Best Served Cold

7

It felt louder than anything else I had ever heard. It split the air like the crack of lightning, striking just feet away. My eardrums rang with the sound of it, slicing through my brain with a scalpel of pain.

Maybe it felt louder than life because in that instant, my entire being was held in that gunshot’s grasp. That shot had the power to change everything I knew, kill everything I loved.

Then the moment was over, and the world started to turn again. I popped from behind the tree with my gun raised, vowing to myself that if Milana was shot, I would murder Chester right where he stood.

But Milana had done my work for me. Chester was already on the ground, unmoving.

“Dale, huh?”

I looked over at her, scared to death of what came next. In my mind’s eye I could already see her, looking betrayed and remorseful.

In reality, she was smirking.

And it hit me.

“How long have you known?” I asked. Her smile was infectious.

“Since the first time I vetted you.”

“It was that obvious?”

She chuckled. “Oh yeah. You should have seen the look on your face.”

This was terrible. My boss was dead. Why was I grinning like a fool?

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know, I just…” She trailed off. “We need to get out of here.”

I just kept on smiling.

“Now.”

I nodded, but still felt like I could fly, if I just jumped. Nothing would tether me to the ground.

The feeling didn’t last.

It was definitely gone by the time I pulled up to Clearview Special Needs Housing the next morning. I had just briefed everyone on what happened last night, but there wasn’t too much to talk about. Chester was going to be killed anyway, and we still had no idea what plan he could have been talking about. There may have been a little truth bending on the whole Alex-is-an-undercover-agent thing, but no one caught on.

Now I had someone to talk to.

Clearview was just an unobtrusive red brick building, about the size of a hotel. Set back from the street by an unnecessarily large parking lot, no one would ever notice it unless they were looking.

I got out of my silver 2005 Camaro and practically slammed the door. Just being near my father was making me angry. I locked the car until it beeped at me, just to make sure, then pushed open the doors and marched into the lobby. It looked like it could have been the living room in a log cabin, with the leather couches and constantly running fireplace. It was better than my father deserved.

“Excuse me?”

I looked up to see a nurse’s brown eyes gazing at me.

“Uh, yes. I’m Dale McNeil, here to see David.”

She smiled in a way that made me a little uncomfortable. “Of course, Mr. McNeil, right this way.”

I noted the terrible security and followed her into a hallway off to the left. This place almost looked like a hotel on the inside, too, with evenly spaced and numbered doors. The nurse didn’t need to swipe any sort of key, though, to open the door to my father’s room on the left.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said and closed the door.

Could I have an axe, please?

The room was also hotel-like. A bed, two lounge chairs, and a small bathroom tucked in front. My father could have been staying at Comfort Inn for the rest of his life.

And there was my murder victim, sitting in a yellow lounge chair with a blank look on his face. As if he never beat my mom. As if his own son didn’t hate his guts. As if everything in the world was peachy keen.

Of course, to him that was all true. He probably didn’t remember that he even had a son.

“Who are you?” he asked. The rich timber of his voice almost made it seem like he was fine. His hair was still a dark brown, and few wrinkles showed on his tan skin. If only he wasn’t just asking his son who he was.

I sat down in the armchair across from him and sighed. “It’s your son, Dale.”

“But Dale’s only four years old. Are you from the future?”

I didn’t care what state he was in; I wasn’t going to feel sorry for him. “No. I’m not from the future.”

“Then how are you so old?”

“It’s 2012, you idiot. You have Alzheimer’s.”

“Alzheimer’s, huh? That’s a good one. This is just getting old, mate. I’m sure I’ve met you before. You with the Agency?”

I rubbed my temples. “Yeah, sure. I’m in the agency.”

“Good. We always need more people. Look, can you keep a secret?”

“Sure, I guess.” What was he talking about?

He leaned forward and grinned at me. “Well, me and a few buddies have a side business going. We’re just doing a bit of prioritizing, if you catch my drift.”

Shit. He’s talking about his job with Los Invisibles.

“We just make sure that all the investigating on the Muertes is at the top of the list. And our friends pay us to keep it that way is all. Nothing illegal.”

Calm. Calm. I drew in a deep breath, but it came in shaky with rage.

On second thought, screw it.

“I can’t believe you! I don’t care what you can remember or not. You took dirty money from drug dealers. Now I’m left doing what always needed to be done for Brianna, and you’re wasting your life in this stupid hotel room, being waited on by stupid nurses, and I just want you to know that you don’t deserve any of this.”

Somewhere in the distance birds screeched. A motorcycle chugged past without his muffler on, and the faint smell of disinfectants crept up from the floorboards.

David looked down and sighed.

“Dale, I know you’ve always dreamt about getting your revenge. It’s what used to drive you to do all those karate classes when you were younger, and to make your Mom teach you how to shoot. I also know I’ve been a terrible father to you, but you have to trust me here. Revenge doesn’t make anyone feel any better. And this hate of yours is going to drive you into the ground. I’d bet a thousand dollars on it. You let go of Reyes or you let go of life. Cause you’ll die for this.”

I blinked a few times. Sunlight lit the side of David’s face as he stared at me, his caramel eyes burrowing themselves into my brain.

I couldn’t though. I couldn’t forgive Reyes. I couldn’t even forgive my father.

He killed Brianna. He murdered Brianna.

“I can’t,” I whispered, studying the blue of my jeans. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Birds chirped their happy selves into oblivion outside. I looked up, and David was staring out the window, idly watching the parking lot.

“I can’t,” I repeated, louder this time.

He looked over at me. “Huh?”

“I can’t let go.”

He blinked, furrowing his eyes.

“Who are you?”