Daniel stepped over to the sitting area and pulled one of the plush taupe wing chairs away from the large coffee table in front of the couch, dragging it against the wall behind him. He pushed the other chair to the side and kicked the small round end table out of the way, knocking it against a smaller chair near the conference table. The Buckhead Suite offered three distinctly separate living areas for the discerning business guest: a spacious bedroom with a glass enclosed, marble shower; a sitting area occupied by two terrorists, one of whom was grievously wounded and ruining the furniture; and a conference area, featuring a mahogany table with seating for six. Mr. Young certainly spared no expense while he was in town.
"Bring out tonight's guest of honor," Daniel said.
Jessica wrenched a ruffled, despondent-looking Benjamin Young through the bedroom door and jammed him into the wing chair against the wall. Daniel backed up a few steps toward the conference table and pointed the pistol at Young.
"If you try to get out of that seat, the young lady here will stab you through your armpit all the way to your heart. The blade's long enough, right?" he said.
Young looked torn, like he wasn't sure if he had permission to respond.
"It might be an inch short. You can talk now. I give you permission," Jessica said, standing next to him.
Daniel winked at her, when he thought Young was distracted.
"I saw that. All right, all right. Enough already. You guys got me good. Seriously. I'm fucking freaked out of my mind right now. Whoever put you up to this earned their fucking money tonight. This is by far the best joke ever. Really. Can you tell I'm freaked out? No need to continue. I'll pay you double to call it quits," Young said, starting to get up from the chair.
Jessica turned the knife in her hand and brought the end of the handle down on his face, shattering the cartilage in his nose and splitting his top lip. Young shrieked and dropped back into the chair.
"My fucking face! What the fuck is going on here? Who the fuck are you people? I told you this was over!" he screamed.
"Lower your voice," Daniel said.
He nodded at Jessica, who immediately raised the knife in front of Young, causing him to cower in the chair, flailing his hands above him in a sad, useless display.
When he spoke again, he whispered. "Look, whatever is happening here…it doesn't have to happen. I have a lot of money, and I can access even more if necessary. I guarantee I can double or triple what you're being paid now."
"I'm not being paid anything," Daniel said. He turned to Ben and Jerry. "Are either of you being paid?"
Neither of the men answered, prompting Daniel to aim at the dark-haired man's head.
"Are either of you receiving a fat paycheck to be here tonight?" Daniel asked.
"Fuck you. I'm not saying a word," Dark Hair replied.
Daniel fired a single Hydra-Shok hollow-point round through the man's head, snapping it back against the top of the couch. A dark red stain splashed the tan curtain panel behind him, rustling the thick material. The light-haired man scooted away from his now deceased friend, struggling to move with his hands tied behind his back.
"Oh fuck," Young whimpered. "He did not just kill that guy. This is a joke, right? He did not—"
Daniel turned his head and arm at the same time, firing a bullet into the wall less than six inches from Young's head. The suppressor reduced the gunshot to a subsonic crack. Jessica gasped. Young's face went blank as he examined the damaged drywall near his head.
"Holy shit," he whispered and closed his eyes.
"Did I shatter the window?" Daniel asked, turning back to the couch.
Daniel hadn't heard the glass shatter, but he couldn't be sure. The decision to kill Dark Hair had been a last-second decision. He could tell by the man's defiant expression that he'd be nothing but trouble during the interrogation. His light-haired accomplice looked a little softer. The man stared at him quizzically.
"You don't like to talk either?" Daniel asked, raising the pistol again.
"No. No. I'll talk. You asked about the window. I didn't hear it shatter. I didn't hear anything like that," Light Hair pleaded.
"I hope not. If the police arrive before I'm finished, they'll need at least two SERVPRO teams in here to scrape you off the walls."
"It didn't shatter. I think I would have heard that happen. Yes. I know I would have heard that happen."
"You're sure? Sure enough to bet your life on it?"
"Yes. No. We're good," he said.
"I hope so. Next question. How many more can we expect?" Daniel asked.
"What?"
"You're either purposely ignoring me, or you're scared out of your mind. Either way, it's starting to piss me off," Daniel said, closing the distance to the couch while pointing the pistol at the man's head.
"I can't concentrate with a gun to my head."
"Really? You came here to put a gun to Mr. Young's head, but this bothers you? I'm done repeating questions. Are you and your dead partner working alone, or can I expect amateur hour to continue?"
"We're working alone. We weren't expecting any obstacles," the man replied.
Daniel walked over to the conference table and removed both of the wallets. He glanced at the driver's licenses. Both of the men carried South Carolina licenses. Theodore Kindler sat before him on the couch, still breathing for now.
"Ted? Theo? I like Theo. Let's get the introductions out of the way. Benjamin Young, meet Theodore Kindler. He was sent here to put a bullet through your head."
"Come on, guys. This is crazy. Did my wife hire these guys?" Young said.
"She should have," Jessica snapped.
"I couldn't agree more, but this goes way deeper than your extracurricular activities. Would you care to explain this to him, Theo? Tell him why you're here to kill him?"
Theodore Kindler opened his mouth, but the words faltered. He wore a painful look, torn between preventing his own death and maintaining loyalty.
"Don't know where to start? I'd be happy if you simply identified your organization. That'll be enough to keep your brains off the curtains," Daniel said.
"I really can't—"
"Yes, you can. I already know the answer. I just want him to hear it from you. Three. Two. One…"
"True America," he grunted, looking disgusted and frightened.
"True America? Why would they want me dead? I'm about to close a deal worth a healthy sum of money for their organization," Young said perplexedly.
"Oh, you haven't heard?" Daniel said snidely. "True America is up to something big. Much bigger than a campaign announcement or a string of expensive primetime television ads. Big enough to start tying up loose ends. By our estimation, you're one of the biggest. We took down the first assassination team in New York. You're looking at the substitutes."
"Jesus Christ. What about my family? Who's watching them right now?" Young asked.
He tried to stand up again, but didn't get more than three inches off the chair before Jessica's knife appeared at his throat. He sat back down, and Jessica eased the knife away.
"What about my family?" he hissed at Kindler.
"Answer the man," Daniel ordered.
"Our mission didn't involve your family," Kindler said.
Young didn't look convinced. His face showed an unsure anger that Daniel knew had already turned Young against True America.
"If these are the bad guys, why am I being forced to sit in this chair with a knife to my throat?" Young asked.
"Because I haven't decided which side you're on. True America wants you dead. We need to figure out exactly why this is the case. Until then, your brains are just as likely to hit the wall as Theo's," Daniel said.
"This is un-fucking-real. After all I've done for Greely and the rest of those rednecks, they turn around and stab me in the back like this. Fuck them! I'll tell you everything I know. I have records, all kinds of shit. I'm good at covering my ass. We're talking detailed records. I've been diverting large amounts of money earmarked for True America's D.C. office to Greely and Harding. The fuck if I know what they're doing with it."