Part 3: Absolution

“But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner who needed it most?“ - Mark Twain

The train pulled into Gloucester at nearly 10:30 pm. Naturally it was fucking snowing. I grew up in the Northeast, I knew winters were bad here. But for some reason I always hated the snow. It was never because of the cold, or the inconvenience it created. It was because that pristine blanket of white hid the ugliness, the dirt, the rotted blight that was the world. It made the world a lie. The Monster knew it as well as I did. Nothing was ever this pristine, this pure.

The safe house was on the corner of Prospect and Church. A dingy little apartment on the top floor of a faded yellow building. It wasn’t much to look at, but it served its purpose. A bed, a small kitchen, and a “work” area. The computer was set up on an ultra secure network, allowing us “Technicians” to plan, investigate, and keep in contact with Merlin. I didn’t plan on being here long, but it was still better than staying in some cookie cutter hotel. This would do for the two to three days it would take me to make an example out of Conner Caplain.

It only took me a day and a half to have the plan memorized. It turned out that Caplain, who pretended to be the happily married family man, had a thing for S&M. As part of his salary from the Irish, twice a month they provided him with one of their whores, so he could get his rocks off. He wasn’t known for being gentle with them either. According to everything I could find on him, on a couple of occasions the girls had been returned so damaged they were basically worthless afterward. I could never figure it out about these upper echelon criminals. They all seemed to have at least one skeleton in their closet that they couldn’t risk being exposed. Not even to the human garbage they worked with every day. Whatever it was that gave them their kicks, it was usually always a weakness I could exploit.

The Castle Manor Inn, on Essex Ave. was a sprawling Victorian era building. It had once been a nearly palatial home for an obviously very wealthy family. Now it was an expensive bed and breakfast for people with too much fucking money. The entire place absolutely reeked of pretentiousness, and entitlement. Seemed like the exact kind of place I’d expect a scumbag like Caplain to enjoy while he was choking and beating a girl half to death. It didn’t take me long, standing in the trees across Essex, to spot Caplain. The twitchy little shit got out of his car, and I knew right away. This was him. Five foot six, and maybe a buck sixty. His mousy brown hair curled tightly against his scalp, his hairline receding, and his little horn rimmed glasses. It all made for a perfect esthetic. No one would assume he was on his way to put cigarettes out on the skin of some young hooker who didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

I flipped up the collar of my pea-coat and adjusted my Boston Spoon to ward off the cold a little better. And waited. Maybe fifteen minutes later a black Lexus pulled into the parking lot, and looped around the corner of the building. I only caught a glimpse of the people inside.

The driver had the look of someone who thought of himself as a tough guy. Hair slicked back, scowl plastered onto his face, wearing a leather jacket. Not someone to worry about physically, but he would definitely be a problem if he were armed. Plus I didn’t need him to be able to identify me.

The girl looked frightened. I couldn’t get a read on her race, but she had long dark hair, and a very scared expression on her face. She almost looked fresh. Like this might be one of her first jobs. The Irish probably had her over a very large barrel.

I waited until the car was out of sight, and made my way across Essex. Taking the long way around the building, I came up behind the Lexus, just as the girl was making her way through the rear entrance. The driver was sitting in the car, tapping away mindlessly on his phone. A quick scoop, and toss, and a snowball exploded against the window of the car. Fucking idiot. It took me five snowballs, before he was either mad enough, or curious enough, to get out of the car. That’s all it took. One mistake. A wire garrote slipped over his head from the shadows, and a minute later he was tossed into the dumpster like the trash he was.

I walked away with his car keys, his phone, and a silenced glock 9mm. Stupid fucker hadn’t even bothered to lock his phone. Now I knew exactly where Caplain was. I knocked on the door to the Turret Tower suite, just as a loud crack, followed by a muffled shriek filtered through the door. The muzzle of the silenced pistol fit perfectly over the peep hole in the door. I stood, silent, watching the light under the door. The diffuse shadow grew deeper, and wider. “Who is it?” The weak voice of a man not expecting visitors echoed through the door.

With something less than a conscious thought, I squeezed the trigger. The bullet smashed through the peephole, and into the skull of the man behind. A hollow thud followed by the gagged screaming of the girl came to me through the walls. With a single thrust, I drove my shoulder into the door. Wood splintered but barely moved. Caplain’s body blocked my path. It took a minute to get it to move, and allow me into the room.

Had I been another person, I might have been horrified by what I saw. A girl of maybe nineteen lay on her stomach. Tied to the head board, a ball gag shoved deeply into her mouth. She looked to be Arab of some sort, her bronze skin, and raven black hair were my only clues. Her back, and ass, looked like a rail yard of welts, and abrasions. She kept screaming through her gag, as her eyes looked upon the Monster. Sparing her a single last glance, I dragged Caplain’s body to the wing chairs overlooking the windows, and sat him there. It almost made a comical scene. A scrawny little man, in a leather harness, his cock and balls wrapped up in a tight fitting metal ring. Sitting there as if he was about to have his morning coffee. Other than the hole drilled into his skull just above his left eye, it would have made someone laugh.

I was about to leave when the asshole driver’s phone chirped. ‘Get the girl and get out! Russians OTW. 3min or less.’ Deep inside me, the Monster roared. Leave her Mason. Get out. Survive. But there was something else. Something that grabbed me from deep inside. A small voice I had not heard in a very long time. Begging me to help this girl survive. I knew, without knowing how I knew, I was at a crossroads in my life. Something told me, if I left this poor girl to die, that there would be nothing left of Mason Griggs. That whatever good there may be left inside of me, would be snuffed out with her.

The sound of footsteps in the stairwell told me I had no more time to consider my options. Slipping my K-Bar from my pocket, I cut the girl loose, and dragged her to the closet. “Stay down. Stay quiet. And stay alive.” I growled at her in a near whisper. Two quick steps took me to the darkened bathroom. And I waited.

A minute later the barrel of a twelve gauge shotgun broke the plane of the door. A fast lunge, and I grabbed the barrel. A powerful jerk of my arm brought the gunman off balance. A single stuttered step, and my K-Bar jammed into the armpit of the man. I wrenched the blade free, and drove it home, down between the neck and shoulder of the man.

I jumped back into the darkened toilet, as a second man burst into the room. A second later the wood of the door frame exploded in splinters. A lunge through the door brought the second gunman into sight. The glock thudded quietly in the rapid moment he was in view. He jerked twice with the impact of the bullets, and slowly slid down the door frame. I knew there would be more, and this was not the place to fight them. I needed to get the girl and get out, where I could safely let the Monster slip its leash.

The option was taken from me as the lights in the hotel died, and all hell broke loose downstairs. The roar of automatic weapons tore through the halls, followed by the screams of terror from the guests below. I closed my eyes and listened. Four different guns were rattling off. Converging on the central staircase. I loped down the stairs, the tower was too close to be effective against four men with guns. I needed movement. I needed surprise. I needed space. Deep within me, the Monster roared its challenge.

I was already in motion as the first man crested the stairs. I hit my knees mid stride, the heavily waxed hardwood floor allowing my momentum to carry me forward. The sound of my approach drew the gunman’s attention. He swung his gun up to what would have been chest level, just as my K-Bar drove up, under his ribs. A savage twist of my wrist, tearing open his diaphragm, shredding his heart and lungs.

I snatched his rifle out of his hand as he tumbled back down the stairs. I didn’t stand to watch him fall. The Monster knew what to do now. Move Mason. Don’t let them catch you. Keep your feet moving. The Monster was right. Speed, and surprise were my allies here. I padded silently down the service corridor, making my way to the back stairs I had taken to get to Caplain’s room. At the top of the stairs I squeezed the trigger of the assault rifle. Emptying the clip into the wall leading down. Using that confusion, I hopped up to the small landing between floors, and melted into the shadows there.

My wait was short. I watched the flashlight mounted on the barrel of a rifle, bobbing in the darkness, as the man holding it slowly made his way up the stairs. I waited until he was half way through the turn in the stairs, his silhouette outlined by the reflected light on the wall. And squeezed the last round out of the glock. His head exploded against the wall, the dark stain of his blood spraying onto the paint.