Protecting Her(58)

The day continues and I somehow manage to make it through without screaming at my father. He did this to anger me, but I’m not going to let him see my anger. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. So I go about my day, acting as if nothing has happened. When I see him at an afternoon meeting, I smile and act cordial, which I can tell irritates him.

At five, I leave to go home. I’d rather just wait at the office until it’s time to do the assignment, but I promised Rachel I’d be home for dinner.

“Hello, sweetheart,” I say, faking a smile as she greets me at the door.

“Hi.” She kisses me and I feel Garret grabbing my leg. I look down and see his arms raised toward me.

“Hello, Garret.” I pick him up and he hugs me.

It’s a double life. A double life. I can do this. It’s not me. It’s someone else. I say the words in my head as my wife and son look at me as though I’m a good man, when the truth is, I’m not. I’m a horrible man. I’m going to kill someone in a few hours, because if I don’t, they’ll come after me. The organization will punish me. Or worse, they’ll do something to my family.

“We’re having roasted pork loin and scalloped potatoes,” Rachel says. “And apple cobbler for dessert.”

“It smells delicious.” I set Garret down. “I’ll go up and change.” I go to the bedroom and put on jeans and a black t-shirt. I need to blend in tonight, and the black will hide any blood. But just in case, I’ll bring another shirt.

When I go back downstairs, the food is plated and on the kitchen table. We usually eat in the kitchen instead of the dining room. It’s easier since Garret tends to make a mess. He’s not the most coordinated eater yet. He’s in his high chair, highly focused on trying to pick up pieces of potato with his fingers and get them to his mouth.

“Dinner looks wonderful, Rachel.” I kiss her and hold her chair out for her.

“I hope you like it. The pork was a new recipe.”

As we’re eating dinner, I say, “I have to go back to the office tonight.”

“You do?” Rachel reaches over and catches Garret’s cup before he dumps it on the floor. “Why?”

“I have a meeting first thing tomorrow morning and I wasn’t able to get all the materials ready before I left tonight.”

“You should’ve just stayed. We could’ve pushed dinner back a few hours.”

“Yes, but then it would’ve been past Garret’s bedtime. I wanted to see him before he goes to bed.”

She smiles. “So how long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“Probably a few hours.”

She doesn’t question me any further. We continue our dinner and have dessert. Then we put Garret to bed and I head out.

The assignment is taking place at a bar in New Haven so it’s a bit of a drive. On the way there, I pretend I’m someone else and not the man who just had a nice dinner with his wife and child. I don’t know who I am right now. A hit man? A mobster? I really don’t know. There’s no term for it. Jack would say it’s my dark side, so I guess that’s what I’ll call it. But I don’t want a dark side. I hate that side of me.

I drive to an area of town that isn’t far from the homeless shelter where Rachel used to work. I’m relieved she’s not working there anymore. She keeps saying she’s going to go back there some Saturday for a visit, but so far she hasn’t.

When I reach the bar, I pull around the back and park behind a dumpster. They need to give us different cars if they’re going to make us do this. I don’t exactly fit in driving a Mercedes. But I have to drive the approved vehicle. It’s a rule, mainly for our safety because the car has bulletproof glass and a stash of weapons in the trunk, hidden in a locked compartment.

I open the trunk and unlock the compartment and take out my gun and attach the silencer. Then I take out another handgun and lay both guns on the floor of the trunk. I slip my wedding ring into my pocket and scrunch the fabric of my shirt to wrinkle it, then head inside.

The bar is crowded because it’s a Monday night and football is on. It’s loud, with men yelling at the TV and each other, and beer bottles clinking together as the waitresses dole them out. There’s a fist fight going on near the pool table but nobody seems to care.

I take a seat at the bar and order a whiskey. I down it and order another.

“Rough day?” the bartender asks. She has short, jet black hair with red streaks in it and piercings in her nose and eyebrow.