Moscow, Russia

Rooftops were a second home to Maxwell. He’d spent the larger part of his life on top of old buildings waiting. Above him, the rolling Moscow clouds had been stretched and skinned to fit the expanse of the sky. They reminded him of his daughter, Sunshine, standing in front of her easel painting little mountain and sunsets. She liked puffy clouds better than the stringy ones he was staring at now. 

Maxwell looked down at his chiming Mickey Mouse watch. His phone rang a second later. “Hey, Del. You’re as punctual as ever. I guess some things never change.” 

DeLeon always talked as if someone were listening in. “Adults are supposed to be on time. You wouldn’t understand.”

Maxwell smiled to himself. His eyes followed a drifting cloud shaped like a flower. “I’m an adult. I pay a mortgage and everything.” 

“Are you in position?” 

Maxwell flipped over onto his stomach, his legs kicked in the air behind him. “Yep,” he said popping the ‘p’ at the end. “I’m a professional.” He looked over the edge of the building. He was in perfect view of the hotel terrace two blocks away. The fancy hedges were cut into pristine squares. The lights were low enough that you’d never see how much you were spending on dinner. A small crowd of people was forming in blobs of color. 

“I’ll never understand parties like this. Everyone’s ‘fashionably late’. Dressing up to impress people you hate. Listening to some douchebag talk about his new yacht while you try to decide if you should kill yourself with the fish knife or the salad fork.” 

“Maxwell, this job is important. You have to focus.” 

“I know, Del,” He was already picturing never having to hear his voice again. “And after this is done, I don’t owe you anything, got it?” 

DeLeon sighed. “Yes.” 

Maxwell nodded once to himself and turned to his bag. A small chirping sound came from it and he pulled out his other phone. He grinned to himself. “I’ll call you back. I’ve got a very important call to answer.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he hung up. He tossed the flip phone into his bag and opened the other. “And how is my favorite person in the whole wide world?” 

“I’m good, Papa,” Sunshine’s little voice sounded far away. “Are you busy?” 

“I’m never too busy for you,” Maxwell said leaning back against his bag. He checked his watch again. He had time. “Is your Daddy being good?” 

“I’m always good,” Dylan said from somewhere in the back of the call. “You’re not causing too much trouble, are you?”

“Who? Me? Never.” Maxwell said. “I’m being an upstanding citizen.” He looked over the rooftop at the gathering again as the lights brightened. The opening announcements would be starting soon. “In fact, I’m taking out the trash right now.” 

“Well, be careful,” Dylan said. “Sunshine and I want you home in one piece.” 

Sunshine agreed. “Daddy burned breakfast.” She paused. “He told me not to tell you.” She whispered. 

“Sunshine, you promised.” Dylan said. 

Maxwell snorted. “I’ll be coming home soon and I’ll make the biggest stack of pancakes ever. Okay, Pumpkin?” 

His eyes darted over to the gathering again. The small platform by the furthest wall of the terrace was occupied now. Maxwell began rummaging through his bag. “Have you painted anything new since I left?” 

“Yep,” Sunshine said, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “Daddy showed me pictures of M-Moscow.” The word fumbled out of her mouth and she repeated it a few times trying to get it right. “I painted snowy trees.” 

“I can’t wait to see them.” He pictured Sunshine sitting on the little seat by the biggest window. Her light brown skin and thick inky hair always ended up covered in paint instead of getting it on the canvas. Dylan called it ‘living art’. He looked around. “The sky here is a pretty blue. I think you’d like it.” 

“What kind of blue?” 

He could hear her turning pages in her art book. “Zaffre or sapphire? Ooh! Is it cornflower blue?”

“I’ll say sapphire,” Maxwell made a mental note to look up zaffre later. The sky reminded him of the stones in the earrings Sunshine’s grandmother had given her for her birthday last year. She’d been in the middle of her ‘blue period’ when he’d left the house and he wished he could see her. 

Dylan’s voice called out to Sunshine. His Italian accent kicked at the back of his teeth. “Sunny, go get your shoes.” There was a scuffle as the phone switched hands. “Are you almost done?” Dylan asked. 

“Yep, keep the kettle on, amore mio, I’ll be home by tomorrow.” Maxwell pulled the parts of his rifle out of his bag and began to assemble them. “Don’t worry so much.”  

Dylan sighed. “You never worry about anything. Someone has to be the anxious one in this relationship.” 

“Dylan, this is like riding a bike. You never really forget.” Maxwell looked at his scope for any damage in his travels. 

“I know but I can’t help it. It’s been a long time since you did a job on your own. What if you shoot yourself in the foot? Worse, what if you miss?” 

“Why does no one have faith in me today?” Maxwell wondered aloud. “Is it me? Am I not scary anymore? I once hit a man from 200 yards away with no scope and everyone’s treating me like I don’t know the difference between a M14 and an AR-14.” He looked up again. The man had switched out on the podium for another promotional speaker. Maxwell groaned. 

“I know first hand what you’re capable of,” Dylan said. “I just worry. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

“You’d turn my ashes into a record and listen to me every day while weeping over the loss of the greatest man on earth.” Maxwell said. Dylan made an angry sound. Maxwell winced. His husband didn’t like it when he joked like that. Death was a real thing to them. It was true that one wrong move and Maxwell wouldn’t come home but he’d become numb to the idea of death a long time ago. Sometimes he forgot that there was a lot more waiting for him now than just an empty motel room and a microwave dinner. 

He did a quick count of his bullets. “I’m not going to get hurt so stop jinxing me.” He attached the parts of his gun with his hands and held the phone between his shoulder and cheek. Dylan didn’t answer. Maxwell relaxed into the silence. Dylan needed a distraction. “You have more pressing issues. Like making sure Sunshine gets to school on time. You know Helen gives you dirty looks when you’re late.” 

“I don’t care what Helen thinks of me.” Dylan said, the frown clear in his voice. “Her kids smell like ketchup and have dirty fingernails.” 

Maxwell grinned. Dylan adapted well enough to their lives in Cleveland. Taking out the trash, family dinners, fights at PTA meetings. He’d never say it because Dylan would knock him clear into next Tuesday but Dylan was about as close to a soccer mom as a person could get. “You don’t want to give her something to talk about at the next PTA meeting do you?” 

“The only thing they’ll be talking about is her store bought cookies that she tries to pass as home made. She had the nerve to comment on my blueberry muffins.” 

Maxwell listened to Dylan tell him about what the others said at the last meeting. He fit the last of the pieces into his gun. They snapped into place like puzzle pieces. 

“I’ve killed for less,” Dylan grumbled under his breath. He sighed and talked louder. “If she thinks I won’t kick her ass in front of a bunch of preschoolers, she’s wrong.” 

“Swear.” Sunshine and Maxwell said. 

Dylan sighed. “Sunny, your shoes are on the wrong feet.” 

“But I only have two feet.” She said. 

Maxwell smiled as he snapped the scope onto his rifle. The distant sound of applause caught his ear and he saw the final speaker come up. “I’ve got to call you back. Papa has an important meeting to go to.” 

They said their goodbyes and Maxwell’s heart ached as Dylan hung up. Pushing away the feeling, he tossed his bag off to the side. He settled onto his stomach and checked the padding of his gloves for any holes before getting into position. 

Just as he was about to look down the scope, something bright sparkled in his peripherals. A bright rainbow sticker was stuck to the corner of his bag. He peeled it off and looked it over. It was neon and sparkly with the words ‘I love you’ written in white. He smiled and stuck the sticker to the magazine of his gun. 

Through the scope, he caught sight of Nathan Ivanov, petty embezzler. Nathan was way above his pay grade but Maxwell wasn’t complaining. Easy job, easy out. He’d never have to set foot in Moscow again after this. He’d go home to Sunshine and Dylan and leave all this behind him again.

Nathan’s hands were slammed against the brown podium in front of him. Sunshine’s little voice came into the back of Maxwell’s mind. ‘No, it’s carob.’ He remembered shopping for paints and the very lengthy discussion Sunshine had had with him when he’d made the mistake of saying all the browns looked the same. 

Down below, one of Nathan’s security personnel stepped out of the way as he fanned his hand out to emphasize something. A small part of Maxwell wondered what he was talking about. His mouth opened and shut in rapid fire Russian. Maxwell couldn’t make out most of it but he didn’t need to. No one could get that red in the face and be preaching peace. He waited for Nathan to stop flailing long enough for a clear line of sight. 

Maxwell took a deep breath and released it. He squeezed the trigger. Red filled his scope. On instinct, the shell shot out of the chamber and Maxwell caught it in the air. It had taken him a few years to perfect the trick but now he could do it without looking. He felt the shell’s warmth through his thick glove like he was holding an open flame in his palm. The shell lost most of its heat and Maxwell started taking apart his gun. 

Removing his gloves and hoodie, he looked down at the suit he had on. He hated the suits but he’d fit in in an office space. He waited until the bullet had cooled and slipped it into his sock. 

The latches of his bag snapped shut and he was off. There were twenty four floors between him and the exit. He gave the security personnel twenty minutes before they figured out where the bullet had come from and performed enough crowd control to call the police and get to his location. He only needed ten to get out of the building. He slipped his gun in his suit jacket. 

He slid down the railing from the rooftop to the twenty fourth floor and opened the door. Walking out, he got into the elevator. A man walked in with him dressed in a dark brown suit. “Hallo,” he said. He clicked on the third floor button. The button went out. The man sighed and clicked it again. This time it lit up and stayed lit. The lights flickered. 

“Hallo,” Maxwell said bopping to the elevator music. 

The elevator stopped at the third floor and the other man got out.

The doors slid closed and the lights blinked again. Maxwell pulled out his cell phone and redialed the house phone. Talking on the phone helped him blend into the crowd. He was just another business man. Sunshine picked up. 

“You’re not at school yet?” Maxwell said. 

“Daddy’s late.” 

“Daddy is exactly on time.” Dylan’s voice came from somewhere in the back. “She lost her sketchbook again. Sunny, where did you last see it?” 

“I put it next to the door so we wouldn't be late.” Sunshine whined. 

Even distressed, it was nice to hear her voice again. Her little voice helped take his mind off of what he’d just done. The smell of death that clung to his skin wasn’t so pungent when she was around. 

“I leave for three days and it’s pande-” Maxwell was cut off as the elevator lurched. He looked around. He clicked the button. He wasn’t moving anymore. He pursed his lips. “Pumpkin, put Daddy on the phone.” 

A scuffle. “What is it?” Dylan said.

“I’m stuck in an elevator.” 

Dylan was quiet for the longest second. “Why are you in an elevator?” he whisper-yelled. “You should have taken the stairs.”

“Dylan, who takes the stairs? No one. That would look so suspicious.” 

Dylan sighed. “How long have you been in the building?” 

Maxwell looked at his watch. “Seven minutes. I’ve got about thirteen left.” He looked around. “I could wait it out but it’ll attract attention if no one has noticed the elevators out already.” 

Dylan whispered lower. “Maxwell, if you get arrested, I’m not flying all the way to Russia to break you out of jail.” 

Maxwell clenched his chest. “I thought you loved me.” 

“Pry the doors, you idiot.” 

“Sure, I’ll just use the crowbar I have lying around.” Maxwell said. 

“Maxwell, I need you to take something serious for once in your life. Pry the doors with your hands. Worse case scenario, you’re stuck in between floors and can’t get out.” 

“Worse case scenario is if I get halfway out and the elevator starts again and I’m cut in half.” Maxwell said. 

Dylan took a long, deep breath. “Maxwell. Pry the doors open.” 

Maxwell sighed, hanging up the phone. He hit the stop button and mumbled as he tried to pry the doors open. It took more effort than he thought it would but he managed to get a little space above to the second floor. “This is ridiculous.” He hoisted himself up. The gun on his belt caught halfway through and he growled. He yanked his body hard and he slid further out. If only the others could see him now. Sonia would never stop laughing. Maxwell pushed the thought of the others away. He hadn’t spoken to his old associates in years, he didn’t want to be thinking about them now. He needed to focus. 

With one last push, Maxwell was free and laid on the linoleum floor, panting. “I’m so out of shape.” He stood up, popping his back. 

The doors to a nearby room opened. Maxwell froze. An older man with dark brown hair and a long straight nose came out. His eyes leveled with Maxwell’s gun. 

Maxwell reacted first. He tossed his bag at the man’s chest. The man caught it, staggering back. Maxwell raised his gun and shot. The man’s head snapped back as the bullet ripped through it. He didn’t even had time to scream. 

Maxwell opened the door to the room he’d been in and found it empty. He dragged the man inside and looked around. There was a small conference room. Maxwell settled him down in one of the chairs and arranged him to look like he was sleeping. He ran over to one of the windows in the room and looked out. The window lead into one of the alleyways. There was a dumpster across from the window. 

“I hate my job.” It was a fifteen foot drop minimum. He tossed his bag first. The splat as it landed left him grimacing. He groaned. The sounds of footsteps came from the hallways. The distinct sound of a walkie talkie checking in was all the motivation he needed. He groaned, knocked his head against the window frame, took a deep breath, and jumped. The garbage was just as wet as he’d thought it would be. 

Maxwell concentrated hard on not throwing up as he got out of the dumpster. Climbing over the side, he looked himself over. The garbage juice was sinking into the fabrics of his suit. He gagged and started walking, his bag slung over his shoulder. He stood in the center of the crowd gathering near the building. The police were already starting to man all the doors and checking people as they left. Maxwell turned and started walking down the street. 

He pulled out his phone and redialed. 

“Oh, thank god,” Dylan said. 

“I told you I had it handled.” Maxwell said. “I need to find a bathroom to change in but I’m clear.” 

“That’s one less thing to worry about,” Dylan said. “I found Sunshine’s sketchbook and someone's been drawing mean things on the pages over her drawings. She didn’t want to tell us.” 

Maxwell sighed rubbing his face. He pulled a small clump of something spongy and wet off his cheek. “Put her on the phone.” She didn’t say anything but he knew when she was there. 

“Pumpkin, you’re not in trouble. We’re just worried. Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“I thought it would stop if I ignored it.” 

“That’s not how bullies work,” He turned down another street to put more distance between himself and the scene. “You have to show them who’s boss. You can’t always be nice and let people step all over you.” 

“I don’t like being mean,” Sunshine said. 

“Well, the world’s a mean place,” Maxwell said. “Sometimes it’s necessary.” 

The sound Sunshine made told him she disagreed. “Do you want me or Daddy to come down to the school?” 

“I want you to go,” She said. “The teachers are afraid of Daddy.” 

“And they should be,” Dylan said. “No one hurts my baby. I’ll go down today and talk to them.” 

“Daddy,” Sunshine whined. 

“Dylan, I’ll handle it when I get back.” Maxwell said. 

“She’ll keep getting bullied until you get back. I can’t just let that happen. I knew her teacher was useless.” 

“I’ll take her to school tomorrow and talk to the teacher. Sunshine, while I’m gone, stick up for yourself. You can’t just let people hurt you.” 

“Okay,” Sunshine said after a long second. 

There was a distinct sound of a door opening and closing. “I should march in there right now.” he said. 

“Last time you did that, they almost called the police.” Maxwell reminded. 

“Well, you need to get here soon because I’m fresh out of patience. The drawings were dated, Max. She’s been getting bullied for weeks.” 

“And I’ll handle it. You know how you get when you’re angry,” Maxwell reminded him. “If you mess up, you could mess up Sunshine’s time at school.” He could hear the squeaky sound of hands clenching a steering wheel. He turned down another road. 

Dylan took a deep breath. “Fine. Fine. But if they don’t listen to you and Sunshine gets hurt, I will set someone on fire.” 

“I know, honey.” Maxwell said. “That’s why I love you. I’ll be home tomorrow and everything will be okay.”

“Good. Sunshine misses her bedtime stories. It’s hard to get to her sleep without you.” 

“That’s because you don’t do the voices right.” Maxwell passed a few police officers on the street. 

“I resent that,” Dylan’s bubbly laugh came from the other side. 

A small beeping got Maxwell’s attention and he pulled his burner phone from his pocket. He sighed. “I’ve gotta go.” 

“Alright, I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” he said and hung up. He picked up the burner. “This better be good.” 

“I called to thank you. I was in a tight spot with a client and you’ve fixed it.”

Maxwell rubbed his face again. “I’d say ‘anytime’ DeLeon but don’t call me again.” 

“I won’t. I wouldn’t have but the client specifically asked for you.” 

“Most people still assume I’m dead.” 

“Assumption isn’t the same thing as belief.” DeLeon said. “It takes more than a little explosion to kill someone like you. They were very specific about what they wanted so thank you for delivering.” 

Maxwell shrugged and then realized DeLeon couldn’t see him. “I’m leaving now. Lose my number.” 

“Of course. It’s been nice working with you again, Maxwell. I’d say I missed you but we both know how annoying you are.” Maxwell could hear the smile in his voice. “Take care of yourself.” he said and hung up without saying goodbye. 

When the call finally ended, a weight on Maxwell’s shoulders lifted. Freedom was anticlimactic. He turned down another street to a busy intersection and walked three more blocks before he saw a taxi waiting. 

He made it to the cab before a familiar smell caught his nose. Warm copper caught his nose over the smell of harsh snowfall and sharp winds. He looked over to his left down an alleyway and then back at the cab. Walking around it, he stopped at the taxi driver’s window. His eyes flickered over the door before he saw what he was looking for. A small faint red line just peeking out from the underside of the cab. He quickly turned and started walking down the street. 

Maxwell stopped when he found a bus stop. The woman with a baby standing next to him didn’t notice him but the baby did. Maxwell smiled at them, giving the baby a little wave. They waved back and rested their fat cheek against their mother’s shoulder. The bus came and Maxwell got on with the woman.

It was crowded inside and Maxwell stood to let the woman take the seat by the door. She smiled in thanks and turned to her child. Maxwell stood and waited for the stop closest to the airport. He felt the presence behind him a second before he felt the gun. 

“Are you asking to get caught?” he whispered. 

The person behind him dug the barrel deeper into his back. “You’re getting off on the next stop.” 

“Actually, I was thinking about getting off on Sheremetyevo. I don’t suppose you want to come with me.” The gun dug into him again. “It was just a suggestion.” 

The bus came to a stop and the man pushed him. Maxwell clenched his jaw. No one knew he was in Moscow. The goon behind him could have recognized him but it wasn’t likely. He could fight him. Maxwell’s eyes rested on the baby. He remembered when Sunshine was that small. She’d been so fragile. Maxwell let out a hard sigh and got off the bus. He didn’t like following orders but the less casualties the better. He liked to tell himself it was because he didn’t want to end up on the news but he knew better. He was soft in all the wrong places for his profession. 

The bus rolled pass and the Moscow wind cut into Maxwell’s cheek as he was forced down an alleyway. “So, what’s the plan? Shoot me in the street like a dog?” The man didn't answer. Silence wasn’t Maxwell’s favorite pastime. “You should know, my husband isn’t a kind man. If I’m not back in 24 hours, he’ll hunt you down and skin you like a deer.” 

“I’m not worried about the Malocchio. In 24 hours, I’ll be out of the country and living in luxury.” 

Maxwell chanced a look back. He’d never seen the assassin before and he knew most of the top tiers. He hadn’t been gone that long. He’d remember a guy with eyes that bright blue. This guy had to be new. The question was who would send a lower tier after him and expect them to win. Maxwell almost felt bad for the guy. He was dead on his feet and he didn’t even know it yet. Maxwell stopped walking. 

Blue Eyes shoved the gun into his back. “Move.” 

“No. I don’t think I will.” He sighed. “You’ve got a lot to learn. For one, you’re too close.” He dodged out of the way and grabbed Blue Eyes’s wrist. The shot rang out - the idiot didn’t have a silencer - and the hot bullet sliced over Maxwell's cheek. He wrestled for the gun and the two fell in a tangle of limbs and punches. Blue Eyes’s fist connected with Maxwell’s jaw. A hard pop came from the bones and Maxwell flew back. Maxwell blinked away stars and sat up. 

Blue Eyes grabbed for his gun. 

Maxwell grabbed for his. Two more shots rang out. 

Blue Eyes slumped into the ground, a thick stream of blood coming from the hole where his eye had been.

Maxwell slumped forward, clenching the quickly spreading red spot in his white suit shirt. His vision blurred as he nearly bit through his tongue to keep from screaming. He took a few deep breaths. He felt over his back. It was smooth and his undershirt was dry. There was no exit wound. 

A spike of fear shot through him. The bullet was still inside. He registered the blood spreading and the bullet. Hot bile crawled up his throat but he refused to vomit. It would leave dna behind. He tried to get to his feet. Agony cut through his stomach and he covered the wound with his hands applying pressure. 

His nose exploded like a firecracker as he fell forward and smashed his face against the ground. He shook violently. His fingers clenched over the bits of broken beer bottles and old trash in the alleyway. He wished he was Blue Eyes. At least he was dead. There wasn’t any pain when you were dead. 

Sunshine and Dylan came to mind. Dylan couldn’t do it alone. He couldn’t get Sunshine to school on time. He’d never survive as a single parent. Another part of Maxwell’s brain told him he would. What Dylan lacked in experience, he made up for in determination. It was one of the reasons Maxwell fell in love with him. He would be okay without Maxwell but Maxwell didn’t want to leave him. 

Maxwell pulled his hand away from his wound and pushed himself up. He panted getting to his feet and braced against the wall as he walked. He stopped beside Blue Eyes and searched his body. A large coin was in his breast pocket. Maxwell recognized it immediately. He was screwed. 

He buttoned his suit jacket and stepped out into the street. He hailed another cab and grumbled the address of the only person he knew still lived in Moscow. The ride was a blur and so was the payment but he managed to crawl to his destination. 

Maxwell barely had the energy to ring the doorbell but he had the energy to groan when the most pretentious song ever played instead of the standard bell. 

He leaned against the side of the wall and clenched his bleeding stomach. A part of him took pleasure in knowing he was bleeding on the yorkstone patio. Another part of him wished he would stop bleeding before his vision started failing him. 

Another slap to the doorbell felt a trail of blood and the stupid piano music in his ears. Chopin was not going to be the last thing he heard before he died. The door finally opened after what felt like an hour and Maxwell turned his head to look up. 

Yegor had always been a high maintenance man. The most expensive wines, the best tailored clothes, everything about him had to be perfection or he refused to leave the house. Maxwell had once watched him spend forty five minutes trimming his beard. 

He looked no different now. The same chestnut hair finger-combed back and manicured beard. His eyes were just as calculating like he was staring at a science project instead of an old friend. A red silk robe draped over his broad body and a bright green face mask covered his frowning features. He held a teacup in both hands and took a sip as Maxwell continued bleeding out on his patio. 

Maxwell rolled his head again, his movements becoming more sluggish by the second. “Surprise?”

Yegor raised a perfect brow. Several emotions crossed his face but Maxwell’s vision was beginning to wane. “You’re supposed to be dead.” he heard Yegor say. 

Lulling over to the side, Maxwell groaned. “I know.” 

Yegor hummed a reply, taking another sip of his tea. “You made me bury you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Help me anyway.” Maxwell said. “Please.” he said as an afterthought. 

Yegor sighed. Maxwell felt a pair of strong hands come underneath his neck and legs as he was lifted. Yegor’s warm voice rumbled in his chest. “Tebe povezlo, chto ya lyublyu tebya.”

The Russian floated over Maxwell and he didn’t try to translate it in his head. “Call Dylan after I black out.” Maxwell said. 

Yegor held him closer. Maxwell didn’t register what happened next. He focused on the warmth of Yegor’s arms and let the darkness take him.