Chapter 17

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He'd been standing outside the laundry shop where Tony Peralta was nearing the end of his shift for the last thirty minutes. His eyes never left the side door that he knew Tony would step out of any minute now. The door opened, and a group of people tightly wrapped in coats to ward off the unseasonably cold evening air stepped out onto the sidewalk. His heart-rate sped up and he pushed himself off the wall of the doorway he'd been hiding in as he scanned the faces and frames of the people. However none was a match for the man he was waiting for.

He huffed in annoyance and cowered back into the concealment of the evening shadow. He knew that time was not on his side. The sooner he could get this over with the faster he'd be getting out of Dodge. He watched as a night-shift worker neared the side entrance marked Employees Only, but before she even reached the door it was pushed opened from the inside. He perked up. He easily identified the man holding the door open for her and letting her pass before he stepped out onto the sidewalk as the person he'd been waiting for.

Following his target on the other side of the street for a few hundred yards, he checked around to make sure the coast was clear. Using a lull in traffic to cross, he fell in step behind the unsuspecting Peralta. It was still too soon to act. There were too many people on the sidewalk with them. But his mark was going to turn into a less populated side street on his way home very soon. And he already knew the perfect place to hide his body.

He hadn't planned on doing it like this - so quick and without style. He wanted to see the fear and pain in the man's eyes. That had always been his favorite part - not the torture and act of killing itself, but the look in his victim's eyes when they realized that he was going to be the very last thing they were ever going to see. Exhilarating.

He was quite aware that he was taking a risk by going through with his plan. But leaving without accomplishing what he'd come here for in the first place was not an option. Checking his surroundings again for anything suspiciously out of the ordinary, he smiled to himself as Peralta turned into the side street as expected. He shook his right arm, letting the homemade knife - similar to the shiv Peralta had used on his son - drop into his open hand. He was so close now.

One last look around and he followed his target into the deserted street, speeding up his steps. His heart rate was elevated - not from the exertion of catching up with Peralta but from the well-known thrill of honing in on a kill. A few more steps and his knife would slice through skin, cartilage and veins, and spill Peralta's blood in an arterial spray all over the side walk. He could already picture it in his mind and imagine the coppery taste of blood in his mouth as he raised his arm, ready to strike.

Suddenly something heavy plowed into him, pushing him into a small alley between two buildings. He was shoved hard against a wall and the hand holding his knife was knocked against the bricks with tremendous force, forcing him to drop it to the ground. A forearm pushed against his throat, cutting off his air, and he struggled to get out of the tight grip on his body. He stilled his movements when a gun was pressed against his temple. The hammer was pulled back with an audible click.

"Miss me, Louis?" John Reese asked in a low, predatory whisper as he got right into Giardino's face. He increased the pressure on the squirming man's windpipe. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just put a bullet through your lying, murderous brain right here, right now?"

John looked Giardino right in the eyes. There was no fear or remorse, only anger and contempt. Given the chance the man would kill him without batting an eyelid - just like he'd killed Sheffield's family. He pressed his gun harder against the killer's skull and his trigger finger left the trigger guard.

"Mr. Reese. Please," said Finch's pleading voice in his ear. "That's not what we do."

John closed his eyes and his nostrils flared as he blew out a breath. He knew Harold was right. He had killed less deserving men than the scum now in front of him during his time as a soldier and a CIA-agent. But back then he had been following orders. If he killed Giardino now, he would kill him because he wanted to. And how would he be different from the murderer in front of him then?

When he opened his eyes again, they mirrored Giardino's contempt. "You are lucky that we didn't meet two years ago," he said. He gave the man another shove and simultaneously stepped back a few steps. Still aiming the gun at Giardino's head he said, "Turn around."

At first the older man didn't move. He just continued to stare at him with a withering look. Eventually Giardino raised his hands and turned around with exaggerated slowness. Pulling out zip tie cuffs, John stepped forward, grabbed hold of the other man's hands and tied them tightly behind his back.

"I knew I should have killed you down in that basement," Giardino spat.

"Well," Reese said, stepping close enough so that his breath would tickle the other man's ear. "Ain't hindsight a bitch? C'mon." Spinning both of them around, John pushed an obstinate Giardino with his gun pressed into his side as an incentive to start walking in front of him.

"So you're gonna hand me over to the old bastard?" Giardino asked and Reese gave his shoulder another shove as he tried to turn around again. "So he can kill me? Is that what you're gonna do?"

"No," John replied, knowing that Finch had probably been holding his breath since the moment he threatened to kill their Number. "That's not what we do. But I do know a few detectives down at Homicide who would love to have a chat with you."

"Thank you, Mr. Reese." The relief in Harold's voice was almost painful to hear. John had come way too close to allowing the killer the CIA had wanted him to be to take control. Would he have felt remorse? Probably not. Not for taking that child murderer's life. But if he had gone through with killing Giardino in cold blood, he would have lost something that he had come to highly value: Finch's trust.

Reese doubted that he would have ever again been able to face the man who had literally pulled him off the streets and believed in the good in him. And for as much as in his eyes Giardino had lost the right to breathe, he just wasn't worth losing everything.

They were almost out of the alley when someone stepped into the opening. John couldn't make out who it was, as the light had been rapidly dimming with the sun setting and the streetlights illuminating the person from behind, shrouding his face in shadow.

"I'll take him from here."

Reese instinctively pushed Giardino behind him, keeping a tight grip on the man's upper arm. He raised his gun towards the silhouette and squinted. He'd heard that voice before ... "David."

"Who?" Harold asked confused. "Mr. Reese, what's going on?"

David stepped forward into the shadow of the alley. His posture was relaxed and John noted that he seemed to be unarmed. "This doesn't need to get complicated," Sheffield's man said, holding his open hands out at his sides. "Just give me Giardino and we'll go our separate ways."

"You can't," the Number croaked from behind him. "They'll kill me."

Ignoring Giardino, John tightened his grip around the squirming man's arm - not caring about the bruises he was most definitely leaving behind. "As much as I'd like to, I can't." He smiled at David with a small shrug. "If you want him, you'll have to go through me first."

David dropped his hands and his gaze fell momentarily to the dirty ground. When he looked up again a small, smug smile tugged at his lips. "I thought you would say that."

David snapped his fingers and out of the corner of his eyes Reese saw a red flash. Looking down at himself John saw three red laser dots dancing on his chest, each uncomfortably close to his heart. He looked up again, tightening his grip on his gun and scanning for cover.

Stepping even closer while making sure to stay out of his gunmen's line of sight, David said, "You may be able to squeeze off one shot." He shrugged. "And kill me. But believe me when I say that my men will not let you get out of this alley alive. Or leave here without that scumbag hiding behind you."

John's mind was racing. There was a dumpster approximately fifteen feet into the alley. With the odds stacked against him as they were, David and his men might not expect a move from him and if he were quick they might make it to the cover it promised more or less in one piece. Once behind it he'd only have to hold out long enough until backup arrived. That was a very optimistic assessment however. How realistic it was John figured he was about to find out.

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On the other end of the open com-link Finch was intently listening in. Although he could not see what was going on, he had a sense that Mr. Reese was in serious trouble. He had not recognized the name or the voice of the man currently threatening John, but Harold figured it was a fair guess that he had come to take Mr. Giardino to Mr. Sheffield and therefore to his certain and most likely very unpleasant death.

His first impulse was to call the detectives for backup. But a quick estimation of how long it would take them to get to Mr. Reese and their Number made his heart sink. If David truly meant business - which Finch had no reason to doubt - then his friend just did not have that much time.

With his heart pumping like a jackhammer in his chest, Finch's mind was a complete blank as he stood by his computer equipment. Under his fingers those computers were usually an enabling resource of power, but at moments like these they were utterly useless. His eyes fell on the file that held the detailed descriptions of the horrid deeds of the man he had asked Mr. Reese to protect. He'd tried to forget the pictures of Sheffield's wife and his little girl, displaying Giardino's sick handiwork in gruesome detail, but Harold knew that he never would. That had been the work of a monster.

By now he knew John well enough to know that he wouldn't back down that easily. That he would not just risk, but lay down his own life without a second thought to protect others.

"John," Harold said into the air of the library. His voice was surprisingly calm and steady. Never had Harold Finch thought that he would ever say what he was about to say to Mr. Reese. With the realization of what Michael Giardino truly was also had come a reassuring clarity. And now he only hoped that he was not too late. "Please, stand down. He's not worth losing your life for."

The com-link remained silent for a few more seconds and Harold waited with bated breath for something to happen.

"Alright," John's low voice eventually filled the silence in the library and Finch exhaled in relief. He heard Giardino's voice being cut off in mid-obscenity, clothes rustling, a thump and Reese grunting in pain. "Didn't you promise to be deferential to my condition?"

"I'm glad you came to your senses after all," David said, ignoring John's quip. His voice was now louder over the speakers, as he must have been standing close to Mr. Reese. Very close. "But I think you'll understand that I have to make sure you won't change your mind again."

Finch's heart stopped. He wasn't sure what Sheffield's man meant, but he absolutely did not like the sound of it. There was more rustling of clothes, another painful grunt, then nothing.

"John?" Harold asked, and listened with increasing trepidation to the hiss of static as his only reply.

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To be continued...