. We should abandon and return another day."
"There won't be another day, he'll be dead. Nothing will go wrong." I reassured with confidence and stepped into the lounge room, and came face to face with the barrel of a gun and a masked man with a large build. He knocked the tranquilizer gun out of my hands, warning Irvin that he had five seconds to drop his gun before he'd blow my brains out.
***