Ryder: Revenge and Redemption

“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Ryder.” I settled back, studying the woman sitting across from me. I was certain it was a question to which she already knew the answer, but I played along. “Not much to tell. I’m an average guy. Average looks, average weight, average build, average height, even my hair is a nice, average brown.” I leaned forward, taking the pad she was writing on, tearing off the top page. “I’m here to talk, because I was told I had to. It would be good for me.” I snorted derisively. “I talk, you listen. You don’t take notes or I’m out of here. Got it?” She smiled. “Got it, although you know I could be recording our conversation.” “You could be, but I doubt it. On the off-chance you are, we have a doctor-patient relationship which prohibits you from revealing anything I say to anyone else.” Nodding, she admitted I was correct. She promised she wasn’t recording our session, and tapped the blank pad. “I’m a note-taker, for my files. I find it works best for me.” Smiling dryly, she added, “Apparently that’s out until you decide you can trust me. Now, tell me what happened to your partner.” “He died, because he was stupid,” I spat out before obviously trying to regain control. An act, but a necessary one, I thought. “I was given to understand that he was your partner in more ways than just the two of you working together, correct?” “Whoever told you that was wrong,” I replied, my voice calm, now, my expression showing nothing of the feelings her words provoked. “We were a good team, who did our job, nothing more.” “So, his death only affects you because now you’ll need to be partnered with someone else?” “Are you stone ass crazy? We were friends, damned good ones. You can’t work with someone as closely as we did without that happening. If he had listened to me…” I shook my head. “He didn’t, and he died.” “While on an assignment.” “No, I told him not to cross against the light, and he did anyway,” I replied sarcastically. “Yes, on a job. You know that so stop playing dumb.” “I’m only trying to clarify things. I’ve been told by Mr. Foster that you have been reticent to talk about the details.” “Since I wasn’t present when he was killed, I don’t have any details.” She appeared genuinely interested when she asked, “Why weren’t you there?,” although I knew for a fact that the reason was a part of the report she’d been given about me by Foster, who was my superior and head of the organization I worked for. “I was unavoidably detained,” I replied tightly. “I told him to wait for me, because I was his back-up. He didn’t wait. End of story, end of him.” She opened the folder which had been sitting by her elbow, as if to check something. I was certain it was a ploy. She struck me as the kind of woman who would have memorized every detail before our appointment. “According to this, by the time you arrived and found Mark Blaine’s body, the killer was gone.” Killers. I knew there was more than one person involved. Knowledge I was keeping to myself—for personal reasons. I intended to avenge Mark’s death or die trying. I nodded sharply. “He got away.” “You knew who he was, however.” “Of course, and I told Foster. He’ll be found and dealt with.” “By you?” “No.” I smiled darkly. “I’ve been put on indefinite suspension, as I’m certain you’re well aware. I wouldn’t be here if that hadn’t happened.” “Believe me you would be, as you’re well aware, because you lost your partner under violent circumstances.” She gave me a knowing look. I acknowledged it with shrug. She scanned the information in the folder, again. “It says here you rarely carry a gun. Why?” “Personal reasons.” “Ryder, there’s no such thing as personal reasons when you’re talking to me. I can’t help you if you don’t open up.” “I don’t need help, damn it,” I spat out angrily. “I’m here under orders, as part of my suspension.” “Temper, Ryder.” “f**k you,” I retorted. “I doubt that’s something I have to worry about, in your case.” I took a deep breath. She was getting to me and I didn’t like it. “Yeah, you’re not my type. I don’t like nosy, bossy females. I prefer them feminine and compliant.” She lifted an eyebrow, but apparently decided not to pursue that avenue—at least for now. I had the feeling she thought she’d get back to it at our next session. Since this was the first and last one as far as I was concerned, she was going to be s**t out of luck. Obviously, I didn’t tell her that. I wouldn’t be here at all if I didn’t need to play the organization’s game and follow its rules until I was ready to end it. “Let’s get back to how you feel about Mark Blaine’s death,” she said. I smiled, shaking my head. “Let’s not. My time is up. I’m leaving. I’d say this has been a pleasure, but we both know I’d be lying.” “Ryder!” I ignored her as I stood and left her office, carefully closing the door behind me. * * * * I went home to an empty apartment after my session with the shrink. Of course it was always empty. I live alone. The woman had been right about one thing, however, Mark and I had been lovers, even though we hadn"t lived together. We were recruited to work for the organization at about the same time, and it hadn’t taken long for Foster to decide we’d make a good team, because of our complimentary skills, as he put it. If necessary, and it sometimes was, Mark was the man with the gun, while I preferred using knives or my bare hands. He was a master at getting us into and out of places we had to be without our getting caught. My expertise lay in coming up with everything we needed to go deep undercover. After our first assignment together, which we completed successfully, we decided to hold a small celebration—just the two of us. It involved him grilling steaks while we drank champagne on the balcony of his fifteenth-floor apartment in an uptown high-rise. The steaks were excellent, the champagne—which we drank liberally—helped us relax for the first time since the job had begun. I can’t say I was terribly surprised when he suggested we could finish unwinding in his bed. I hadn’t known that he preferred men, and he admitted after the fact he didn’t know that about me, either. “I was horny, you were here, and I figured why not ask,” he said later, once we recovered from what turned out to be damned good s*x. I laughed. “You’re lucky I’m not straight. You might have ended up being tossed off the balcony.” “As if,” he retorted. “You’d have warned me off and that would have been that. We’re too good together when we’re working. You wouldn’t want to f**k that up.” He was right, of course. After that night, s*x was an integral part of our lives. Slowly it became more than that as our feelings for each other deepened. We never said the ‘L’ word, but we knew it was there. Then…everything fell apart and Mark was dead. We were deep undercover, infiltrating an alleged multi-state drug trafficking organization. Mark had worked his way into the confidence of Clyde Payton, one of the top distributors. I was supposedly a smalltime street dealer Mark sold to. In point of fact, I was his back-up in case of trouble—which was not unheard of, no matter how carefully we maintained our false personas. Mark was the kind of guy who could make friends with anyone if he put his mind to it. In this case, it was a plus as it allowed him to get close with two of Payton’s underlings, hanging out with them when they weren’t working. We were two months in and things were going well. Mark was learning names and gathering valid proof of what the organization was doing, which he passed on to me when I met him to buy another batch of opioids. No, I didn’t sell the drugs on the street. I’m not that immoral, though there are some who might debate it. I kept some—more evidence once we eventually brought Payton and his organization down—and destroyed the rest. It was late on a Friday night. Mark called to let me know he was putting the next step of our plan into motion. That involved introducing me to Danny Graves, one of Payton’s lieutenants, after suggesting to him that I might be a good candidate to fill the spot of someone who had recently been arrested. “We’re at Duffer’s Bar on Seventh. Me, Danny, and a couple of other guys.” “Okay. See you in a few.” I hung up, checked that I had everything I needed, including one of my knives in its boot sheath, and took off. When I got there, I spotted Mark at a table in the back, drinking a beer while he listened to the man seated next to him. I knew it was Danny—although he had no clue yet who I was. Mark saw me, beckoned me over, and then introduced me to Danny, who told me to pull up a chair, which I did. Things went about as expected. Danny probed deeply into my background, why I was working for Mark, and why I thought I could take over for the guy they’d lost. Apparently my answers satisfied him because he said he’d talk with Payton, who would make the final decision. After that, we got down to the serious business of drinking—or rather the other men did. Mark and I were experts at faking it. It wouldn’t do to lose our edge because we’d over-indulged. An hour later there were seven of us crowded around the table as four more of Danny’s associates had joined us soon after I’d arrived. Eventually, Mark said, “I’ll be back. Gotta see a man about a horse.” He staggered, feigned of course, to his feet and headed toward the men’s room which was down a hallway to our left. I was deep in a conversation about the upcoming baseball playoffs with one of the men, so I merely nodded as he disappeared, joking that some people couldn’t hold their liquor, which rated me chuckles from the others. “Taking a piss sounds like a good idea right about now,” Danny said, getting up as well. Again, I thought nothing of it, other than to wonder if that had been prearranged because he wanted to have a private talk with Mark. “It think it’s time I called it a night,” one of the newcomers said, tossing back the last of his beer. “You coming?” he asked the guy he’d arrived with. “Do I have a choice? You’re my ride,” the man replied and moments later they were headed out of the bar, leaving me, the man I’d been talking baseball with, and the other guy who’d been there when I’d first come over to meet Danny. Baseball man, his name was Art Cox, downed his drink, said it had been a pleasure to meet me, and took off as well, as did the other guy a minute later, without finishing his beer. By then, I was wondering what was taking Mark and Danny so long to get back to the table, so I went to check the men’s room. It was empty, which gave me a real bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I started toward the bar’s back door at the end of the hallway when my cell dinged. There was a text from Mark. Sorry. Had to leave with Danny. I texted back, You could have warned me, damn it. He didn’t reply, which bothered me enough that I immediately headed to the apartment he’d rented in a decent if somewhat lower-class area of the city. It was on the fifth floor, and as I walked down the hallway toward it, I knew something was wrong. The door was open. Only a crack, but it was something Mark would never have let happen, no matter what. “Close, lock, and arm the system,” was his motto, even if he was just stopping by to pick up something and then leaving again. I took my knife from my boot, holding it against my side as I silently inched the door further open until I could see into the living room. I was inside seconds later, ready for anyone who might still be there. Why so quickly? Because it was obvious someone, or more than one person, had tossed Mark’s place. When I saw blood on the carpet, I knew instantly his cover had been blown. The only question was, had they killed him and left his body there, or disarmed and knocked him out before taking him with them. A fast search of the apartment let me know he wasn’t in it, alive or dead. I ran back to my car. I had to find him, fast. Not as hard as it might seem. As part of what we do, we had each been implanted with subcutaneous trackers—sort of like chipping a dog, I’d thought at the time. I had what I needed to trace him in my bag, hidden in the trunk of the car. I got it, sticking it on the dashboard as I drove away, following the directions as it led me across town to a rundown area of old homes and abandoned buildings. While I did, I placed a call to Foster to let him know what I was doing, and that I could use back-up. The fact he was in another city was not a problem. He had people here he could send at a moment’s notice. The address I needed was one of the buildings. I turned off the headlights before I drove to the alley behind it, coming to a stop two doors down. I shut off the car and was out of it before the engine stopped turning over. I wanted to throw caution to the wind, race into the building, and find him. Common sense took hold. It wouldn’t do Mark any good if they got their hands on me, too. Yes, the men Foster sent would arrive soon, but I wasn’t about to wait for them. Not with Mark’s life in danger—presuming he was still alive. I got my B&E kit, clipped it to my belt, then forced myself to move cautiously as I approached the rear door. I tested the handle. The door was locked, of course. I got what I needed from the kit to remedy that problem, ran a scan with one of the toys Mark had made certain I kept with me, checking if there was security, and if it was on, if there was. Nada, for which I was unreasonably relieved. I was no expert when it came to disarming alarm boxes. That was Mark’s specialty. With the door unlocked, I eased it open, and slipped inside. I had a flashlight, but wasn’t about to use it until I knew it was safe, so I waited for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they had, I took two steps forward and saw him where they’d left him, tied to a chair in the middle of what once had probably been a storage room for whatever business had been housed there. I froze, listening for any sound that would let me know his assailants were still around. Nothing. They, because I knew for certain there had been more than one of them, had stripped him down to his boxers. Blood and deep bruises darkened his chest and there was more blood pooling on the floor. His head hung down, so I couldn’t see his face, but I knew for certain it would be battered as well. I was beside him almost before I realized I’d moved, flicking on the flashlight. The blood came from cuts on his chest and, I realized, his arms and thighs. Dropping to my knees, I put one finger to his jugular, searching for a pulse. If there was one, I couldn’t feel it. Then, unbelievably, there was a low moan. I lifted his head, and saw his eyes were open, although I don’t think he saw me. “Mark,” I whispered. “I’m here. Hang on.” “They…” The word came out more as a groan than anything else. “Don’t talk.” For a moment his gaze cleared. “I didn’t…tell…them,” he croaked. The last words I ever heard him speak were, “I love you.” Then his vision darkened and he was gone. “I love you, too,” I managed to get out as men burst into the room. The cavalry had arrived, but it was too late. * * * * I lied to the men who came in, telling them Mark was dead when I found him—and that I’d seen his killer as he escaped through the door at the far side of the room. I told the same lies to Foster when he debriefed me several hours later. He’d flown in, on a private jet, soon after I’d called him. I gave Danny Graves up without batting an eye. I knew it was safe to do. They’d pick him up, and he’d be out within hours or at least within a day or two, thanks to Clyde Payton’s high-priced lawyers. It’s what I wanted. I had plans for him, and for the others who had murdered the man I loved. Of course I wasn’t about to let anyone know it, or that I had loved Mark. As far as they were concerned, he was a man I’d partnered with, respected, and trusted with my life. I told a lot of lies, when it came down to it, including that, even though I’d asked him to wait for me, Mark had left the bar with Danny Graves. It would be my word against Graves,’ and I knew who Foster would believe. * * * * Foster flew me back to the city that was our home base—the organization’s as well as mine and Mark’s. Less than a day later, he’d set me up for my first session with the shrink. The first and only one I vowed after meeting with her—and again, not too much later, when I returned to my empty apartment. It would be even emptier once I packed what I needed and went into hiding from Foster and the organization—and from the men who worked for Clyde Payton, especially Danny Graves. When I had everything I was taking with me in two carry-on bags, and my messenger bag, I made a stop at Mark’s apartment. I kept a tight rein on my emotions as I entered, not allowing my memories of our time there overwhelm me. I needed a few items he had that he’d used for illegal entry. Some, I knew how to use. The rest I could figure out as I went along, if I had to. I left his guns where he’d stored them in a well-hidden safe—other than an easily concealable S&W with its IWB holster. I’m not fond of guns, to put it mildly, but I’m not stupid, either. Having one could give me the initial edge in certain situations when I needed to let my target know I wasn’t playing games. I would avenge Mark’s death. What happened afterward I’d leave up to fate.