[h3]Last One Out…[/h3]
[i]Turn off the lights…[/i]

>SOMEWHERE IN EASTERN OREGON
>TUE.12.NOV.2019

[i]”If I’m goin’ to do this for you and Mannen, I need you to promise me somethin’.”

“What?”

“In writing.”

“Okay.”[/i]

Donnelley sat on the edge of the bed, hair dyed blonde and his dyed beard long, looking through colored contacts as he busied himself with assembling the VP9 after cleaning it. He also had his Steyr handgun sitting next to him. That one was already cleaned and ready, just like always. The serial number was scratched off, took it off a Program man he and Ghost had caught up to in an alleyway back when he was still THUNDER. Still just Tex. It wasn’t the guy’s lucky day, and he learned what it was to make an enemy of the Program. Like Donnelley always knew, like he’d said, you don’t get out of this alive.

[i]”I want you to promise me that, and send me the documents.”

“I will. You’ll have them.” Oakes paused, “But you know you’ll have to do something for me.”

“What is it?”[/i]

Donnelley looked at the window just as they lit up bright white from the headlights of a silver 2012 Toyota Corolla. The vehicle he was told his partner- his new guy- was meeting him in. He stood, slipping the Steyr into his holster and tugging the coat he was wearing over it. The VP9, he kept in his book bag. No need to rush for it. Not this time. He pulled one slat of the blinds down and saw the silhouette of a man sitting in the driver seat, framed by the darkening sky.

He took his finger away from the blinds and took a breath. He undid the locks and rested his hand on the doorknob. He looked at the motel room, nothing of his left behind. In a few hours, after he and the other man had left the motel, a cleaner hired by the Program would come to clean up and make sure no one would ever know Joseph Donnelley was ever here. Funny. They’d do the same thing when it was time for him to retire too.

He didn’t smile at that, just opened the door and stepped outside.

[i]”His name’s William Walker. Bill Walker. Did a lot of dirt for the Office of Security, kept away from the real deal Program as much as possible.”

“So, what’s the deal?”

“He still knows too much. He can still be placed on every Op we’ve sent him on, and he’s been refusing calls.”

“How rude.”

“Very. I don’t like being ignored, and neither does the Program.”

“What about the new guy?”

“What [/i]about [i]the new guy?”

“What’s his name?”

“Call him-“

“Bob.” Donnelley said, closing the passenger door of the Corolla and buckling in while they backed out of the parking space.

“Jonas.” Bob nodded at him. He was very new. Not as new as some, but still new enough to be nervous. Seasoned enough to hide it, but not from Donnelley. Donnelley could see it hiding in the corners of his eyes, the same look he had his first operation. A regular day at the races, as they called it when you were vetting a new Agent.

“So, they said you’d tell me about the job.” Bob said, merging onto the country road stretching off into nothing.

“My job is making sure the dinner guest’s retirement party goes smoothly,” Donnelley spoke, looking out at the passing hills and tall grass, “Your job can be shutting the fuck up unless I ask you something.”

And so he did. No music, no conversation, just the tires singing across the dusty back road until they finally got to the place.

[i]”What can I expect?”

“A tough as nails old killer ready to make sure he doesn’t go out alone.”

“Par for the course.”

“Exactly. Nothing you haven’t done before. I’ll send you a picture, make sure it’s a Pos ID”

“Consider it done. You’ll know when.”

“Make it quiet.”

“Always.”[/i]

Donnelley stepped out of the Corolla and his boots scraped into the dirt. He closed the door, looking at Bob as he too got out of the car. Bob took a step forward and Donnelley called his name, “Bob. The fuck are you doing?”

“The job, right?”

“Your job was to meet me, pick me up, and bring me here. That’s enough lessons for a fuckin’ new guy, now keep the engine runnin’.” Donnelley spat off to the side, hooking his gaze into Bob’s with something sharp. “Won’t be long.”

Bob looked back at Donnelley, not exactly wanting to test his luck, or ruin his chances at being whatever he thought he’d be in the Program. Truth be told, he wouldn’t be much. No one ever really is. But that was between Bill Walker and him, let Bob be blissfully stupid for a little bit longer.

Donnelley walked up the driveway, noting any vehicles. Two, a Harley Sportster that reminded him of Queen, though this one was black and white. The other was a rusty Ford pickup. He knew how to approach this, especially now that they hadn’t taken fire the second they rolled onto the driveway. The lights of the house were on downstairs, but he couldn’t see a thing. The TV was on, playing some kid’s show. That made him quirk a brow and almost stop in his tracks. Was this the right place? Had Bob unsurprisingly fucked up?

Or was this perhaps some elaborate trap Oakes had rigged, and he was just stumbling into it like the idiot he was. He stood in front of the door, still hesitating. He wanted to turn around and ask Bob himself if he’d fucked up with the directions. But he knew Bob really wasn’t that stupid. So he knocked. And then he heard the door open, not even locked in the first place, and standing there was a little girl. Six, maybe. But young, was all he knew.

“Hi.” She smiled at him, and gave a little wave.

“Um…”

“Who is it, Frankie?” William stepped into view from the kitchen, looking just like the picture he’d gotten from Oakes, but smiling. He was an old man with graying hair, receding up and away from his forehead, but otherwise kept trim and neat. His eyes were kind, in that way some men who’d done lots of unkind things had, “Oh, Harry, you’re here!”

Donnelley quirked a brow, but he was too taken aback to even mutter anything. Instead, he just stood there and nodded. William chuckled, “Well, don’t just stand there, come on in.”

Now he was really starting to feel like something was wrong about this. Donnelley looked from the girl and then at William. And he stepped inside. He doubted William would try anything with his granddaughter so close. The granddaughter Oakes said absolutely fucking nothing about. William pointed at the dinner table, “Don’t be shy, Harry, sit down. You want anything to drink?”

“No, I’m…” Donnelley just shook his head and swallowed, feeling his Steyr in one holster and the VP9 in the inner pocket of his coat. “I’m… fine.”

“You sure? Got red wine, goes good with pasta.” William clapped Donnelley on the shoulder, and then watched Frankie skip back into the living room to resume her show. It was then that William squeezed Donnelley’s shoulder, hard. But there was no anger in his eyes, “Not here. Not now. Not in front of her.”

William nodded outside, “Your friend want any dinner?”

“He can wait.” Donnelley felt a bit of relief, as strange as that was to feel. It was just a normal job, as strange as killing a man was normal. But normal wasn’t something Donnelley knew anymore, not for a long time. “We can eat first. I’ll be your Harry.”

“Good.”

“You poison it, or the wine?”

“And have you vomit your bloody stomach lining onto the table my granddaughter’s eating at?” William had a point, and Donnelley just nodded in agreement, “It’s just pasta. It’s just wine. It’s just dinner.”

Except it wasn’t just dinner, but Frankie didn’t need to know that. William turned and walked into the living room and smiled at Frankie, who smiled back at him, and then at Donnelley, “How do you know my grampa?”

“We worked together. Well, not together-together, but doing the same thing as each other. Janitors, cleaning things up that need cleaning.” William looked at Donnelley, “Right, Harry?”

Donnelley looked from William and then to Frankie, forcing that very sincere smile to grow across his lips, “Sure did!” Donnelley said, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Frankie. Your grandpa talks about you a lot.”

Frankie just giggled and looked back at her show, but William had the remote in his hand and shut the TV off. Frankie groaned, looking at her grandpa, “But-“

“It’ll be there when we’re done. Dinner time, our favorite!” William picked Frankie up and tickled her stomach, making her squeal and thrash about in his arms as he chuckled along.

Even that made Donnelley’s smile just a bit too sincere for his liking. William looked at him, but if he thought he could charm his way out of this, using his granddaughter as a ward, he was out of luck. But Donnelley knew that William was just enjoying his last few moments with Frankie. It was the same thing Donnelley would’ve done, had William come calling after him. Donnelley’s smile faltered just a bit as he turned away from them and sat at the table.

Dinner was normal, if not still a bit awkward with the elephant in the room. Donnelley barely touched his plate, every move he made, no matter how small let him feel the pistols he had on him. When the dishes were put up, and Frankie was put to bed, Donnelley and William were left standing in the kitchen. They were quiet, both looking away from each other, but keeping each other in their peripherals out of instinct and habit.

“I’m tired.” William spoke, “Tired of doing work for the Program. Tired of looking people in the eyes and only seeing confusion. It’s always confusion, like they didn’t expect it to happen when it did.”

William shook his head, “At least I do.” William took a breath, “I’m not going to fight you. Not with Frankie here. Don’t even know if I would if she wasn’t. I’m tired.” He said again.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Donnelley said, not interested in waxing poetic with an old man about to be dead.

William just nodded and then waved Donnelley to come walk with him. They went out the back, shutting the door. William took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered one to Donnelley. He took one, placing it between his lips, but leaving it unlit. “Well,” William said, “Ready as I’ll ever be. You got a knife, or a gun?”

“Gun.”

“Suppressed?”

“Very.” Donnelley reached into his coat and pulled the VP9 free.

“Had one like that.” William nodded, “I’ll look you right in the eyes. Wouldn’t have it any other way, I ain’t a lame horse.”

Donnelley said nothing, just raised the pistol and sighted up on William’s T-box. Quick, clean, quiet. That was the job. Do this, and he could walk away knowing his favor would be done. Just this job, and he could go back to the real work. The work he could at least try to justify. Just a few pounds of pressure. A few pounds that wouldn’t come. Donnelley lowered the pistol, just a hair at first, and then lowered his arm back to his side, grimacing.

“You know what they’ll do if you don’t follow through.” William said, his voice almost disappointed.

“Yeah.” Donnelley muttered. “Maybe I’m tired too.”

“They won’t care.” William shook his head, “You’re not doing anyone a favor with this, friend.”

“Maybe.” Donnelley swallowed.

William took one last puff, “Okay-“

And then William’s face splattered onto the dirt in wet chunks after a loud pop like a hose breaking, the rest of him following after, dropping in no way that could be described as romantic or dramatic. Just his legs going out from under him, folding in on himself to lay fetal in the dust. Motionless. Dead. Lots of blood.

“Well, job’s done.” Bob lowered his pistol and then holstered it inside his coat, “Why didn’t you shoot?”

Donnelley just looked at William’s body. His hand was gripping his pistol tight, white knuckles and shaking hand. He holstered his VP9, but his eyes were still on William’s faceless corpse dumping blood into the earth.

“Okay, anyone else in the house?” Bob urged, not getting answers out of Donnelley. He grumbled, “I’ll go check.”

Bob walked over to the sliding glass door, but before he could open it, Donnelley spoke, “Hey, Bob.”

“Yeah?”

Donnelley unholstered his VP9, picking out Bob’s T-box as easily as he’d pick out the side of a house. Bob raised his hands, then Tex smiled that wolf’s grin of his and let the pistol dangle from his forefinger, still in the trigger guard. Just a little joke, “Take it.” Tex said, “It’s just the kid inside.”

“I…” Bob seemed shocked, looking at the pistol and then back to Tex.

“Can’t?” Tex asked, raising a brow. “They said no witnesses. You wanna do this right, right?”

Bob swallowed. Tex knew he wouldn’t take it, so he spun it back in his hand and put it back in the holster, “Clean up the house. Kitchen, dining room.”

After Bob left to do as he was told, Donnelley stepped over William’s corpse as he slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves and shouldered past Bob. Bob took his time with the house, making sure every trace of his and Tex’s being there wouldn’t ever be found out. A couple hours, maybe. The Program would send another cleaner here, just to be sure. As for Tex, he slowly went up the stairs, one by one. The door to the master bedroom was open, so was the bathroom at the end of the hallway. That left the only closed door to be Frankie’s, a bunch of flowers and vines painstakingly painted by William long before he was a brainless corpse leaking the memory of doing it into the soil.

He lay a hand on the girl’s door and opened it. Frankie was laying in bed with a stuffed bear held tight in her arms, snoring softly. For a moment, he saw Tilly in that bed. He pushed it aside and stepped into her room. No witnesses, Oakes had told him. No witnesses, Tex had said to Bob. Frankie’s eyes fluttered open and she looked at Tex, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to replace it with no small amount of confusion, “Where’s grampa?”

>…///

Tex and Bob were driving to an abandoned house somewhere further east, towards Idaho. William’s body was in the trunk, and the scene was cleaned enough that it would take an actual crime scene investigation team to piece together what happened, not whatever first responder would come to the house when the time came. Bob didn’t say anything, just gave Tex some wary glances after what had gone down. “It’s done?”

Tex nodded, just once. That was enough for Bob, who muttered a very soft [i]Jesus Christ[/i] under his breath, just loud enough to tickle at the edges of Tex’s hearing. You want something done right, you want Tex. He didn’t spend years doing what he did to leave things half-done. Everyone on THUNDER knew. Ghost and Tex for when the real low things needed doing. They pulled up, and the abandoned house and the barn next to it was illuminated by the headlights of the Corolla. Time to get to work, take the last picture of William’s face and then chop him up, leave him for the Program cleaner to spread across as much of the West Coast he could cover in a couple days.

It took about an hour, fast work for practiced hands. When they’d gotten it all bagged and sealed, Tex and Bob sat inside the barn, the lanterns still shining wet across the PPE they’d donned from the trunk of the Corolla. Bob still wouldn’t look at him. Tex couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror sometimes when he woke up and stumbled into the bathroom. But that was the price. Anything for another sunrise. Do what no one else can, or should have to.

“You really did it?” Bob asked. Maybe he didn’t believe Tex. Maybe he didn’t want to.

But, Tex looked back at him with those flat predator eyes of his and just frowned, “You saying I’m a pussy?” Tex asked, “How many years you think I’ve been doin’ this shit?”

“I dunno.” Bob shook his head, mouth hanging open and dumb.

Tex snorted, shaking his head with a smirk as he looked at the bags of William piled up in the corner, “You don’t start toughin’ up, maybe you see me again.” Tex looked back at Bob, “But good job with tonight.”

“Yeah.” Bob almost choked on the words, hands still shaking as he put the cigarette to his lips.

“We should get out of here.” Tex stood up.

“Yeah.” Bob said again, and then stood too.

They shed the PPE and left it with the sealed bags. The cleaner would know what to with them. Their part was done and over. Tex was sitting on the hood of the Corolla, waiting for Bob to get the last of his PPE off and begin his slow zombie walk toward the Toyota. “Hey, Bob.”

“What?”

“How do you feel?” Tex asked.

“Huh?”

“You feel good?” Tex asked further, “Killing someone you don’t even know?”

“I… don’t really know.” Bob admitted.

Tex stood from his seat on the hood, the Toyota creaking as the suspension righted itself, and Tex laid a hand on Bob’s shoulder, his nitrile gloves still on. He squeezed a bit, “Maybe you should feel like shit.”

Bob furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t quite make their way past the Benchmade punch dagger Tex shoved through his windpipe. Bob gagged on his own blood as Tex caught his weight, stumbling back. Quick as a few claps, Tex brought the dagger out and in, out and in, making sure his arteries were wide open. So much blood, on his hands, on Bob’s chin and neck, and chest. Tex slipped the dagger back in the sheath and hauled Bob’s body to the barn, dumping him next to William.

Frankie would give the description of a man who looked different enough from Donnelley that he’d never be caught when the police came and found her in her closet clutching her grandpa’s phone, just like the times before. The case would go cold, and there wouldn’t ever be closure for Frankie, but Donnelley was too tired of it all to think about that. He took off his bloody gloves, found his phone in his pocket, next to his lighter. He dialed the number, and gave the simple phrase when he heard the other end pick up, “Done.”

“New guy?”

“Didn’t make it.”

Oakes paused, then continued, unbothered, “Alright.”

He hung up, lit the cigarette William had given him. He slipped into the Corolla, shutting the door and turning the engine over, driving off into the night to leave the car in a long-term parking lot of an airport and be gone before anyone knew he was even here. He hoped Frankie would be alright.