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“Fucking hell,” Colt muttered.
“Just the beginning, Colt. Told you to sit down,” Carmelo said.
“Alright. Alright.”
“Ortiz made him kill his parents first, though. Handed him a gun, told him to put them out of their misery. Little Eli did as he was told. Bam bam.”
“Don’t need the sound effects,” Colt spat out. Sophie felt the bile rising in her throat.
The old man continued in full blown storytelling mode. “So then little Elijah goes to live with the hitman and his wife, taken in by the Demonios. He was a shy kid, did as he was told. Was taught by Ortiz how to kill, he took him under his wing as an apprentice. Ortiz’s wife dotes on him, the kid loves them back, classic Stockholm Syndrome and Elijah, or Elias, as he became known, had a happy, fucked up childhood.”
“Hmm. You told us all about that childhood a few weeks ago,” Colt ground out.
“Did I? I don’t remember.” The limo driver looked disorientated for a moment.
“Please, carry on,” Sophie said, taking his hand now, wanting more, wanting a connection to the little boy who was lost and alone and surrounded by dark, terrible things.
“Something happened. To Geneva. Horatio’s wife. She was screwing Elijah-”
“Yes, you said,” Colt interrupted, throwing a look to Sophie to see how she was reacting. Sophie tried to keep her face neutral. She felt sick. Carmelo shushed Colt with a wave of his hand.
“Geneva comes to him with a split lip. Roughed up a bit. Horatio got drunk... Punishment for some minor transgression, not wearing a pretty enough dress, or some shit like that. She goes to Elias, teary and broken. They used to fuck in the back of the limo sometimes, I don’t think he loved her, I think he was fully owned by her though,” he said to Sophie, practically reading her mind. She had been wondering about his feelings for Geneva. He had killed for her, or been prepared to anyway, had he loved her, truly? Could a captive ever honestly love their captor?
“He bides his time, waits for the opportune moment. The annual meeting, all the men go down to meet in the tunnel. A few lowly foot soldiers are left up on the street to stand watch.
“I’ve pulled the car up outside, waiting to go in. Horatio likes to make an entrance. He’s waiting a few minutes for the men to sweat a little, building anticipation… after fifteen minutes or so, he gets out of the car, enters the building. I’m in the car, waiting for the end of the meeting, so I can drive Horatio wherever he wants to go. Elias must have taken that opportune moment, crept back up from the tunnel once the meeting was about to start. He’d planned it to be a clean kill. He was aiming for Horatio. He must have just mistimed it. Horatio had gone into the building. It was just me in the car. But Elias… he isn’t himself. Rage I guess. What men do for love, eh?”
Colt grunted, Carmelo rolled his eyes.
Sophie realized she’d never really seen him in action, she’d seen him being forceful, she’d seen him throw knives to stop someone, to miss someone. She’d seen him poised and ready to strike, but never actually killing. Never seeing him draw blood. But here was the proof. And she felt respect. For the power he could wield. An appreciation of where he had come from and why he could kill. An understanding of what it was to him. Something he was trained to do, something that filled the void of losing his family. He’d taken it on like a form of art, like a profession. Trained until he had mastered it. He wasn’t reckless with it. He didn’t abuse his power. He was calm and calculated and only killed people he was ordered to kill, or people he believed had wronged him. And, the woman he had cared for had been hurt, so Phantom had set out to kill the man who had done that. It made sense. Putting aside the fact that it was wrong to kill, that actually no person should have the power to decide and to act upon the thought to take another person’s life, what Phantom had set out to do was kind hearted. The logic was undeniable, Sophie couldn’t argue with it. It was almost… sweet. Empathetic. Thoughtful. Wrong, yes, irrational, to kill everyone associated with the Mexican gang because one man physically assaulted a woman he had some sort of complex feelings for. But, Phantom was prepared to do that for her. It was touching. He was a big-hearted, soft-centered assassin after all.
The limo driver coughed wetly but continued with his story. “He’s wild by the time he gets to me. He stabs all over the place. I’m shouting at him, begging him not to, he is screaming Horatio’s name, but it’s like he can’t see straight or he’s drunk or something. At least when I saw him wielding that knife at me I thought, fuck, a painless death. I almost felt special. El Fantasma de la Muerte. But, no. Lost his touch when it came to me. I’m left bleeding out in his limo.”
“He had carbon monoxide poisoning. That’s why he didn’t kill you-”
“What?”
“Brain was starved of oxygen. The whole tunnel flooded with carbon monoxide. Everyone else died.”
“Fuck me.”
“Yeah, so be glad he was poisoned and not able to stab you normally. ‘Cause everyone else there that day wishes they were in your shoes, I’m sure.”
“What happened to Geneva?” Sophie cut in. All three men turned to blink at her.
Carmelo shrugged. “No female bones were found in the tunnel… they were all male…”
She frowned. “Huh, so she escaped or something?”
Colt rubbed a hand over his stubble. “He didn’t go and find her if she is still around…”
Carmelo spoke up, “I’m sure the gangs team are keeping tabs on them. I’m sure some of them have gone underground, the women, some will have gone into witness protection, we can try to track her down if you like?” Carmelo suggested.
Sophie was about to shake her head but Colt beat her to it. “No, she’s history, she abused him, remember, she took advantage of a young, traumatized boy and groomed him and-”
“Yeah, the answer is no,” Sophie said with finality.
Carmelo nodded. “Fine. So, back to you, bleeding out in the limo…” They all turned back to the man in the bed.
