Tunnel Vision by Gary Braver Read Free Book Online Page A

God is asking you to be His warrior and is offering you a second chance at life eternal.”
    A second chance at life eternal.
    “Right.” As a result of all his years of contract killing, Roman had lost the capacity for surprise, but this was a first—hired by a priest to be a hit man for the Lord.
    He had a dozen questions, but in private contract work you didn’t ask why someone had to be whacked. The hit was strictly business. But he was intrigued. He was also cautious. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of setup, you have a recorder in there taking it all in?”
    “It’s not a setup, and nobody is recording this exchange. Besides, you have confessed to no specific killing—so there’s nothing that has incriminated you.”
    Roman hadn’t confessed to any killing. He looked at the packs of bills. “Let’s say I decide to do this, I’ll need information and stuff.”
    A second, thinner envelope appeared atop the packet of money. Then that was topped by a cell phone. “Full instructions as well as a cell phone to call with your report.”
    Jesus, this was a fucking sting . But unlike anything he could have possibly dreamed up.
    “Whether or not you believe in the devil, you have been called to the highest service of the Lord to defeat him. You have been chosen to soldier for the Lord, and in so doing earning your way back to Him. Do you accept this mission?”
    Roman looked at the fat wad of hundreds and the cell phone waiting for him. He could not determine if the guy was serious or nuts. “You haven’t told me who you are. I don’t know what the hell I’m dealing with here.”
    “You’re dealing with a servant of the Lord who will remain anonymous.”
    A second chance at life eternal.
    “And this guy is really bad?”
    “In the eyes of God, the worst.”
    Roman picked up the envelope of bills, and in his head he heard the words of the psalm in his mother’s voice: Because he hath set his love upon Me, therefore will I deliver him: / I will set him on high, because he had known My name.
    “Fine,” Roman said, and pocketed the envelopes and phone.
    “May the Lord bless you in this mission. May He show you the lighted path back home and grant you eternal life.”
    “Thank you, Father,” Roman said, and left the confession booth and walked out of the church and into the warm glow of the morning sun.
    Even if the mission stuff was all bullshit and Father X was wired, there was $15,000 in the envelope, and Roman had said nothing to take to the cops.

10
     
    It was Good Friday, and Maggie had sat with Zack throughout much of the night. There were no changes, and he had not repeated his mutterings. She was exhausted, and on the nurse’s suggestions, she went down to the café on the ground floor. She had coffee and a muffin, feeling numb, as if the core of her body had been infused with Novocain. While in the cafeteria, she tried to get lost in a copy of The Boston Globe that someone had left on the table.
    The news of the wars and the economy filled most of the front pages, so she turned to Section B and the local news. A strange headline caught her eye: SUICIDE BY FRIEND: VICTIM HAD RARE PUFFER FISH TOXIN IN HIS BLOOD.
    The story went on to explain that a homeless man was found dead with the toxin in his system. He had been killed with a baseball bat while sitting on the rail of Harvard Bridge. Because of surveillance cameras, the batman had been apprehended, claiming that his friend had asked to be killed because he had been plagued by “demons” in his head, the result, according to the assailant, of scientists doing experiments on his brain. How he had acquired “tetrodotoxin” was unknown, but authorities assured the public that it was not a new street drug, nor was puffer fish legal in American cuisines. “The perpetrator could not give any explanation of who the scientists were or what experiments were performed on the victim, only that they paid well.”
    Maggie folded the paper,