The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [133]
Over my shoulder, he raises his blade to cut me.
But in the mirror, I see it.
It’s already covered in blood.
I look down, patting my neck. I didn’t feel anything…
Without warning, the blade drops from his hand, bouncing and falling into the front seat.
His onionskin face goes practically transparent. He sags backward, sinking in his seat.
Oh God. Has he been shot?
I check the front window… the sides. All the glass is intact. But as I spin back to face him… in the seat… There’s blood. So much blood. It’s not splattered. It’s contained. A small pool. On the seat… on his arms… No. Not his arms…
It’s coming from his wrists.
“What’d you do?” I yell.
“She paid her penance,” he whispers through a hard cough. “I need to pay mine.”
“What the hell’d you do!?” I repeat as a slow red puddle blooms in the backseat, raining down to—On the floor. I couldn’t see it before.
At his feet, a larger pool of blood seeps into the carpet. From the size of the puddle… all that red… He did this. When we were talking. He wasn’t just staring down at the razor. He’d used it.
“You tell them—you tell them there’s a cost,” he sputters, about to pass out. “Every decision we make in life, there’s always a cost.”
“Gimme your wrists! I can stop it!” I tell him.
“You’re missing the point,” he stutters, no longing cringing. Whatever pain he was feeling is finally gone. “For thirty years, I wondered why they stumbled into my store that night. They could’ve picked any store. Or no store. But it’s no different than that guy… from Hiroshima. It’s no different than Yamaguchi. We spend our lives thinking history’s some arbitrary collection of good and bad moments stirred together in complete randomness. But look at Yamaguchi. When history has your number, there’s… there’s nowhere on this planet you can run.”
He sags sideways, his breathing sputtering as he collapses against the back door.
I kick open my own door, rushing outside. Whatever I think of him, he still needs my help. But as my feet hit the concrete and I reach for his door, my face nearly collides with the chest of the man who’s just arrived outside the car and is now blocking my way.
I know he’s got ground privileges. He followed the path right back the way he came. To the parking lot across from his building.
“Don’t look so scared, Benjamin,” Nico says, barely noticing that he’s standing in my personal space. “I’m here now. Everything’s going to be all right.”
93
You need to move,” I say to Nico as I try to cut around him to get to the back door of the car.
Nico doesn’t budge. Doesn’t move. But he does see what I’m looking at. In the backseat. The black man covered in blood.
“I know him,” Nico blurts. “He’s the barber.”
“What?”
“He comes to give haircuts. To Griffin. But sometimes when he leaves—I check. Griffin’s hair isn’t cut at all. I told them, but they never—”
“Nico, get out of the way!”
“The barber… for you to do this to him… he was watching me, wasn’t he? I know their eyes are everywhere.”
“Nico…”
“That’s why you came back, isn’t it? To do this. To protect me…”
“Protect you?”
“I see your razor. In the driver’s seat,” he says, his eyes flicking back and forth as he dissects the contents of the car. “I see how you killed him.”
“That’s not—”
“It makes perfect sense,” he adds, nodding feverishly. “It’s what I said. This was your mission… your trial. The test of Benedict Arnold. And you—you—don’t you see?—you finally passed, Benjamin! Instead of betraying George Washington, you were given a chance… a chance to protect him. And you did! You risked your life to protect me!”
Annoyed by the nuttiness, I shove him aside, tear open the back door of the car, and feel for a pulse. Nothing. No heartbeat.
Across the long field that leads back to the medical building, a security guard turns the corner, heading our way.
“You need to go,” Nico says to me, eyeing the guard. “They can’t know you did this.”
“I didn’t do anything!” I say, still staring at the barber.
“There’s no