The wreckage before him left Wesley frozen in place.
It took a long while before he finally muttered, “What… the fuck?”
“Wesley, I’m sorry.”
Annie knelt on the bed, covering her mouth and nose as tears streamed down her face.
“I was wrong. I swear this was the last time. It’ll never happen again. Please forgive me.”
Wesley stared at Annie, a strange look in his eyes, as though he were seeing his wife for the first time.
Gradually, more emotions surfaced in his gaze.
Confusion.
Bewilderment.
Rage.
And murderous intent.
Wesley clenched his fists, his face utterly expressionless as he said slowly, “Jason, there’s a twenty year old Scotch at the bar downstairs. Your favorite. Go have a taste. You won’t be disappointed.”
There wasn’t a trace of emotion in his voice.
It was the calm before the storm.
“Okay.” Jason nodded, then took his gun and headed downstairs.
The bar beside the dining room was stocked with dozens of bottles of fine liquor, not one of them worth less than a thousand dollars.
Jason switched on the bar’s dim incandescent light and started searching for his beloved Scotch.
“Whiskey, whiskey… there you are.”
He pulled out a corkscrew and opened the bottle.
A scream from Annie rang out upstairs.
Jason paused for the briefest moment before continuing what he was doing, completely unaffected by the sound.
Wesley hasn’t killed anyone with his own hands in years.
He isn’t getting rusty, is he?
Jason took out a whiskey glass, grabbed some ice from the refrigerator, and settled onto one of the swivel stools at the bar, leisurely savoring the twenty year old Scotch.
Annie’s screams went on for a long time before finally falling silent.
Wesley eventually came down the stairs like a man who had lost his soul.
His movements were stiff as he slowly sat on the stool beside Jason.
“It really is good. Have some.” Jason took out an empty glass, filled it a quarter of the way, and slid it over.
Wesley roughly snatched the bottle instead, filled the glass to the brim, then tipped his head back and drained it in one gulp.
Thud.
The glass slammed down onto the bar.
Wesley gripped it tightly, head bowed and eyes shut, his breathing ragged and rapid.
Jason said nothing.
There was nothing an outsider could do to help with something like this. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Wesley could only get through it himself.
Jason refilled Wesley’s glass, then idly toyed with his own as he continued drinking.
Half an hour later, the bottle was empty.
By then, Wesley had finally pulled himself together.
“Jason, I’m sorry you had to see something like that.”
Jason shook his head slightly and grinned.
“Don’t apologize. I enjoyed the show.”
“Fuck you!”
Shit.
This bastard is disgusting.
Yet Wesley suddenly found himself feeling much more relaxed.
The two clinked glasses and finished the last mouthful of whiskey.
After setting down his glass, Wesley’s expression turned serious.
“What the hell did you do, you bastard? I’ve never seen Kingpin this furious before.”
“Nothing major.”
“What do you mean, nothing major?”
Jason lowered his gaze, admiring the empty glass in his hand as he said casually, “I slept with Vanessa.”
Wesley went completely blank.
“What? You call that nothing major? Jesus Christ.”
Jason waved a hand impatiently.
“Forget about that. I only came here today to ask you one thing. How did Kingpin find out about Vanessa and me?”
Wesley shook his head.
“Kingpin didn’t tell me anything. He didn’t even mention Vanessa. All he said was that you’d betrayed the organization and ordered me to put a bounty on your head with every gang in New York.”
Jason smiled faintly.
He had already expected Kingpin to put a price on his head.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have changed his phone or even disguised himself every time he went outside.
“How much?”
“One million dollars dead. Three million alive.”
“Damn. He’s really throwing money around.” Jason grinned.
“Think I can turn myself in?”
“I’d be delighted.”
Wesley stood and straightened his suit, preparing to head upstairs.
“I still have a mess to clean up. You can go. As far as I’m concerned, I never saw you tonight.”
Jason smiled as he set down his glass, pulled the Glock hidden beneath his clothes, and aimed it at him.
“You’re not leaving until you give me an answer. Or you can try your luck with that Beretta 92 and see if you can kill me first.”
Surprise flashed across Wesley’s face.
His hand, which had just touched his gun, froze instantly.
Under the dim yellow light, the two men stared at each other, one standing, the other sitting, each gripping a handgun.
After several seconds of deadlock, Wesley gave up.
He pulled his hand away and snapped, “Jason, I told you, I don’t know anything! Kingpin never told me the truth.”
Jason gave a contemptuous laugh.
“You and I have been friends and colleagues for years. We know each other better than we know ourselves. Do you really think there’s any point lying to me?”
Wesley’s face darkened, but he said nothing.
“Fine. Then I’ll spell it out for you. Kingpin cares about appearances, and he hates the Ranskahov brothers. There’s no way he would personally call them.”
Jason’s eyes remained fixed on Wesley.
“So here’s the question: who gave Vladimir the information he needed to find my home?”
At that, Wesley’s expression finally changed.
He sighed.
“I’m sorry, Jason. I—”
“Don’t apologize. I know you were only following Kingpin’s orders.”
“Thanks.” Wesley continued, “When Kingpin called me yesterday, I already knew you’d slept with Vanessa. Jesus Christ, I damn near lost my mind. You bastard, do you seriously have no fear of death?”
“You flatter me.” Jason smiled.
“That wasn’t a compliment!” Wesley frowned and raised his voice, agitation creeping in.
“Because of you, Hell’s Kitchen, which had finally stabilized, and even the entire New York underworld have been thrown into chaos! Do you have any idea how many people are going to die because of this?”
Jason shook his head contemptuously.
Wesley really is Kingpin’s prized protégé.
He’s inherited the man’s worldview perfectly.
From the moment Kingpin first began building his criminal empire, he had set himself one modest little goal.
Rule every gang in New York, impose strict discipline on his subordinates, and in doing so create a perfect city without killing, robbery, or violent crime.
Kingpin had once shared that dream with Jason.
Jason had smiled and agreed to his face.
Behind his back, he had thought it was ridiculous.
Jason stared directly into Wesley’s eyes.
“Wesley, do you actually believe all that crap Kingpin feeds you? It’s laughable.”
“Evil is evil. Good is good. Stop trying to dress yourselves up as something noble. As long as scum like us are still alive, New York will never truly be peaceful.”
Wesley shot back defiantly, “Crime in Hell’s Kitchen is lower under Kingpin than it has ever been. Doesn’t that prove something?”