Come To Me (Owned 3)

“Oh really?”

“Yep. Total fucking nut bag.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if she died?”

“Whatever,” I replied, pouring myself another shot. “She’ll kill herself eventually anyway.” My eyes darted to the bullet holes in the oven before focusing on the brown liquid in my glass. My poker face had never been an issue before. I was always even; it was one of the things GEM had hired me for. With Lenny, though…fuck, I was a mess.

“Vic.” Alice’s saccharine call pulled me from the bourbon. “Take a look at this.” She held out her smartphone for me. Briefly, I saw myself smacking it out of her hand and taking her by the neck. Instead I complied. At first I wasn’t sure what I was looking at, the quality of the video was so poor, but then I saw: Lenny. She was sitting on the steps of a café with Lissie and Zoe.

Alice watched me for signs of emotion. I blinked, summoning every ounce of training I had to remain steady. I knew what the video meant. Someone was watching Lenny, waiting for the signal to end her life. It could mean they had a sniper on her. It could mean they had someone waiting with poisons. It could even mean they’d hired a fall guy, someone who was waiting to take the rap for a murder in exchange for money for his family. The possibilities were virtually limitless. The only hope Lenny had was the cover I’d been concocting for months.

“Well, are you go

ing to do it or what?” I asked as I took a drink. “That will save me the time and trouble of doing it myself.”

Alice frowned and put the phone away. “You wouldn’t.”

This was it, the moment. The reason for everything. If I didn’t play it right, it would all be for nothing. I smiled, took another sip, and turned from Alice. With as much nonchalance as I could muster while stepping on the broken skeletons of my home, I walked away from her.

“Where are you going?” Alice rushed to follow me as I ascended the staircase. She probably assumed I was getting a grenade launcher or, you know, something to fight back with. My weapon was a bit subtler than that, though.

Drink still in hand, I called over my shoulder, “Getting a little rusty are we, Alice?” I reached the top floor. My previously secret door was ajar—pulled off the hinges by me earlier. I had to climb across the remains of my office to reach a practically composted desk. Bits of glass, wood, gutted pillows—anything I could smash or shoot at the time—littered the room.

I pulled the insurance policy out of the desk, brushing off either cotton or fiberglass. When I turned to head back to the kitchen, I was stopped by Alice’s gun. I blinked at the barrel.

“Fuck off, Vic.” She hurriedly waved her other hand. “Hand it over.”

“Should I fuck off first or…” I gave her the paper and then stepped away. After years of knowing Alice, one thing always remained true: she was bad with weapons. People always seemed to show up with bullets in knees or shoulders around her but, remarkably, couldn’t remember why.

“Two million dollars…” Gun pointed askew, she flipped through the insurance policy. “You took this out months ago.”

“Well if GEM didn’t kill her, and she didn’t kill herself…” I trailed off, letting the implication lie. I looked into my glass and feigned shock. “Time to get a refill.” Stepping around Alice, I made my way downstairs and back into the kitchen.

I stared into the cracked face of the oven, getting lost in its crooked smile. I’d been on many complicated missions, but none so complicated as this. It was almost fucking impossible, and that was because of love. There was no way for me to eradicate my emotions, so I had to learn to work with them.

Still, it wasn’t over. It was far from over.

Alice came up behind me and reached for the bourbon, pouring herself a glass.

“You have to know that chip doesn’t mean a thing to me. We all take them out. It’s what we do. I can’t count the number of chips I have. Can you?” Every agent, every person in wetwork, took out insurance policies on other people in the game. We called them chips because we traded them like their eponymous poker game counterparts. It was our twisted way of acknowledging our early deaths and laughing right at it. Also, we made pretty good cash.

Clearly we couldn’t use a regular life insurance company, so we used dark banks. The dark bank system was an entirely untraceable network operating under some of the biggest banking names in the world. Dark banks were comprised of the same types of things you’d get at regular banks: loans, life insurance, savings, etcetera, but if you defaulted on a loan, you paid in blood.

“I stopped counting after a hundred,” I replied.

“I will say I’ve been waiting for you to die for years so I can cash out and get my big payment,” Alice murmured. “Still, if you’re telling the truth why not throw her into the pot?” The pot was a free for all; something to do in-between jobs. You threw your chips in and the first person to take the kill won the chip. In return, you were out of a debt to the dark bank and possibly out of an enemy. Just hope you don’t see your name in the pot—or do, depending on your mood.

“Because this one is personal.” I stared at the oven. “And because fuck you.”

Alice gave me a look then continued, “I still don’t buy it. I have half a mind to just tell my guy to kill her right now.”

“I know this is hard for you to fathom because you’ve spent the better part of a decade pining after my dick, but I was with Lenny for one thing. When that thing got crazy, I took out the policy. Whatever you decide, I’m still cashing out.” I threw my glass back and drank the liquid in one gulp.

“Arrangements can be made, you know…” Alice placed her hand on my forearm. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You can come back to work and we can forget this ever happened.”

I laughed and shirked her from my arm. “You don’t have that kind of power, Alice.”

Gripping her glass until the skin went white, she replied, “A lot has happened since you left. I’m not just a handler any more.”