James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.
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Author's Notes: This story, which was once far ahead of my planned 1x/week posting schedule has now fallen drastically behind schedule on account of the disk I was using becoming fragged. So now I have to go back and do my rewrites/edits all over again, and try to remember how Chapter 5 (or was it 6) was going to be completely restructured. I'll try to stay with the once per week, but no promises.
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Repeating Past MistakesAlec sighed heavily behind the wheel of his stolen pickup truck. He'd been weighing the merits of his two options for over twenty minutes, trying to make a decision and wondering why it was so hard for him.
This has never been an issue before, he reminded himself. What's my drama?
Again he considered his alternatives – wait out here or go inside? He knew Wagner was likely more relaxed inside, that his routine of eating at Delmonico's on a regular basis would make him feel comfortable, that the familiar surroundings would give him the illusion of security. That's a definite plus.
Outside, though, there were fewer witnesses, fewer innocent bystanders that might get in the way of his work. God knows I hate an audience. Besides, I could lay one hell of an ambush out here… though he and his guards might be more alert for an attack out here.
Eeny, meeny, mieny, moe… He continued to think, suddenly suspecting that there may, in fact, be something else at work in his mind, something he wasn't consciously aware of; try as he might, once the possibility presented itself, he couldn't chase it away. Goddamnit… it's Keri. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway?
Alec opened the door and stepped out onto the rain-slicked pavement. My employer wants to make a statement, and the best way to do that is by having as many witnesses as possible. There's only one right way to do this, whether I like it or not.
He fought to relax as he pulled down the front of his ski mask and walked briskly toward the front door. A middle-aged man with a nineteen, maybe twenty-year old woman was exiting just as Alec reached the entrance; both man and woman looked down at the sidewalk as Alec moved into arm's reach, each of them obviously wanting to make sure that they weren't mistaken for someone who gave a damn what Alec was up to. America was well on its way to full recovery, but that didn't mean people had forgotten all of the lessons they'd learned shortly after the Pulse. Never invite trouble. Never be a hero. Look out for yourself at all costs.
Alec's body rotated slightly toward the left as he passed the man in the doorway, but he never broke stride. His entrance elicited a gasp from the hostess, but she also immediately found something – anything – to draw her attention away from what she instinctively knew was a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill her if she interfered.
The transgenic's pace quickened as he passed the first few tables, continuing on his way toward Wagner's usual table 17. His target was fully distracted by his onion soup au gratin, but his doubtlessly expensive bodyguard was quick to react. He'd almost brought his weapon to bear by the time Alec pulled the trigger. Damn fast for an ordinary, the transgenic mused as he pulled the trigger. A hell of a waste, really.
The report from Alec's weapon cracked through the cozy confines of the dining room, instantly driving the guests into a frenzy of panic. The door to the kitchen opened, and Alec trained his weapon on… Keri. She's looking right at me, he cursed silently. His instincts told him to pull the trigger, to remove the potential obstacle and witness, but he ignored that advice and instead put a bullet into the head of Wagner's second guard. The fairly vulnerable man had been seated with his back to the entrance as he watched the kitchen door. His only warning had been his partner's attempt to draw his 9mm, and the two seconds of delay in his reaction were far more than enough time for Alec to kill the first guard, catch sight of Keri and weigh the merits of killing her, then turn back to the business at hand.
The second bodyguard's death was as brutally quick as the first's. One bullet to the head, the hollow-tip 10mm round spraying gray matter across the wall. By that point Wagner's mind had registered what was going on, and he gazed passively at his executioner, a deer in the headlights. Alec didn't react at all – his employer had sent no message, no instructions to let Wagner know who it was who'd killed him. That was rare. Most people who retained Alec's services had a huge ego to serve; it wasn't enough to win – they had to gloat. It'd never made much sense to the transgenic. He'd always resented having to take the extra time to deliver a message to a victim who would never be able to make use of the information.
Three shots for Wagner, one in the heart and two in the head. Then Alec was moving again. As he'd expected, no one made a move to stop him. There were plenty of other bodyguards in the restaurant, the majority of them ex-cops and ex-soldiers, but they all had their own responsibilities. As long as Alec left them alone, they'd be perfectly happy to count their lucky stars that he hadn't come for their employers that night.
A sudden downpour had seemingly come out of nowhere during the few moments Alec had been inside, and he muttered angrily at the weather as he walked over to his stolen pickup truck and drove away into the night. There was no police response to evade – they knew enough to recognize a report regarding a professional hit, and none of them was going to risk his life. They'd be along in about five minutes, once they could be certain that the assassin had had enough of a chance to make a safe escape.
Alec turned on the radio and hummed tunelessly to the music that came on, not even remotely in sync with the song he'd never heard before. All that mattered to him then was the job. The success. At least for a few minutes, his life had had purpose again; he'd been useful to someone. And the best part was the payment that would be waiting for him in his Cayman Islands account the next morning.
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Fourteen in a row, Alec congratulated himself as he landed the six of diamonds in the Seattle Mariners cap sitting seven feet and four inches away. He'd never run up his streak this far, and according to the rules of his game, one more made shot and he could increase the distance to seven feet and five inches.
He took the next card – the ten of clubs – from the top of the deck and grasped it lightly between his thumb and first two fingers. "Easy as pie," he muttered happily. "Fade, fire, and for--"
"Alec, you in there?" Max called from outside his door. The disruption was just enough to send his shot awry.
"Damnit, Max," Alec hissed. He got to his feet and trudged grumpily across the room. He opened the door and immediately pounced. "I had fourteen," he told her. "I was in the middle of shooting for fifteen. You know how hard that is, especially with the cross-wind I have today?" he asked, pointing to the open window that was allowing a light but unpredictably intermittent zephyr to waft in.
"Sorry," Max apologized weakly. She knew about Alec's games; she knew they were, perhaps, the only things that kept him from bugging her every other hour with some trivial matter for her to deal with. "I can come back later."
"No, come on in," Alec offered, a new thought occurring to him. "You can play me. How 'bout a nickel a shot?"
"What are you up to?" Max asked, trying to gauge the distance from the wall to the cap. "That's about seven and a half feet, right?"
"Seven feet, four inches," Alec announced proudly.
"And you got fourteen in a row?"
"Yup."
"Forget it," Max said with a smile. "I had enough trouble at six-ten. I'll send Joshua up in a bit, though. He's always up for a good game."
"And he's also broke," Alec pointed out. "Won't make any money playing him."
"And from what I've seen around here lately, it's not exactly like there's anywhere to spend your winnings."
"For now, at least," Alec replied. "We'll get out of here eventually, and then it'll be party time."
"You really think we'll get out?" Max asked, a trace of something – Is that hopelessness? Alec wondered – creeping into Max's voice. She leaned back against the wall and let her legs curl up beneath her as she sat on the floor.
"You have any doubts?" Alec responded, sitting down a few feet from her.
"It's been six months," Max muttered, now sounding unmistakably despondent. "I don't know anymore…"
"Well I do," Alec assured her, "and we're getting out eventually. Haven't you seen the pro-transgenic protesters?" he asked, referring to the group that started showing up daily at the gates just a few weeks earlier. "They're getting more impatient every day. And there are more of them every day."
"You really think we'll get out?" she repeated.
"I'm sure of it," Alec told her. "The last obstacle we have is White."
"It always comes back to him," Max remarked miserably. "He spreads lies and misinformation, and there's nothing we can do about it."
"Unless we get some proof about his people, about their goal to wipe out humanity," Alec pointed out. This was the same thing he said every time Max got like this. At first he'd been surprised at how incredibly depressed she could become. Then he'd read some information that X5s occasionally suffered from more chemical imbalances than just a lack of tryptophan. Their brains also sometimes seemed to temporarily cut off production of serotonin, as well. There was no rhyme or reason to it, and those with the condition were given to severe bouts of depression. The disorder had never been confirmed in Max, but Alec had his suspicions.
"We've been through this a hundred times," Max muttered. "The only way to prove what the Familiars are up to is to get someone high up, someone who actually knows enough to expose their plans."
"It's possible."
"Maybe, but only if we knew who those people are," Max responded. "We don't even know that much, and I can't see any of the ones we've encountered being forthcoming with that kind of information."
"We just haven't found anyone yet," Alec said encouragingly. "We already know that Sandeman was against some of the cult's plans. There have to be others, too. There have to be some Familiars who'd be willing to help us. All we have to do is wait long enough for them to get a chance to contact us."
"And until then we remain stuck here," Max growled. "Trapped. Like… rats."
"I prefer to think of us more as caged tigers, thank you very much," Alec countered. "It's a far better metaphor."
"Maybe… but I'm not so sure you'd look all that good with stripes," Max answered, an unexpected smile brightening up her face. And like that, her mood lightened immediately.
"Well I'd certainly look better with stripes than you would with a rat's tail," Alec said with a smile of his own.
"I'm not so sure I like you pondering the image of me with a tail," Max grinned.
"Oh, here we go again. For the last time, I didn't mean it like that," Alec groused. "Why do you say stuff like that?" He was smiling broadly, but his question was still half-serious.
"Like what?" Max asked innocently.
"You know like what. You make it sound like I'm hitting on you."
"Oh, and you weren't?" Max teased.
"You know I wasn't."
"But you hit on every other woman in Terminal City," Max pointed out. "Even the fuzzy ones."
"When have I ever hit on the fuzzy ones?"
"Just a few nights ago I saw you hitting on that one… what's her name… Nymeria?"
"No I didn't," Alec objected.
"Yes you did!" Max insisted. "On Tuesday night."
"Oh, that doesn't count."
"Why not?"
"Two reasons," Alec explained. "First, I was drunk and therefore my judgment was impaired. Second, I was so drunk that I don't even remember doing it, so it shouldn't count."
"If we shouldn't count anything that you do when you're drunk, then we wouldn't be able to give you credit for much of anything," Max said with a wicked grin. For the briefest moment Alec wondered if she was making a thinly veiled insult, but her joking tone convinced him that she was not.
"You overlook the fact that some of my finest moments have been when I'm drunk."
"So I hear," Max said, her grin growing into a full smile.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Kelly's my roommate," Max said.
"So?"
"She talks in her sleep," Max explained. "Apparently you're… how did she put it… you're her lord and master."
"Oh."
"That's all you have to say?" Max asked, her smile somehow growing even wider. Alec began to wonder if Max had more teeth than most people.
"I don't kiss and tell," Alec said smoothly.
"Yes you do!" Max objected. "You and Sketchy talk all the time."
"One of these days, Max…"
"What… you gonna be my lord and master, Alec?" Max asked, not bothering to suppress a mocking chuckle.
"Exactly how did you become our leader, again?"
"I look better on television," Max replied.
"That's your one qualification?" Alec asked.
"Oh, don't hate because I'm beautiful."
"We're doomed."
"Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence," Max replied sarcastically. She got to her feet and reached down to pull Alec up, too. "Let's get going."
"Where?"
"Outside," Max told him. "You should let that breeze blow on you under the warm sun. Days like this are rare enough as it is; no reason to waste them sitting in here tossing cards into a cap.
"Lead the way." Alec took her hand and got to his feet, following closely on Max's heels as he marveled at how easily she shook off her depression and doubt.
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A light, insistent tapping woke Alec from a dreamless sleep. His first thought was that the police had found him, that they wanted to have a nice chat about his activities the previous night. Once his mind shook off slumber enough to undertake rational thought, though, he realized how foolish a fear that was. The police were extremely unlikely to go looking for a professional hitman, and if by chance they did put their lives on the line like that, S.W.A.T. would be first through the door. This was someone else.
He stayed in bed, hoping that his uninvited visitor would go away, but the tapping continued, unfaltering and constant. Whoever it is is gonna get his ass kicked.
Alec forced his tired, hung-over body into motion as he rose from the bed and walked toward the front door, grabbing his 10mm from the coffee table as he passed through the living room. "Who is it?" he asked from five feet away from the entrance.
"Keri. Open up, will ya? I've been out here for, like, ten minutes. Your neighbor's already opened his door and scowled at me twice."
Without even stopping to wonder why he was complying, Alec opened the door and settled his gaze on his guest. Keri's eyes went directly to his pistol, and Alec clumsily – and far too late – moved his right hand behind his back to conceal the weapon.
"That looks familiar," she commented as she breezed past him, placing a small waxed paper bag on the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. "You have any coffee?"
"Bottom shelf, cabinet next to the fridge," Alec answered dumbfoundedly, wondering at the situation. He actually took a moment to pinch himself, to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "It's a new bag," he added.
"Hazelnut," Keri said happily. "My favorite." Alec had barely managed to close the front door – and was still a virtual statue by the apartment's entrance – by the time Keri had ground the beans, started the pot of coffee, and walked back out to face him. "Donuts in the bag," she said with a gesture toward the coffee table. "Jelly, glazed, and toasted coconut. Didn't know what you'd like."
"Jelly's fine," Alec murmured, finally regaining his senses as Keri sat down on the battered leather couch.
"So what, you all hung over?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Isn't that just a little melodramatic?" she asked with a coy smile. "Go out, do a job, then drown your guilt with a few stiff drinks?"
"Bottle and a half of Beam."
"Okay, so we're well past a few stiff drinks," Keri responded with a grim nod. "That's really not healthy, you know."
"Who the hell are you?" Alec asked, relieved that he felt his senses returning to him. "And what are you doing here?"
"I'm Keri, but you already know that. And as for what I'm doing here… well, this is kinda awkward… I was hoping you could teach me to do what you do."
"Huh?"
"I saw you last night," Keri said evenly, eerily calmly.
"Oh yeah? Where was that?" Alec asked evasively, instinctually.
"At Delmonico's," Keri told him. Alec's stomach sank in response.
A damn witness, he cursed silently, knowing that he really had no alternative to eliminating Keri. It was a job requirement. "Go away and never come back," he muttered under his breath, giving in to a weak voice in the back of his mind, calling for a measure of mercy.
"Alec, please…"
"Go away," he repeated more loudly, more insistently.
"I'm not going anywhere," Keri answered, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I came here to learn from you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he shot back, noting with chagrin that his right hand was hanging at his side, the 10mm once again in plain sight.
"I'm a waitress and an occasional stripper," she answered. Alec noted the fact that she said "stripper" instead of "dancer;" it was unusual. "I want something better. I deserve something better."
"And exactly how do you feel contract killer is a step up?"
"Better money, better hours."
"Sure," he replied glumly. "Be a contract killer – meet new and interesting people… and blow their heads off."
"You tellin' me it doesn't pay well?"
"What do you think?" Alec asked with a sarcastic flourish around at his surroundings. He hoped the run-down apartment would help deter any further interest. And of course I won't mention the fact that I have millions in investments and offshore accounts.
"So you don't advertise the fact that you have money," Keri said. "Makes sense not to attract attention; but don't think I'm gonna believe that you don't have a nest egg or two somewhere."
"Who the hell are you?" he asked again
"Just Keri," she repeated.
"Just Keri…" Alec's mind raced along as he searched for something else to say. Well, she's obviously made me… I can't let her walk out of here. Unless…
"Just give me a chance," she suggested. "See how well I do."
"What makes you think you'd be any good at… at what I do?"
"I'm smart," Keri replied with a mischievous grin.
"That's it?" Alec asked. "You're not gonna go on about military experience, a black belt or two, or some crap like that?"
"I'm smart," Keri repeated. "I'm smart enough to learn what I have to learn. Smart enough to be careful on the job and not make mistakes. Smart enough to do what you tell me until you think I'm ready to work on my own."
Well, she's certainly saying all the right things, Alec noted. In his mind, intelligence was the most important asset for someone in his line of work. Having a wide array of combat skills was nice, but there was always someone who was a better hand-to-hand combatant, a better shot, a better explosives expert. Being smart, though… that was the key. Being smart kept one from taking stupid risks, from being foolish enough to try a job without being completely in control of the situation. It also makes someone capable of learning what I have to teach, he decided.
"Fine," Alec finally muttered wearily. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but fine. Come back in a few hours, after I have time to drink some coffee and get a shower."
"Hey, I'm the one who made the coffee," Keri pointed out. "I think I should get at least some of it. And as for the shower, well… what if you need someone to wash your back?"
"Fine," Alec relented all too easily, cheered and instantly awakened by the prospect of taking a shower with Keri. Don't even think about continuing any kind of involvement with her, his instincts warned him. He ignored the warning, though.
I won't get too close, he assured himself. I didn't fall for her last time we got together for a brief – though passionate – weekend, and I won't fall for her now, either. There's nothing to worry about.
To be continued……………………………………