Bound: Chapter 2

A number of old conversations fell into place and Ace realized just how long Staz had been suspecting what he did. Then he saw a slight shift in expression and knew that Staz hadn’t been sure till just then. Fuck. Most people would never consider that their roommate was a hit man because that was so outside the realm of possibilities. But Staz had already gone through the moment of horrible realization that someone he loved wasn’t what he thought they were. Staz’s old boyfriend was really good to him, really sweet, and very gentle. He also had liked to cut people up for fun. He was dead now. Ace didn’t know how but he figured he’d tried to make art out the wrong person one night.

He wondered how he’d do it. His specialty was making a job look like random violence, like a mugging gone bad, but that wouldn’t work in this case. The police always investigated the people closest and that would be him. He couldn’t afford that sort of scrutiny; he didn’t have all of his cover in place yet. Staz was only sitting there, his other boot still untied, looking at him, waiting. “How can you just sit there? You know what I have to do now,” Ace demanded.

Staz shook his head. “You won’t because there’s not a good way to do it. You don’t know who I’ve talked to, what measures I’ve put in place myself in case of that event. And most importantly, you won’t do it because you’re my friend. I haven’t told or even hinted at anything. You know what I’m capable of.”

Oh, yes, he did. Staz survived his old boyfriend without loosing his basic decency and without being hunted down by his boyfriend’s victims, just like he’d survived finding out there was Magick with his sanity and life intact. No one did that without thinking about eight steps ahead. If he was willing to mention it, then he had to have taken precautions. Ace growled, “Yeah. I know. Why the hell did you tell me, boy? Ya gotta know it’s best if ya never said nothin’. So why?”

Staz stood up and walked over to him to put a hand on his shoulder. Ace had gotten comfortable enough with him that it didn’t make his skin crawl. He couldn’t stand to be touched by most people, which made getting some nookie an interesting proposition. “Ace, something’s obviously bothering you badly. You cut yourself making a sandwich last night which I’ve never seen you do. You’ve been even more withdrawn and I saw that the whiskey bottle is only half full now. You cannot afford to be this out of it.”

True. Too true. He’d done a couple of people who started loosing focus, getting sloppy. He wondered if there was just that many people in the business or if somehow he kept being the one tagged to take care of them. He was starting to get a reputation and Ace wasn’t sure he liked it. He had t be on his game and he wasn’t right now. He kept getting lost in his own head like he was doing just then. He took a deep breath, shaking his head to clear it, “You’re right. But Staz, you know it ain’t safe for me to talk about this shit with you.”

Staz shrugged, which made the metal bands on his upper arms flash, “I’ve considered that. It is, however, not as likely to get me killed as people coming here to kill you. Statistically speaking, I’m much safer by talking to you and keeping you sharp than if I just pretend I don’t know anything.” He gave a little smile and pointed at his computer, “I can show you the math if you’d like!”

Ace snorted, “Dork. But I do wanna see later.” He just had to know how the other man had gotten his data. He glanced away, looking at his reflection in their mirror. His hair was dark blond, short enough he could comb it and style it and have it look respectable, long enough he could mess it up and look perfectly disrespectable. His eyes were very light brown, light enough people called them golden sometimes. He thought they were kind of ugly, himself, and wore contacts often to cover them. His skin had a dark, dark tan. He was more than a little addicted to laying out and soaking in the sun, maybe because so much of his life was spent out in the night. He was avoiding talking again. “My last job, I knew the guy. He used to sell me dime bags back in high school and sometimes I could buy beer off him. We weren’t friends, but…”

“But this is the first time you personally knew someone you had to kill. Could you have refused the job?”

He shook his head, “Naw. I ain’t worked my way high enough to get to refuse most cases. I couldn’t have said no anyway. I know what he was like. Real bastard and a waste of skin, yanno? I woulda done him for free if I’d remembered him a’fore the case landed on my desk. I think I’d feel better if it had been done on my own time.”

Staz’s eyes narrowed. “You have your own desk? I don’t have my own desk.” His eyes narrowed further, “Do you have a window?”

Ace burst out laughing, which was probably the intention, but it didn’t make him laugh less, “Naw. Not even close to getting’ a window, but I don’t have ta share the desk. If it makes ya feel better, I had ta get my own coffee maker and I ain’t got room for even an extra chair.”

Somewhat mollified, Staz rolled his eyes. “So corporate! At least they gave us our own coffee maker.”

“Everything is corporate these days, man. There coffee made?”

Staz nodded and fetched two cups. They sat on their respective beds, curtain pulled back so they could see each other. “You’re upset because you were paid to kill someone you knew in the past. Do you think it’s perhaps that you think now that you should have taken care of him long before now?”

After a long pause, he drawled, “Yeah, that’s probably it. I mean, if I’m doin’ my job – my real job – then I shoulda done it years ago. How many people like that are still wanderin’ around, fuckin’ up everything, because I just forgot about ‘em?”

Staz shook his head and reached over to touch the back of his hand. “Ace, you do what you can. I know it’s your duty to take out what, for lack of a better term, is a necrotic spot on the face of humanity, but there’s nothing wrong with being pragmatic enough to be paid for it at the same time. It might even be a good thing to share the responsibility for who lives and who dies.” He gave his hand a little squeeze. “You aren’t a good man, Ace, but you try more than most.” Ace bit his lip, ducked his head so his hair would shield his eyes. He squeezed again, “You aren’t good, whatever that concept means, but you aren’t bad either, Ace.”

He looked up at that. “Even though I’m not even sure I want to save the world? Even though more and more I think we’re better of if it all just ends? Even though I think the world would be just fine with a few million less people in it?”

“I don’t know if I’m the proper person to evaluate that. I’d strap a sick, screaming child to a table to do a procedure that might kill them in the name of saving, if not that child, the others with the same disease. I’ve been that child.” Ace knew he had a barcode hidden under all that dark hair. “All I know is that you were the one who was there for me when he died. You were the only one who didn’t say he was a monster and I was better off without him. You were the one who picked me up off the floor and made me heal myself. That’s what matters to me.”

Ace put his other hand on top of Staz’s. He might have said more, but the door burst open. He really had been dangerously out of it; he knew that now because his pistols weren’t within reach. He got only a glimpse of red hair, then there was a sharp pain and the world began to fade to black as someone giggled, “Oops! Dart in your neck!”