Specter's Gamble - 29. Chapter 29

When Desmond walked outside after Sam rang the doorbell, he immediately noticed a black car parked across the narrow street. He lightly tousled the kid’s hair and dragged on his cigarette.

“Don’t turn,” he said softly, and Sam looked at him with puzzlement.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“Did you see anyone in a black vehicle behind you on the way here?” Desmond asked with a lazy smile, his posture relaxed.

“Black car, you mean?” Sam almost turned around, and Desmond put his hand on the back of his neck – a move that even two months ago would freak the kid out like no other.

“Do not turn,” he said softly, sensing the kid’s tension. He didn’t freak out though, that was good.

“Sorry...” Sam muttered, and Desmond took his hand off his neck.

The assassin dragged on his cigarette again.

“Yeah,” he said. “A black car.”

“I am not sure,” Sam said in a tense voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Desmond smiled and flicked the cigarette away. “Get inside,” he said softly, and Sam did just that.

They went inside, and Desmond immediately walked towards the kitchen window, staring outside, nothing left of that lazy smile of his he was wearing a minute ago.

“I guess there was a black car behind me,” Sam said thoughtfully. “I saw it maybe a couple of times... But I didn’t even think about it...”

“Come here,” Desmond said without looking away from the window. “Was it the same car?”

Sam came closer and slightly narrowed his eyes, looking at the said car with great intensity. Desmond glanced at him and noticed that Sam’s shoulder was touching his – another thing that would make the kid flinch a couple of months ago. Now it seemed he wasn’t even aware of it; he also didn’t mind to be so close to another person. Desmond smiled to himself and looked at that damn car again.

“I don’t know,” Sam said finally. “Might have been... I don’t know cars that well,” he shrugged. “If it’s not the same one though, then it looks very similar.”

“Let’s assume for the sake of argument that it’s the same car then,” Desmond nodded and turned on the kettle. “Also let’s assume...” he sighed. “I hate that word but I am going to use it anyway,” he said solemnly, and Sam let out a short laughter. “So yeah,” the assassin nodded. “Let’s also assume that whoever is in that car followed you here... Now, why would they do that...?” he asked mostly himself. “When you talked on the phone...” he remembered suddenly. “Was there anyone around you who could hear the entire conversation?”

“Umm...” Sam blinked. “Yeah, I am pretty sure... But I didn’t use your names or anything...”

“Yeah,” Desmond sighed. “You did. Rayhe’s and mine. First names only.”

“You sure?” Sam doubtfully squinted his eyes.

“Positive,” Desmond nodded. “I don’t forget things,” he tapped himself on the temple with his finger. “Remember everything. Always had that knack.”

“Oh,” Sam said in a small voice. “I’m sorry...”

“Don’t sweat it,” Desmond shrugged. “I know he’s here, whoever the hell he is...”

“Why did you even notice that car?” Sam stared out of the window again.

“Because I have never seen it here before,” Desmond reached for the mugs and bags of tea. “Believe me, if I say this thing had never set a wheel on this street before, it’s true.”

Sam hemmed and took the mug Desmond handed him.

“Maybe it belongs to one of your neighbors,” Sam carefully sipped hot tea. “I mean, maybe the guy got a new car...”

“Maybe,” Desmond said absent-mindedly. “Can’t tell if someone is inside or not... Damn tinted windows...”

“Want me to...” Sam started saying, and Desmond interrupted him immediately.

“No. When you leave the apartment, don’t even look at the damn thing.”

“Oh...” now the kid looked almost upset. “You want me to leave?”

Desmond blinked and looked at him with a slight frown.

“No, you dipshit,” he snorted finally. “I am saying when you leave... Doesn’t mean you should get out right now.”

“Right...” Sam muttered, and Desmond turned away when he felt an insane desire to laugh after the kid’s ears turned bright-red.

Ever since that night three months ago, when Sam drove Desmond home from that house, everything changed. Desmond had to stay inside the apartment due to obvious reasons (you don’t want to be walking openly in public when one of the most powerful men in the world believes you are dead), and Rayhe had to take care of various things. He had to gather everything they would need in order to move the hell away from this city; he had to make sure that there were no loose ends left anywhere; he also wanted to sell his house, since they figured they could use all the money they could get. Sure, Desmond had more than enough in his bank accounts, and so did Rayhe, but the house could sell for a decent amount and neither of them saw anything wrong with an extra chunk of cash.

Therefore, Desmond was pretty much stuck in the apartment, and it was slowly driving him crazy. Unlike those several weeks when he was stuck in Gabriel’s house, this was completely different. In Rayhe’s house he would play out different scenarios in his mind; trying to figure out different ways to get out of the house; hell, even imagining many, many sweet ways of how he would make Rayhe suffer after he figured out how to get out of the damn place... Also, during those several weeks, he wouldn’t be alone for longer than three or sometimes, four hours at a time. Rayhe would always be there.

Now, however, he was completely and utterly alone for the most part of the day, since Gabriel had to run all over the city in preparation for their departure. Therefore, they would only see each other in the mornings before Rayhe left, and in the evenings when he came back. Desmond hated this arrangement with a passion, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Finally, after a month or so after Specter’s demise, Rayhe said in a very firm tone of voice:

“I am going to ask Sam to come over tomorrow for a couple of hours or so when I am not here...”

Desmond frowned at that.

“Why?” he said. “He is lonely or something?”

Rayhe looked like he was trying his best not to roll his eyes right then.

“No,” he said patiently. “I am going to ask him to keep you company.”

Desmond was speechless for almost a minute.

“Why?” he asked finally.

“Because,” Rayhe said as patiently as before. “You need some human interaction.”

Desmond’s eyes immediately narrowed.

“You gonna ask a kid to babysit me?” he asked dangerously, and this time, Rayhe did roll his eyes.

“No,” he said, and suddenly, Desmond remembered why he was tempted to kill him so many times before. This patient manner was starting to drive him berserk. “Not babysit. To keep you company. For at least, a couple of hours.”

“I don’t need his company!” Desmond hissed.

“You need someone besides your imaginary rivals to talk to during the day,” Rayhe said, and Desmond imagined running a needle through his eyeball. That made him feel somewhat better.

“I don’t...” he started saying, but Rayhe interrupted him.

“Yes,” he said. “You do. Do you have any idea how bitchy you are lately?”

Bitchy?! Okay, that’s it...

“I don’t need that damn kid!” Desmond hissed, his patience is merely a shadow by now. “I don’t need company! I am fine!”

“Des,” Rayhe closed his eyes for a second. “You almost bit my head off yesterday because I dumped coffee grounds into the sink...”

“That shit stains!” Desmond screamed and immediately bit his tongue. He was too late.

“I am going to ask Sam to come over for a couple of hours tomorrow,” Rayhe nodded. “You two can play cards or something, I don’t care. But seriously...”

“Shut up,” Desmond said in a very even voice. “Shut up. I don’t care. Bring the kid, I don’t give a damn. Just shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Rayhe reasoned.

“Shut up,” Desmond nodded firmly and went away.

So, the next day Sam rang the doorbell around two in the afternoon, and when Desmond opened the door, the kid looked like he was about to say, “Screw this shit!” and take off running. He didn’t.

“Ummm...” he said instead. “Hi...”

“Hey,” Desmond replied gloomily. “Come in, I suppose...”

...The first hour or so was an uncomfortable hell. They had absolutely nothing in common they could talk about. Finally, around 3:30 or so, Desmond remembered Rayhe’s words the day before.

“You wanna play cards?” he asked gloomily, and the kid looked somewhat interested.

“Sure,” he nodded, so they did just that.

Of course, with the kid, they didn’t play for actual money, which was definitely a great thing for Sam, because he’d be dead broke after two hours of them playing poker.

“Okay, kid,” Desmond said finally. “You gotta learn how to keep your poker-face on. When you start squirming in your seat...” he looked at the kid pointedly. “...you are asking to be ripped off,” he finished, and Sam blinked at that. “If you have a lousy hand, you don’t want me to know... If you have an awesome hand, you don’t want me to know... Just...” he shrugged. “Be indifferent. Don’t do anything out of the ordinary... Got it?”

“I guess...” the kid said doubtfully.

...He was a fast learner, Desmond realized after an hour or so. He didn’t lose to the kid, of course (he’d shoot himself point-blank if that happened), but he came somewhat close once, when Sam’s posture and face remained as indifferent as they could get. Desmond didn’t even smell the trap!

“Not bad,” he nodded in approval finally. “You got it, kid! Want some tea?”

He hated those damn coffee grounds, therefore, he switched to tea a week or so ago.

“Sure,” the kid nodded; he was much more relaxed now, compared to his tightness a couple of hours ago.

“So...” the kid said while Desmond was getting the tea bags. “Why did you get to my place?”

Desmond blinked at that.

“Huh?” he said, while making sure he didn't give himself blisters from hot water he was pouring into the mugs.

“The first time,” the kid said softly, his fingers absent-mindedly rearranging the spoons in one of the drawers. “The first time I met you... Why did you get there?”

Desmond stared at the mugs with hard concentration.

“I wanted to talk to you...” he said finally.

“About...?” Sam looked as if he was insanely interested in a pattern the spoons made in that drawer.

Desmond sighed and carefully set the kettle away from him.

“You said...” the kid sounded like he was trying his best to make his voice to sound casual. “Your father and I had a deal...” he glanced at Desmond briefly. “Did you really...? I mean... Did you actually have a deal with my father?”

“In a manner of speaking...” Desmond said very carefully, aware of the fact that Sam’s tension was back.

“What did he want you to do?” the kid still wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

Desmond sighed.

“Julian and he...” he said slowly, and Sam immediately flinched at that name and finally looked into Desmond’s eyes. “They had a plan on how to get me,” Desmond finished, and Sam blinked several times. “The plan included using you as bait...” he shook his head when Sam’s expression became quite confused. “Long story... So I just wanted to talk to you...” he shrugged. “I am not sure what I was going to say,” he admitted. “I wasn’t going to kill you right then but...”

“Right then?” the kid repeated incredulously. “Hold on...” he looked at the spoons again. “You were supposed to kill me?”

“Well...” Desmond shrugged again.

“Did my father order it?” Sam was actually smiling now, except Desmond didn’t like that smile. It immediately reminded him of the frozen turkey in his Grandmother’s freezer.

“It’s a long story...” he started again, but Sam interrupted him.

“He made it look like someone else ordered it, didn’t he?” he looked at the assassin with the same eerie smile. “That’s how Gabriel and you know each other... He used the story on him, didn’t he? To get to you...? And when you figured it out, you decided to waste me anyway... A deal is a deal, right?”

Desmond blinked at that several times.

“You are one smart cookie, kid,” he said finally and handed Sam one of the mugs. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Sam took the mug and wrapped his fingers around it, ignoring the heat.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked with the same smile. “Why didn’t you waste me? Back then, I would be happy if you did...”

Desmond winced when the hot tea burned his mouth.

“When I was a kid...” he said slowly. “I think I was fourteen... There was this one guy at my school... Grade-A asshole, we hated each other like no other... One of those days he trapped me behind one of the buildings, and I was positive he was about to kill me...” he paused and sipped his tea more carefully this time. “He was older and he was stronger... He also had this ability of his...” he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, he rips my shirt off, right? And then, when I am thinking okay, I should say my final good-byes, he just stops... I couldn’t figure it out, and then I looked at him, and he had this weird look in his eyes... He looked at the scars on my back, and his eyes...” he shrugged. “I don’t know how to describe it... He left right then. He didn’t do anything, he just left. For the longest time I couldn’t figure out why...” he looked at Sam and gave him a very small smile. “I finally figured it out after I talked to you,” he finished.

To Desmond’s relief, the kid’s eerie smile was gone. Now the kid looked thoughtful.

“He went through the same thing, didn’t he?” Sam asked finally, his eyes fixed on Desmond’s face. “With the scars... He went through the same thing... He knew what it’s like...”

“You are one smart cookie, kid,” Desmond nodded. “Let’s go play more cards.”