A Target's Love

24

The street below the hospital stood awash in the mellow sunlight of the early morning. Folks were up and about, busying themselves with all the activities necessary for an early Sunday. As expected, many were dressed in their elegant Sunday best, heading to church.

Javier had never truly been a church-goer. Though a part of him believed God existed, a larger part of him hoped He didn't. He didn't think a benevolent God would look too kindly on his career and everything he'd done as a result of it over the last eleven years.

When he was younger, Carolina would read to him from the Bible. He remembered being fascinated by the stories of war and catastrophic events that ended the lives of thousands of people at a time. He recalled one particular story, the tale of divine wrath and retribution, where one man's actions led to the downfall of an entire city. Retribution--now there was a concept he was familiar with.

Javier's mind involuntarily flashed back to another scene, back to a warehouse years ago, steeped in shadows.

William Quinton's looming presence had cast an eerie aura over the wide expanse of the dusty room. Across from him cowered Frank, a pitiful figure drowning in his own desperation. The dim, flickering light streaming through the thick, dust-covered glass of the large windows accentuated the desperation etched on Frank's face, making him look like a trembling prey cornered by a merciless predator.

"Here's the thing, Frank. You've disappointed me." The deep undertones of William's voice had cut through the silence like a blade. "You've failed to honor your end of the bargain. If there's one thing that pisses me off, it's a man who doesn't keep his word."

A tremor had run through Frank's body as he clutched his chest. His eyes had darted back and forth, desperate for a glimmer of mercy that he was beginning to realize wouldn't come. "Please, Mr. Quinton, I-I didn't mean to—"

William raised a hand, silencing the pathetic pleas. "No excuses, Frank. Your ineptitude has left me with no choice but to make an example of you. A shame, really. I really like Helen and the girls, but maybe they'll be better off without you."

There was a moment of silence then, the weight of his words hanging in the air, buoyed by the acceleration of Frank's already labored breathing.

"Just as well," William continued thoughtfully, "You and I both know that keeping one's word is the cornerstone of any relationship. It's a reflection of integrity and honor. I offered you opportunities and extended trust, and I expected you to honor your commitments. But time and again, your actions have proven otherwise."

Frank's eyes flickered, but William's reprimand was far from finished. "When promises are broken, trust is shattered. And trust, my friend, is not easily mended. Your choices—your unreliability—have led us here."

William's gaze bored into Frank's, devoid of sympathy. His message was clear—actions have consequences, and in a world built on trust, all debts must be paid. It was a lesson Javier had borne witness to countless times over the years since he'd been cleared for field work by his father.

That night, he'd emerged from the shadows to answer William's unspoken beckoning, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of loyalty and detachment. He'd gripped his favorite weapon of choice, a SIG Sauer P365 Nitron, with frightening expertise and ease, the sleek grip of the semi-automatic pistol oddly comforting.

"Ah, Javier," William had greeted him with a chilling smile, his tone a mixture of pride and satisfaction, "Get this done quickly. We have another meeting within the hour."

Javier's demeanor had remained emotionless, his soul seemingly shielded by cold armor. He approached his target with calculated steps, each footfall resonating like a death knell. He held Frank's gaze as his steps echoed across the wooden floor, unmoved by the mix of regret and understanding he found there. Even staring death in the face, the older man's expression bore testament to the weight of his decisions and carried a deep respect for William Quinton and his prodigy.