Chapter 19

"Jack?" asked Sloane incredulously, blanching.

"Hello, Arvin. Fancy meeting you here."

"Where's Rambaldi?" Sloane demanded.

"Dead," Jack replied. "The closest you'll get to him is this." He reached up and removed his wig, tossing it to the floor.

"Impossible," Sloane spat.

Jack shrugged. "It doesn't really matter what you believe, Arvin."

Sloane quickly regained his composure. "You're outgunned, Jack," he said confidently. "Put down that gun or you'll never leave here alive."

"Really?" Jack reached into his robe and pulled out a radio with disdain. "How many?" he asked crisply. He listened to the response, then put the radio away. "23, Arvin. Not including the 4 you left back at your headquarters."

Sloane's eyes flickered, then narrowed. "That bitch Derevko double-crossed me," he said through clenched teeth.

"That would make the two of you about even for the day, then," replied Jack humorlessly. Welcome to the club, he thought cynically.

"Jack, we've been friends for years. Surely you're not going to let it end like this."

"No, you're right, Arvin." Jack watched Sloane visibly relax. "It won't end here. This ending is going to last the next 20-30 years of your life, in some forgotten prison cell, where you'll die powerless and penniless," Jack said with satisfaction.

Jack caught the blaze of fury in Sloane's eyes, quickly masked. He watched expectantly as Sloane stepped forward, then pretended to stumble, and was not surprised to see the gun emerge in Sloane's hand. Casually Jack aimed and fired, shattering Sloane's shoulder. Sloane screamed as his gun fell to the floor, then crumpled in pain.

"I'm not having a good day, Arvin. I'm not sure I'd try anything else."

Jack stepped over and kicked Sloane's gun out of the way, as 3 armed men burst through the door, looking to Jack for orders. "He's all yours," he said with distaste.

Jack turned to go, but paused at the door. "Ciao, Arvin."