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Jason looked around to see what was wrong - had he missed a red light? He knew his mind was preoccupied with the tall tale Heller had been spi
"What's wrong? What's the big deal with stopping here?" Jason was worrying again he might need to make a 911 call if this old guy suddenly keeled over in the back of the cab.
He glanced into the rearview mirror again, looking for some clue for what had spooked Mr. William Heller so much. He saw him looking out the window of the cab, his face illuminated by a set of flickering neon lights. Jason followed the direction of the geriatric assassin's gaze and found himself looking at an old diner. This wasn't your modern burger joint either. Nope, not by a long stretch. This was one of those old greasy spoon places, lots of chrome, nasty old jukeboxes, and where the top-ups were free, but tasted like they'd already been through a homeless guy before it reached your cup. Everything cost under $10, and the food poisoning was free of charge.
"I want to stop here for a while. Leave the clock ru
Heller's voice sounded disjointed, almost like he was talking on autopilot. Like someone who was having a vision but didn't quite want to share that with you because you'd tell them they were crazy. Jason also noticed that the old man mentioned he had lots of cash. He didn’t like the idea of being bought, but he liked the idea of being homeless even less.
"Are you hungry or thirsty, Jason?" the old man asked.
He knew his eating habits had always been lousy, and being a cab driver didn't improve that any. In that split second it takes the smell of freshly baked bread to make you insanely hungry, Jason found himself realizing he hadn't eaten all day. He was ru
It was only when he watched Heller trying to get out of the cab that he realized just how sick this old fart was. The energetic way he'd gotten into the cab just a short while ago was the mirror opposite of his creeping attempt to haul himself, one limb at a time, of the back seat of the cab.
Instinctively, Jason reached out to help him. He suffered from a split second of internal conflict, knowing that he was helping a self-confessed murderer get to his feet, but that was immediately pushed aside by his need to do the right thing. He'd always been a bit of a boy scout. Being a Marine proved that much about him, if nothing else. It also proved he could survive situations no one expected him to. Situations no one else could survive. He quickly shook that thought from his head.
Heller wheezed his way to his feet, finally managing to get his walking stick underneath him. A small silver logo or crest on the stick caught Jason's eye, but it happened too quickly for him to pick up much detail from it. It looked like an eagle, or something along those lines. Probably from one of those fancy department stores, where a walking stick like that costs a couple of grand at least, he figured.
"I know this place. I've been here before, but not in many years. I've always meant to come back for a visit," Heller said. "It's very apt now that I should find it again tonight. All part of a final journey.”
Heller paused outside the front of the diner, appearing to drink up with his eyes the memories that were soaked into this building. "A reason for all things, eh? Let's get in out of this rain before I seize up. I hope they still do pie!" Heller suddenly walked briskly ahead of Jason, and he seemed to be smiling, too. It was almost charming, or at least it would be, if you could forget for a split second just what and who was underneath that warm, grandfatherly smile. Even murderers get hungry, it seemed.
Jason led the way inside the diner. It was busy inside, but he managed to find a booth for them to sit in. A diner like this was the kind of place you could expect to find just about anyone. Everything from arguing couples to people exchanging substances that can get you arrested. It wasn’t quite a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but it wasn’t too far away from that idea either.
While he was idly looking the menu up and down for something that sounded tasty and cheap, he noticed that Heller was glancing around the interior of the diner, smiling and nodding.
Looks like the place hadn't changed all that much then, old man, eh?
Chapter 11
A waitress skittered over with a notepad. She looked about 50, but Jason guessed she was closer to 40; the extra miles on her clock were probably a combination of bad living, and a crappy job. Years of ru
Actually, he guessed she was more like 42, and he was pretty sure if he asked her, he'd be right. Jason had always been able to pull numbers out of the air, but then again, other days, he'd forget where he parked his cab. Go figure. He'd always put the number guessing down to pure luck, the only luck he'd ever really had. It still freaked people out from time to time though.
"What can I get you guys?" she asked.
Jason waited for Heller to order, but he got the courtesy nod from the old man that he should order first. This was the easy bit, Jason thought.
"Steak, eggs, white toast, and coffee please."
Just repeating to Darlene what he intended to eat had increased the rumble coming from his stomach to a dull roar now instead.
Heller didn't wait for an invitation. "I see you have apple pie and pecan pie. Bring me a big slice of each, four scoops of vanilla ice cream, and a pot of strong coffee please, young lady.”
A few unintelligible scribbles on her pad later and Darlene was gone on her way. Jason realized that he was still holding the menu in front of himself, reading it. He also realized that Heller was looking straight at him, smiling. He could feel his stare burning through the worn menu and straight into his mind.
"My doctors would kill me for eating this, but then, it won't kill me any more quickly than anything else at this stage. There’s nothing unhealthier than cancer, and I intend on having one last meal of my own choosing. You still have questions about what I've told you, don't you? I can see it in your eyes," Heller said with a grin that was part fox and part Cheshire cat.
Jason found himself nodding without thinking. He realized he did have more questions, even though he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answers he got. "You said earlier about 'designated targets' with Ke
"None of us knew the other gunmen, Jason, but we all had our own specific targets to aim for. Each of these targets delivering an almost-definite kill shot. From the top down, we were aiming for the head, throat, heart, lungs, and spine. We were trying to put rounds where they were going to do massive direct and collateral damage. Even if our bullets passed clean through him, the damage they did would be beyond medical science both then and now. Like I said, the ZR Rifle guys made sure that it was game over for Ke