Saint/Sinner by Sam Sisavath Page A

Walter as a shield, but all it would take was one decent sniper waiting for him outside, and it was game over. That was assuming he even made it out of the house in the first place with Monroe’s people still inside the building with him.
    Shit. The fucker’s right.
    “Jack, you still there?” Monroe said through the phone.
    He ignored the voice, even cupped the receiver so he could listen to the hallway on the other side of the wall. Monroe had tried this tack once already—and it’d almost worked—and there was no reason he wouldn’t do it again.
    His palm vibrated slightly against Monroe’s voice, until he finally brought the phone back up to his ear. “Let’s say I believe you this time. What guarantees can you give me?”
    “You tell me.”
    “Tell me who sent you.”
    “I can’t do that. You know that, Jack. Unwritten code, and all that bullshit. Besides, does it really matter?”
    Jack thought about it. “I guess not.”
    “What else?” Monroe asked.
    “What’s the mission?”
    “You know what the mission is.”
    “Walter.”
    “Correct. Walter.” A beat. Then, “What say you, Jack? You ready to put all this behind you? Live to fight another day?”
    “I hate going home empty-handed.”
    “But you’ll be going home.”
    Monroe was right. Fuck him in the eyes, Monroe was right. Jack wanted to live. Jesus Christ, he wanted to live.
    He looked over at Walter. If the man had been eavesdropping on the phone conversation and was even remotely flustered by it, it hadn’t interrupted the rhythmic tap-tap-tap coming from behind the desk.
    Jack turned back to the phone. “So how do I walk out of here?”
    “Simple,” Monroe said through the phone. “You just walk out of here.”
    “Just like that?”
    “I don’t give two shits about you, Jack. I want Walter. He’s my meal ticket. You? You’re just another guy with a gun. I don’t have any plans for you, except maybe to put your name in my Rolodex so I can offer you a job in the future.”
    “I’m flattered.”
    “Good men are hard to find. I don’t know what happened to the one in the other room, but you’re obviously the last man standing. That counts for something in my book.” Another dramatic pause, then, “So are we doing this, Jack? We simpatico?”
    “I got a problem.”
    “Let’s hear it.”
    “My momma used to tell me, when something’s too good to be true, it usually means they have a red-hot poker ready to shove up your ass when you turn around.”
    Monroe chuckled. “She sounds like a hell of a woman.”
    “She had her moments.”
    “Why don’t you take a minute to think about my offer? Just don’t take too long. I need an answer before midnight.”
    Jack glanced down at his watch. 10:14  P.M.
    “Until then,” Monroe continued, “I’ll hold the boys back and give you space.”
    “Awfully courteous of you.”
    “Hey, we’re both professionals, right? I took my best shot and you survived. Now I just want to end this.”
    “Midnight,” Jack said.
    “Sure, midnight, but feel free to give me a ring if you make up your mind before then,” Monroe said, just before he terminated their connection.
    Jack stared at the phone for a moment. Could he actually trust Monroe? Could he afford not to? He wasn’t getting out of this alive any other way that he could see. The only possible escape scenario was out the window behind Walter, and Jack didn’t for one second think Monroe didn’t already have someone watching it on the other side.
    He tucked the phone into his pocket, slid down to the floor, and sat with his back against the wall, the assault rifle leaning over his bent knees.
    Almost home. He was almost home. When he’d first gotten the job, he didn’t think five days was enough to plan the ambush, and that doubt had only grown in the days leading up to tonight. Then they showed up, and he got Walter working on the laptop.
    So what happened?
    The dog happened.
    How the hell did that fucking thing get