Specter's Gamble - 31. Chapter 31

“Okay,” Desmond said twenty minutes later after the buffoon was securely attached to one of the chairs, his both hands handcuffed behind his back. “Tell me again why I shouldn’t kill this clown?”

Sam looked outside through the window, his forehead wrinkling with a tortured frown. He was silent for a minute or two. Desmond waited patiently.

“He...” Sam finally said very slowly. “He did something for me... Something good...” he glanced at Desmond. “It was a long time ago,” he muttered. “I... I don’t want to talk about it,” he finished in a softer voice.

Desmond sighed.

“Something good...” he muttered and threw a doubtful glance at the unconscious buffoon. “All right, that’s good enough for me... Here is the problem, however... If I let him live, guess who is going to find out about me?”

“Salamander,” Sam whispered.

“Yup,” Desmond nodded energetically. “Believe me when I say it... I do not want that to happen. Also, there is this thing with me killing his brother and him dying to do the same to me...”

“You killed his brother?” Sam frowned slightly.

“If he was the idiot who knocked Rayhe out with the icicle that one time, then yes,” Desmond nodded again. “I did. According to him,” he nodded at the buffoon. “...that idiot was indeed his brother. So what does this leave me with?” he looked at the kid solemnly.

“Don’t kill him...” Sam muttered again. “Just...” he shrugged. “Just figure something out... You are good at it...”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Desmond said firmly.

“I am going to kill you...” the buffoon said suddenly, and Desmond looked at him.

The man’s eyes were open and the amount of hatred in them could make a pot of water to boil.

“I know,” Desmond nodded seriously. “Sam, I might not have a choice, I am sorry.”

Sam blinked when Desmond actually called him ‘Sam’ and not ‘kid’ this time. He looked at the man in the chair. “I am sorry... I am sorry... I am so sorry...” He turned around, his fingers clutched together, his back rigid.

“You look alive, Samuel,” the man said in an unexpectedly tender voice, and Sam’s shoulders started to ache from all the tension. “I am glad,” the man continued.

“I am sorry,” Sam whispered.

“Don’t be,” the man tried to shrug and gave up on that idea almost immediately. He was in no position to even shift in the chair, let alone shrug. “He is right, you know... If he lets me live, he’ll die. Because even with Julian aside, I will make sure myself that he does not live long enough to see another sunset. Andreas was my kid brother, you see, and he meant the world to me...” he stopped talking after Sam whirled around, his eyes huge.

“Andreas...” he repeated numbly. The man frowned.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “That was his name... Why?”

“You never came back after that night,” Sam muttered, his eyes fixed on the larger man’s face. “He never brought you again, because he said he knew you didn’t enjoy it, and it made it boring for him...”

Desmond frowned and his eyes darted towards the buffoon whose expression was puzzled right now.

“That was when he started bringing...” Sam stuttered. “Him,” he finished in a tight voice.

There was a shadow of a stricken understanding on the buffoon’s face and he slowly shook his head – something he could still do in his current position.

“No,” he muttered. “My brother wasn’t the only Julian’s man with that name, I know that for sure... My brother would never...”

“There was a tattoo of a buffalo on his right hip,” Sam said in a colorless voice, and the buffoon fell silent. “It was black-and-white,” Sam continued in the same lifeless voice. “All of it was black-and-white... All of it but the eyes. The eyes were red... Also, one of the horns...”

“...was broken,” the man finished dully, and Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “It was broken. Julian brought him often, so I remember that tattoo really well... Sometimes Julian would say that even my father could be playing a second violin to...” he stuttered again. “...him,” he finished.

Desmond closed his eyes. The hell he’d been through was nothing compared to whatever this kid had to endure, he thought. His Grandmother would beat all shit out of him; she would beat him so bad that sometimes he would black out for several hours, and sometimes he couldn’t even move for a couple of days. But at least, she didn’t do anything other than trying to skin him alive with that goddamn belt. As for Tomah... Well, Tomah only did it to him once, and even after that one time, Desmond was a wreck for several years that followed. Sam LeVoughn survived through God knows how many years of that nightmare. Desmond felt an involuntary shiver running down his spine. He thought of LeVoughn-Senior and the house behind the old Plaza, and for the first time ever since that happened, he didn’t feel a tight, nauseating knot in the pit of his stomach. He felt dark satisfaction instead.

The man in the chair slowly raised his head and looked into the kid’s eyes. Desmond blinked when he saw his look. The buffoon looked tortured right now.

“I am sorry...” the man whispered, his gaze locked on Sam’s eyes. “God, kid... He never told me... I didn’t know... Julian never mentioned anything... I would’ve made him stop; he was my kid brother, he would listen to me, he would... I didn’t know...”

Sam didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his expression frozen. The man’s eyes were linked to the kid’s face and neither of them blinked.

...Alessandro couldn’t believe this. No, he thought dully. No, Andreas would never... The kid was talking about someone else, he had to! But then Samuel described that damn tattoo and Alessandro felt like all air was sucked out of his lungs. Andreas got that tattoo when he was eighteen. It was on his right hip, so unless his pants were off, there was no way for the kid to see that bloody tattoo. For the first time since Andreas’ demise, Alessandro felt something else besides hatred for Specter and a feeling of an enormous loss when he thought about his kid brother right now. He remembered Samuel’s eyes; the eyes that made him wake up gasping for air for almost a month after that ‘pleasant evening.’ “Let go of me, you fucking bastard! Don’t touch me...! Let go!”

He was never a father figure for Andreas, but he always considered them being best friends more than brothers. He never even imagined that Andreas would be able to do something even remotely that appalling. And to do it more than once... “He never brought you again, because he said he knew you didn’t enjoy it, and it made it boring for him...” he remembered the kid’s words, and closed his eyes. Andreas enjoyed it. Julian would know, he thought hazily. When it came to enjoyment, Julian always knew. He felt like screaming at the top of his lungs.

...Desmond watched the buffoon’s expression while the man was sitting in the chair, his neck rigid, his eyes squeezed shut, his fingernails digging into his own palms. Huh, he thought. The guy actually feels something for the kid, who would’ve thought. “Too bad,” he mused darkly. “He is Salamander’s watchdog, and watchdogs are always loyal to their masters. The guy has to go... The sooner the better too, because...”

“Don’t leave tomorrow night,” the buffoon said suddenly in a gruff voice, interrupting Desmond’s thoughts, and the assassin blinked. “Wait until Saturday night. Julian is leaving the city for the weekend... It’ll be safer for you to leave when he is gone.”

The man opened his eyes and looked at Desmond.

“He’ll be back Sunday night,” he continued almost calmly. “Leave on Saturday.”

Desmond narrowed his eyes. It’s a trap, he thought immediately, but his inner alarms remained off.

“I am not doing this for you,” the man said, his dark eyes locked on Desmond’s green ones. “I am doing this for myself. I couldn’t do anything five years ago, I couldn’t even refuse... I did something I hated myself for... As far as Julian is concerned, Specter is dead, and that’s the end of it. As for myself...” he almost shrugged again. “I guess this is my redemption...” he muttered.

“You don’t have any more siblings, do you?” Desmond asked finally in a very casual voice, and the man blinked several times.

Finally, something that looked like a hint of a smile reflected on his lips.

“No,” he said. “I don’t have any more siblings.”

“Good,” Desmond nodded.

...Twenty minutes or so later, Alessandro stretched and rubbed his wrists with a visible relief. Damn Specter sure knew how to incapacitate someone, he thought and glanced at the black-haired man. Specter watched him warily, as if afraid that Alessandro was going to lunge at him any minute. Not that Alessandro blamed him... It was strange -- he didn’t hate the man anymore. He didn’t like him, nor was he ecstatic to let him go, but he didn’t hate him anymore.

Specter walked behind him as Alessandro made his way towards the front door of the apartment. Samuel still stood in the middle of the room; he didn’t say a single word after Specter uncuffed and untied Alessandro. The kid just stood there.

Alessandro walked outside, perfectly aware that Specter was right behind him. He stopped and turned around. The assassin looked at him without blinking. Alessandro’s eyes darted towards Specter’s hand.

“Julian told me about rings like that one,” he said, slightly nodding at the ring on the assassin’s finger. “He also told me what kind of poison they usually put in those... If you want to use it on me, go ahead... But I wasn’t lying to you. I am not going to say anything to Julian, and I am not going to follow you...”

Specter finally blinked and slowly put his ringed hand into his pocket. Alessandro glanced at the door of the apartment that was slightly ajar.

“Take him with you,” he said softly, and the assassin’s eyes slightly narrowed. “Take him with you,” Alessandro repeated. “He is right -- there is nothing for him here. Nothing and no one... There is a good chance he’ll be happy with you and your mate.”

He didn’t wait for Specter’s response and started walking towards his car. Then he stopped for a second and slightly turned his head.

“Good-bye...” he hesitated. “...Desmond,” he finished and walked away for real.

****

Desmond watched the man who was built like a wardrobe to get into that black car of his and drive away. He stood outside for several more minutes, and then finally went back into the apartment. Sam was still rooted to the floor.

“Hey, kid,” Desmond lit a cigarette. “Kid!”

Sam blinked and looked at him blindly.

“You said you sucked at cooking, but willing to learn, right?” Desmond’s expression was very serious.

“Cooking...?” Sam repeated dumbfoundedly.

“Yeah,” Desmond nodded. “You know, when you mix several ingredients together, sometimes boil them or fry, whatever... Get them to the point when they are somewhat edible? That sort of thing...”

“Errr...” was Sam’s reply. Desmond nodded again.

“See, Rayhe is an excellent cook,” he dragged on his cigarette. “Unfortunately, he is not around at the moment, and I am hungry. Wanna start learning?”

Sam blinked very rapidly, and for a few seconds, Desmond was afraid that he was about to burst into tears (“Well, shit...”), which frightened him somewhat. Desmond and tears never meshed. To Desmond’s greatest relief, the kid didn’t cry.

“What do you have?” he asked instead, his eyes still suspiciously shiny. “Ingredients-wise?”

“Hell if I know,” Desmond said seriously.

“What do you usually eat when Gabriel is not here?” Sam frowned.

“I don’t,” Desmond answered in the same serious voice. “I survive on tea and an occasional apple. I know,” he nodded when he saw Sam’s expression. “Helps me to maintain my weight.”

Sam snorted at that, as if saying ‘Yeah, right!’ and went into the kitchen. Desmond grinned. Yeah, he was lying. He wasn’t as desperate as he painted when it came to cooking. He wasn’t as good as Rayhe, of course, but he could make something simple, like fried potatoes, or an occasional meat loaf.

He followed the kid into the kitchen, melancholically thinking that now there were three of them, and that Rayhe had better find a place big enough for all of them. “Because I’ll be damned if I have to bite my fist again,” he thought darkly.