Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1) by Adam Nicholls Page A
Authors: Adam Nicholls
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enemy. He went for the light switch, his heavy panting even more noticeable in the silence of the room. When he flicked it, nothing happened. Shit!
'Didn't think the power would still be on, did you?'
The voice shifted again, somewhere indistinguishable. 'I don't understand it, myself. I mean, I've heard of unlikely teams, but what's your game?'
Blake fidgeted, shifted his aim from left to right, unsure of where exactly the man was. 'I…' His voice was weak, quivering. 'He's my friend, and he's helping me find my dad.'
'Ha! Is that what he told you?'
A hand on his shoulder.
Blake recoiled, spun the gun and fired it, but it hit nothing other than the black air. 'You can't turn me against him, so give up now!' It was an obvious ploy, but there was still a little room for doubt. Blake would have to close his mind to it entirely, or succumb to the tale this man was weaving.
'I don't care what you do. Live. Die. It's all the same to me.'
Suddenly a fist flew out. It connected with Blake's already-damaged nose, producing a new kind of pain, flooding new shades of blood. He stumbled back, took two quick steps to regain his balance, but failed. His back hit the cold marble ground, smashing his coccyx. The gun left his open hand, spinning across the room, and the man was on him, gripping his throat like a vice.
'Fact is, he has your head in a mix and you're being used,' The Shadow Man said, his breath hot against Blake's face. 'Ask him, if you don't believe me. Ask him what his name is. Ask him what his real connection to your father is.' His pearly-white grin shone as the sunset seeped through the window. His eyes sparkled with an obvious humour. 'I would tell you myself, but there's obviously no learnin' left in you.'
Blake felt the hand on his throat loosen, and the weight leaving his body.
'You're… letting me go?'
'I'm giving you a chance. I know he's manipulated you. Heck, it was his specialty. But if you leave right now and let the trail go cold, I won't be tracking you down. You have my word on that.'
Blake grimaced, letting out a little huff. 'No, you won't. But The Agency–'
'When The Agency has that friend of yours, there's no reason left to chase you. Just let sleeping dogs lie.' The man's hand was extended, an offering of peace in a field of nightmares and war. 'What do you say?'
* * * *
Greg approached Matthews slowly, his arms spread wide with the safety of a warning shot up in the window behind him.
Let's see you try something now, you bastard.
The gravel crunched under his feet until he stopped, considering his first words carefully. It was absolutely imperative that he show off his position of power. 'He isn't yours to take, Matthews.'
Matthews chortled. 'Take? Why do you think we want the boy? You're the problem in all this. We were happy with Val where he was until you stuck your fucking nose in.'
He doesn't want the kid? It could have been a bluff. Having worked for The Agency for most of his adult life, he knew the place held a manifestation of secrets, turncoats, traitors and, most of all, lies. 'You say that, and yet I've not seen him protest.'
'Because he is starting his new life, goddammit! He gave up everything for his retirement. Who the hell do you think you are to intervene?'
'Me?' Greg smirked at him, shot a condescending look. 'Oh, nobody. I'm just the guy with the gun.' And as simple as that, he gave a flick of his fingers, signalling Blake.
A stone exploded at Matthews's feet.
He jumped.
Greg laughed.
'That is exactly who I am,' Greg continued, 'a field agent, having a conversation with a pencil-pusher. But I only want one thing.'
Matthews adjusted his sleeve, unhooked the top button of his plain-white shirt, and then cleared his throat. 'What might that be?'
Greg took a step closer. 'Where is he?'
'Val?'
'Yes, Val.'
Matthews was visibly sweating now. Greg had seen him nervous before, but never this intimidated. 'Look, you can
'Didn't think the power would still be on, did you?'
The voice shifted again, somewhere indistinguishable. 'I don't understand it, myself. I mean, I've heard of unlikely teams, but what's your game?'
Blake fidgeted, shifted his aim from left to right, unsure of where exactly the man was. 'I…' His voice was weak, quivering. 'He's my friend, and he's helping me find my dad.'
'Ha! Is that what he told you?'
A hand on his shoulder.
Blake recoiled, spun the gun and fired it, but it hit nothing other than the black air. 'You can't turn me against him, so give up now!' It was an obvious ploy, but there was still a little room for doubt. Blake would have to close his mind to it entirely, or succumb to the tale this man was weaving.
'I don't care what you do. Live. Die. It's all the same to me.'
Suddenly a fist flew out. It connected with Blake's already-damaged nose, producing a new kind of pain, flooding new shades of blood. He stumbled back, took two quick steps to regain his balance, but failed. His back hit the cold marble ground, smashing his coccyx. The gun left his open hand, spinning across the room, and the man was on him, gripping his throat like a vice.
'Fact is, he has your head in a mix and you're being used,' The Shadow Man said, his breath hot against Blake's face. 'Ask him, if you don't believe me. Ask him what his name is. Ask him what his real connection to your father is.' His pearly-white grin shone as the sunset seeped through the window. His eyes sparkled with an obvious humour. 'I would tell you myself, but there's obviously no learnin' left in you.'
Blake felt the hand on his throat loosen, and the weight leaving his body.
'You're… letting me go?'
'I'm giving you a chance. I know he's manipulated you. Heck, it was his specialty. But if you leave right now and let the trail go cold, I won't be tracking you down. You have my word on that.'
Blake grimaced, letting out a little huff. 'No, you won't. But The Agency–'
'When The Agency has that friend of yours, there's no reason left to chase you. Just let sleeping dogs lie.' The man's hand was extended, an offering of peace in a field of nightmares and war. 'What do you say?'
* * * *
Greg approached Matthews slowly, his arms spread wide with the safety of a warning shot up in the window behind him.
Let's see you try something now, you bastard.
The gravel crunched under his feet until he stopped, considering his first words carefully. It was absolutely imperative that he show off his position of power. 'He isn't yours to take, Matthews.'
Matthews chortled. 'Take? Why do you think we want the boy? You're the problem in all this. We were happy with Val where he was until you stuck your fucking nose in.'
He doesn't want the kid? It could have been a bluff. Having worked for The Agency for most of his adult life, he knew the place held a manifestation of secrets, turncoats, traitors and, most of all, lies. 'You say that, and yet I've not seen him protest.'
'Because he is starting his new life, goddammit! He gave up everything for his retirement. Who the hell do you think you are to intervene?'
'Me?' Greg smirked at him, shot a condescending look. 'Oh, nobody. I'm just the guy with the gun.' And as simple as that, he gave a flick of his fingers, signalling Blake.
A stone exploded at Matthews's feet.
He jumped.
Greg laughed.
'That is exactly who I am,' Greg continued, 'a field agent, having a conversation with a pencil-pusher. But I only want one thing.'
Matthews adjusted his sleeve, unhooked the top button of his plain-white shirt, and then cleared his throat. 'What might that be?'
Greg took a step closer. 'Where is he?'
'Val?'
'Yes, Val.'
Matthews was visibly sweating now. Greg had seen him nervous before, but never this intimidated. 'Look, you can
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