Once Dembe had procured Gerver's location, assaulting the building, finding the mobster and killing him was easy. Red had given the address to a taxi, sat in silence as the vehicle wound its way through the city. His thoughts kept drifting back to Lizzie; her throaty screams, the burn upon her back, on previously unblemished skin.
As the taxi had pulled up to the apartment block, a large white building with balconies and neat gardens out the front, Red's mouth had set into a firm line of grim anticipation. He lingered on the curb after the taxi drove off, waiting. He shook his head slightly; all he could smell was burned flesh.
Eventually, a lone woman, young and beautiful, made her way to the apartment steps. Her arms were laden with grocery bags. Her keys pressed into her palm, a Union Jack dangling between her fingertips. Red stepped forward, sunglasses and fedora in place, smiling charmingly.
"May I help you? I'm just on my way up," he asked and she quickly turned to him, startled. Her expression seemed to melt before him, her eyes flickering up and down his body in an appraising matter.
"Thank you, that would be wonderful," she replied, British accent, thick, and smile, lovely. He gently took some of the grocery bags and waited patiently for her to buzz them in. The door clicked open and Red indicated that the woman should go first.
She idly questioned him about when he moved in, if he worked nearby, the size of his apartment, gauging whether he lived alone. He answered her politely, gracing her with small smiles and lingering looks before walking her to her apartment door. He bid her farewell, only tilting his head when she said that she would see him around.
The elevator ride up to Jaeger's room was in a contemplative silence, gun drawn, silenced and ready. The mobster had an entire floor to himself, so coming across any innocents was unlikely. He stepped out when the lift came to a stop, steadily watching the guards leaning against their boss's door, postures lax. They didn't even notice him before their lifeless bodies sunk to the ground, blood pooling around them. Red stepped over them without thought.
He cracked the door open, surprised that it was unlocked. The TV was on, blasting obnoxiously loud music. Scantily clad women danced on the screen. Red walked over to the coffee table, grabbing the remote and turning the TV mute.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jaeger snarled, hidden in what Red assumed was the kitchen. He moved quietly to the threshold, eyeing the German mobster with distaste. The man had not looked up from making his drink, hunched over the ice as he slid it off the bench and in to his palms, before tipping them into the glass. Red stepped further in, tucking his gun away and snatching a blade from the knife block.
"No wonder your employees were so incompetent, if that is how you address them," Red remarked, twirling the blade in his hands. Jaeger's head snapped up so fast that the possibility of him breaking his neck flickered across Red's mind, and how disappointing that would have been.
The mobster's eyes flickered with fear, grasping for the bottle next to him, smashing it against the counter. Red lunged forward, burying the knife to the hilt in Gerver's chest. Blood pooled around his hands, soaking into the bandages of his wrists.
A choked cough resulted in bloody spittle to spray over Red's face. He twisted the knife, teeth clenched so tightly that it felt as if they would shatter. Jaeger slumped against Red, dying.
"You should have never gone after Elizabeth Keen."
He yanked the blade out of the body, watched as the mobster sunk to the floor. He turned to the sink, washed the crimson off knife and skin.
And that is how Madeline Pratt finds him, sitting on the couch watching Nigella Lawson. Jaeger's body dragged to the living room, a smeared river of blood in its wake. Her cold eyes merely flicker over his body, showing no sorrow, no grief.
"Ah, Madeline," remarks Red, standing from the couch and simultaneously turning the TV off, "how kind of you to finally arrive."
She stands, posture rod-straight as he prowls towards her, gun idly tapping at his side. He smiles at her and receives nothing in return. She looks conceding; she had known he would come for her.
"I take it you know about Keen?"
He nods his head, indicating that she should sit. She gingerly does so, on the edge of the couch, hands clasped before her. He thought that she would be more difficult than this.
"You want details about where he is."
Another nod and she finally meets his eyes, unshed tears glistening in them. Raymond feels a pang of regret slice through him; the Concierge of Crime tightens his grip on the gun.
"Why wasn't I enough for you, Raymond?" She asks, voice breaking and tears spilling down her cheeks. He can see that she hates herself for it, that in her last moments she is not the strong and independent woman she had always been. She had loved him and he'd broken her. "What makes Elizabeth so special? Why is she better than me?"
He watches her, contemplating her words; rolling his tongue along his teeth, chewing on the inside of his lip.
"Lizzie is home, Madeline," Red begins, steadily holding her gaze, "she's summer and then she is winter; warm and beautiful and then thunderous and raging. She is falling asleep and knowing that she is the light in the darkness that envelops you. She is waking up and knowing that there is something worth living for, something so pure that perhaps, maybe, she can be a salvation. Lizzie keeps my heart beating, stops the rot from riddling my body. She is everything, Madeline."
You let your emotions get the best of you.
Madeline wipes at her eyes, breathing hard. She slowly nods her head as if in understanding and only speaks to say,
"He's staying at the Four Seasons."
"Did he know that was where Lizzie and I were staying?" Red asks sharply, panic piercing through him. The phone in his pocket feels as if it is burning into him, but she is safe with Dembe; she would always be safe with Dembe.
She looks startled at this question, quickly shaking her head. Her mouth is parted slightly, she's breathing heavily, nervously.
"What name is he using?"
"James Morgan."
The shot is clean; her eyes losing their light immediately. Her body sags slightly as Red fishes the phone out of his pocket, dialling Mr Kaplan's number. He gives her the address, knowing that she'd deal with the clean up, lets her know that there will be one more body to deal with after. He walks out the door and does not look back.
Hailing a taxi is easy, but the ride is torturously long. Red sits impatiently in the back, fingers drumming on his leg as he waits. When they finally pull up, he strides into the reception. The man at the counter greets him kindly, inquiring as to what he is after.
"Hello! I'm a guest at the hotel and I was just wondering if you could help me with something? See, I'm looking to find a Mr. Morgan, first name, James? He is an old acquaintance of mine, and I would just love to surprise him."
The receptionist smiles; tapping into his computer and pulling up Keen's details, eyes scanning the screen. The metal of Red's gun is cold against his back.
"He is in suite 802, sir."
"Thank you so much," Red replies, handing the man over a generous tip before turning on his heel and heading to the elevator. It opens with a ding and an Italian family stampede out of it, prams and screaming children and exhausted looking parents. Red smiles to them.
The elevator is silent as he steps in and he jabs at the level eight button; adrenaline beginning to bubble throughout his veins. He breathes deeply.
The floor is empty when he steps out; the corridor long and silent, but a cleaner's cart is parked by a door to a suite. A key tantalisingly hangs from one of the hooks. Red snags it on his way past, contemplating how he will make Keen's death as painful as possible. He wishes he'd brought a branding iron.
He doesn't bother knocking, just holds the key over the sensor and waits for the telltale click of the lock. The doorknob is cool under his burning fingertips. He has his gun drawn as he steps in. The room stinks of booze and stale food.
Keen is sitting up on his bed, a movie running on the TV. He doesn't look all that surprised as Red steps into the room, gun trained between his eyes. His lips twist into a dark smile as he slowly raises his hands above his head. Pizza boxes and empty beer bottles litter the room.
"I see Maddy couldn't deliver what she promised," Keen says conversationally as Red shuts the door behind him. His eyes flash over the room, spotting the glock on the bar. He walks over and grabs it, tucking it into his waistband.
"And what, exactly, did she promise, Tom?" Red questions, shifting his weight slightly, steadies his aim. Tom stops moving, but drops his hands to his sides. He looks so arrogant, smirk playing around his lips. "I'm surprised you didn't work out that Elizabeth is occupying this building. You must be off your game."
Shock flashes across Tom's face, his hands clenching together, eyes widening. He hadn't known and Red derives great enjoyment and comfort from that fact. He clears his throat, wondering whether he should bury the bullet where Zamani buried his blade.
"What was your plan, Tom? Did you think that she'd run away with you? Leave everything behind her? It's as if all those years you spent worming your way into her life, and you don't know a single thing about her."
He flashes a brilliant smile at Red and it takes all of his composure not to furrow his brow in confusion. He gnaws on the inside of his lip, uncertainty slithering through his core.
"You don't know, do you?" He states, almost in wonder, "I figured that you had her followed, that your people would have reported to you immediately. That she'd come back to me so willingly."
He laughs then and Red freezes when patronizing pity bleeds into Keen's eyes. Tom shakes his head, before meeting Red's eyes once more. His grip is slick on his weapon.
"I slept with her, that night, before she shot Connolly. She writhed and moaned beneath me, the real me. She knows exactly who I am, Reddington, and she still loves me."
Red smothers the emotion erupting within him; the fury, the disappointment, the unforgiving jealousy. He focuses on the man in front of him, left cheek twitching, his trigger finger positively itching.
"Well, I hope you remember how smooth and perfect the skin on her back was, Tom," Red comments idly, "Madeline had it branded off of her. I killed her for it, if that is any consolation."
Tom seems to blanch, his posture sagging slightly before he heavily sits on the bed. He roughly rubs his hands over his face, over the stubble of his cheeks.
"I never meant for her to get hurt," he whispers, looking back at Reddington, who recognises that the admission was true. Tom's voice then takes a turn; he uses a stronger tone, almost as if he is trying to assert authority. "If you kill me, Reddington, she'll never forgive you."
"If I don't kill you, Tom, I'll never forgive myself."
The imposter's words cause a second of hesitation in which Tom launches across the bed, slamming into Red, attempting to wrestle the weapon away. They smash into the wall, the mirror that hangs there, shattering and the shards slicing through Red's suit, into his back.
Keen snatches up a piece of glass, goes to plunge it into Red's neck, but Red manages to duck away from the attack, push himself away from the wall and use his momentum to take Keen to the floor.
Red feels the snick of the glass as it grazes his face, the sharp sting above his eyebrow. Blood rolls down his face, into his eye, blurring his vision. Keen struggles beneath him, but Red still has a grip on his gun, though slick with sweat and now, blood; his wrists feel as if they have torn open once more.
Pressing the trigger, sinking the bullet into Tom Keen's forehead, watching as his body stops struggling, was easy, satisfying almost. The blood is sticky and splattered across Red's face. He can hear Lizzie's screams from the warehouse.
You were the one who hurts Liz the most.
Red stands, turns away. He dials Mr. Kaplan, gives her the suite number and then exits the room, knowing that her contacts, or even herself if she is around, would clean up the mess. He makes sure to leave a Do not Disturb sign on the doorknob. He heads straight for his own suite.
Dembe opens the door, eyeing the way Red loosely holds the weapon, exposed, in his hand. He steps aside, assessing Red's facial expression, smiling sadly.
"I hope no one saw you on your way up."
Red shakes his head and steps into the room. Lizzie is curled up on the couch and she turns slowly towards him, as if she knows the state that she will find him in; covered in blood once more, beaten and bruised and dangerous. His clothing is rumpled and torn.
He breathes deeply, drops the gun down on the kitchen bench.
"I killed Tom Keen."
You're a monster.
A/N; Thank you for your continued support! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! 15 is on the way, so you won't have to wait too long if this is too much of a cliffhanger! Thank you again!
