Judas: Chapter 19
EPILOGUE
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DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
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9:32 p.m. West Coast Time on Thursday, April 26, 2012, at Chandra Jain's residence in Santa Clara, California
Chandra Jain unlocks the door to her apartment on the third floor, flipping up the light switch as she enters into the foyer area. She walks past the kitchen, tossing her car keys on the kitchen island counter. She lays her phone there as well. All she wants to do is kick her shoes off, walk into the shower, turn the water on steaming hot and get in.
She idly considers not even taking her clothes off for the shower.
She kicks a sandal shoe off her left foot, watching as the soft-shoe sandal flies into the living room . . .
. . . and into the massive hand of a man she has never seen before, who sits waiting for her. The man is huge, imposing and something about him tells her that trying to reach her cell phone back in the kitchen will be a waste of time.
"Hello Miss Jain, my name is Junior Boy," the large Filipino tells her.
"You can't be serious," a nonplussed Chandra Jain responds. After the day she has had, with Martin comatose, Cassandra Klein working behind her husband's back and what she has learned in Chinatown, it seems nothing can surprise the NuGenetix lead developer on this day or evening.
"I wish I had a dollar for everyone who has said that to me," Junior Boy chuckles. He stands, dropping the shoe onto the floor out of one massive hand. That's when Chandra notices the phone in his other hand.
He approaches her quickly, but without menace, handing her the phone. He then walks back to the sofa in the living room, taking a seat.
Okay, she felt nothing could surprise her anymore today, but right now her life just took a turn out of a horror movie . . . the kind that doesn't end well for the main character of this particular scene.
"Hello, Chandra," Sam Carlos greets her. "Forgive the intrusion, and the break-in to your wonderful home here, but I am aware that those in your generation tend to block or ignore calls that come from phone numbers not known to you."
"And you thought that –"
He interrupts the oncoming tirade that he knows he deserves, mentally admiring the spunky developer once more for her spirit.
"I really don't have time for a tit-for-tat discussion, Chandra, as I have a gentleman who I must visit in the next few minutes," Carlos tells her. "Let me be brief. My name is Sam Carlos."
He allows that shoe to drop. Junior Boy chuckles as he watches the woman walk directly to the kitchen, opening a cabinet door and retrieving a bottle of Jameson whiskey. She pours herself a tumbler and quickly chugs it.
"He must have told her who he is," Junior Boy laughs under his breath, knowingly.
"I have . . . heard of you," Chandra tells him. "From school . . . and from . . . well, I have heard of you."
"Yes, yes, you are Stanford alumni as well," he smiles affably. "Let me get right to it, Chandra. You and I are aligned, we are connected right now, whether you want this to be true or not."
He allows her a few seconds to digest his words before continuing.
"I'm listening," she finally speaks.
"Good, good, listening is a wonderful skill," he comments. "Far too many people have not mastered this skill, but that is neither here nor there. Here is our predicament, Chandra. Your drug is inside a good friend of mine. And in the wife of a former acquaintance of mine. And now I understand it is in the body of someone important to you."
Chandra nods her head, which brings a response from Junior Boy, still seated on her sofa.
"He cannot see you nod your head, Ma'am," he tells her. "Best that you verbally reply so that there is no . . . misunderstandings."
"Yes, that is true," she quickly speaks into the phone.
"I just want you to know that I am counting on your efforts to yield fruit sooner than later . . . for all of our sakes," Carlos tells her. "I also want you to know that I find your spirit and determination refreshing. You know who I am, yes?"
She nods her head, then quickly remembering Junior Boy's admonition, answers verbally as well.
"I do," she replies.
"Good," Carlos remarks. "I think we can be of assistance to one another, you and I. There will be times when you will have information that I consider important. I invite you to consider this proposal. There can be tremendous upside to this relationship I offer you."
He pauses for another few seconds, letting his words sink in.
"Think about it, over the next couple of days," he tells her. "Give this phone back to Junior Boy. He will give you a card. Call me sometime this weekend, and we will speak further."
With that, Carlos hangs up, leaving Chandra listening to dead air. Realizing this, she hands the phone back to Junior Boy, who knowing that the call is ended, reaches into his pocket and provides a card to Chandra Jain, as he was previously instructed to do.
"Give it some thought, Miss Jain," he tells her. "Mr. Carlos can be a powerful friend and ally. You know the man for whom you work. You now know what can happen at your work. Mr. Carlos is someone you will want to be in your corner."
Junior Boy walks with long strides toward her front door. Turning, he leaves her with a smile, as he walks out the doorway, closing the door behind him.
Chandra Jain stares at the closed door for a few seconds before dropping back onto her sofa, and stares at the card provided, memorizing the phone number there.
"Great," she tells herself. "Just great. Damn you Andrew."
She tosses the card onto the table in front of her.
"Damn you."
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9:47 p.m. West Coast Time on Thursday, April 26, 2012, in a flat on 24th Avenue just off Geary Blvd in the Russian Hill District in San Francisco
"Please," Randall Morris whimpers as he kneels on his hands and knees, watching his own blood drip from his mouth to the carpeted floor below. His chest is on fire as he can feel the now dislocated rib that is floating loose there.
"I don't understand –"
His excuses are interrupted again with a vicious kick to the face that knocks him backward. He falls into the wall behind him, staring out of one good eye at the beautiful woman who hovers above him.
He cannot avoid the jabbing punch to the face, listening to the woman count.
"Four," she tells him, while offering another punch to his face, opening a cut above his good eye.
"Five," he hears her speak. Suddenly, there is more pain than he thought possible as his throat burns madly . . . he can no longer breathe, listening to the gurgling sounds being made there, now realizing that she has sliced his throat.
Unbeknownst to the man who is now struggling to catch his final breaths on earth, the woman pulls out a phone, and takes a picture of the man below her.
"Goodbye, Mr. Morris," Elena Markov states without emotion, now walking toward the front door. She pauses, without looking back, pulling up the contact information for Barry Adams. She attaches the photograph of Randall Morris to the text space, and hits SEND.
Walking out of the door, she calmly makes her way down the steps and walks down the block to the car that is waiting for her.
"All done?" Peggy Stanton asks. Her daughters are asleep in the back seat, not a care in the world.
"Almost, my friend," Elena tells her as she slides into the car. Peggy quickly pulls away from the curb, now heading forward 19th Avenue where they will catch Highway 280 toward the airport.
Elena dials another phone number, and waits for three rings before getting an answer. It is after midnight on the east coast, so she knows she will be waking her up.
"Elena," Elizabeth Bracken answers. "It is late, so I know it is also important."
"It is, my friend," Elena tells her. "I just want to tell you, personally, that I have disengaged from the request that your brother-in-law has made of me. I do so knowing what this means. I do this with a fair warning, Elizabeth. Pick a side, my friend. I know he is your brother-in-law, but Elizabeth . . ."
Elena allows a few seconds to pass before continuing.
"His lifespan is dwindling."
She disconnects the call, and glances at her friend behind the wheel.
"Now we are finished, my friend," she tells Peggy Stanton, as she types in a message to Sergei. He will want to know she is alive. He will want to know that she has disengaged.
He is a worrier. He will be relieved.
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10:08 p.m. West Coast Time on Thursday, April 26, 2012, at Barry Adam's loft at the Embarcadero in San Francisco
Sam Carlos sits across from a very frightened Barry Adams. Willie Crockett stands behind his boss, arms crossed and glancing around the opulently decorated loft. The councilman lives quite well.
"I wanted to have this meeting with you in person, Councilman Adams," Carlos begins. "I wanted to have this meeting in person so that there is no misunderstanding or ambiguity."
Carlos gives Adams a patented stare, that further disarms the councilman.
"I want you to know that the only reason you still live is because I hesitate to take the life of an elected official. And I thought you might be of some use to me. I want you to know that I no longer consider the second part of that equation to be true."
Willie Crockett chuckles behind Carlos, further exasperating the situation.
"I want you to know that I have made exceptions before to my no-killing-elected-officials rule, and you are rapidly in danger of becoming another one of those exceptions. This is your last warning, Councilman. Cut your losses. Stay away from Mr. Castle. Stay away from his family. Stay away from his complex. Delete him from your mind, from any plan or strategies you may concoct."
Carlos quickly stands, holding his hand out in front of Willie Crockett. Crockett puts a large handgun into the hands of his boss. Carlos turns toward Barry Adams with a final warning.
"If you ever see me again, Councilman," Carlos tells him, "I will have this gun with me. And I promise you, it will be the last thing you ever see. And I promise you that it will be me who pulls the trigger. And finally, I promise you that I will empty the chamber, slowly, in various areas of your body before finally shooting you in the face."
Carlos hands the handgun back to Willie, and both men walk toward the front door, before Carlos turns one last time.
"And I promise you, Barry . . . it will take hours for me to empty the chamber."
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10:55 p.m. West Coast Time on Thursday, April 26, 2012, at Richard Castle's Home in Sausalito, California
Richard Castle lies on his side of the bed, actually half lying and half sitting. He is waiting for his ex-detective who has been in the shower now just long enough. He smiles as he hears the shower turn off, knowing that she will be in bed with him in a few minutes.
He closes his eyes, reflecting on the events of the week. He imagines Alexis walking face-first into his chest, just freed by Vulcan Simmons. He imagines the same Vulcan Simmons alive, and somewhere in the city just across the bridge. The thought brings a frown to his face.
"Kate will never be comfortable with that arrangement," he thinks to himself.
"Hell, I don't know that I will be comfortable with it either," he frowns sadly.
Being friends with Sam Carlos does have its challenges.
He imagines Elena Markov behind the glass, her first night there. Hell, it was literally just last night. Life is swarming too quickly now.
Kate surprises him, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body.
"That was a quick dry job," he chuckles with a smile.
"Would you like for me to go back in there and –"
"No, no, don't you dare," he smiles, and all of his concerns, all of the images in his mind evaporate as she returns his smile, dropping her towel and climbing under the sheets with him.
"I was just thinking about this week," he tries to bring the images back. Fortunately, his wife-to-be knows that is the last thing the man needs right now. She places a kiss on his lips, shutting him up.
"Stop talking," she whispers in his ear, pulling the covers over both of them. Their giggles float on the air throughout the room, as the large clock downstairs chimes, ushering in the night.
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A/N: So this ends this story of our friends on the west coast. As I mentioned, life got in the way of my writings. During this story, I lost my mother, wrote another book, and have been re-assessing so much of life. All is good, but I needed the time away. I am sorry that this took so long, and am grateful for those of you who stayed with this. My primary purpose for this story was to bring Elena Markov into this universe. We will see her again.