Heaven, INC: Chapter 72: FAISAL

Big big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away.
Oh, oh, big ol' jet airliner
Cause it's here that I've got to stay.
— Jet Airliner,

STEVE MILLER BAND

CRUISING AT 30,000 FEET,
SOMEWHERE OVER NEW MEXICO
6:15 PM CDT

MICK SIPPED A GIN-AND-TONIC as the guy settled in the seat across from him, guy with an accent Mick placed as educated Middle-Easterner and who carried himself like he was some kind of a big deal. He’d introduced himself as Faisal when Mick got on the private jet, offered a drink and then disappeared into the rear cabin prior to take-off. Only now, an hour deep into the flight, had he reappeared, pouring himself water and getting Mick another drink.

Now, as Faisal sat sipping water from a fancy wine-glass, Mick noticed he wore the same black-stone-set-with-strange-cross deal as Gilchrist. Some kind of fraternity brothers or something, Oxford or Cambridge maybe, kind of place where silver spoon pussies with accents hung out playing lacrosse and crewing. A distinctly un-San Diego State kind of place.

Fuck em.

Faisal studied Mick— Mick would put the guy late-20s, early-30s—with this intense look, for a young guy at least, before asking a lame question.

“Ever been to Dallas?”

“No. Why? Am I missing something?”

“Not really, no. It is an ugly city. The great architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, was once approached by an oil company about designing their new corporate headquarters in Dallas. Mr. Wright initially declined by suggesting this would be akin to building the Taj Majal in a cow pasture.”

This Arab douche talking about Dallas that way stirred up something patriotic in Mick’s breast, which was ironic, given the fact he hated the city on account of the Cowboys and Mavericks and, in general, all things Texas, starting with that asshole in the White House, Tom Collins. “Yeah, like the goat-herders in Islamistanibad are so much more sophisticated than our cowboys. Yeah, Big D’s got big ugly buildings, but at least they aren’t living in fucking tents. Plus,” Mick added, “Big D’s got cheerleaders.”

Faisal shrugged, probably annoyed to be making small talk with the ‘little people’ . . .

Hey, pal, you brought it up.

. . . as Mick sipped his gin-and-tonic and said, “Look, this guy I’m hitting, you wanna tell me who he is? His name for starters?”

“As Sir Reginald told you, it is in your own best interests to know as little as possible.”

That caught Mick a little, not the information but the name. “Who?”

“Sir Reginald Gilchrist, the man with whom you met.”

“That douchebag’s a knight? You have got to be kidding me.”

“On the contrary, Sir Reginald is distinguished by a legacy of daring exploits and I can assure, he is not a man with whom you wish to trifle.”

Like Mick was supposed to fear the old fart with the little girl’s gun.

Sir Reggie . . . The big deal . . . Whatever.

Mick skipped it, figuring he’d deal with Reggie if and when it happened and hoping it would. In the meantime, he asked, “So what’s this poor SOB done to earn the hook?”

Faisal tilted his head. “Suffice it to say the occupant’s interests do not coincide with that of the people whom I represent and negotiations have reached an insurmountable impasse.”

Like that clarified it. Mick was sorry he’d asked.

You’re a snotty little fella, aren’tcha? Guess that silver spoon’s a little tight up your ass.

Faisal sipped water and said, “Your target lives alone, so there is no need to worry about complications with other family members.” He handed over a piece of paper with three sequences of numbers, a combination and a phone-number. Upon the paper were taped two keys, one smaller than the other. “The first code will allow you onto the property and the second into the house. But, prior to entering the house, you must call that phone number. When the person answers ‘Red Shield Security’, you respond, ‘Sorry, I was trying to reach Mr. Merriweather, I must have the wrong number,’ and hang up. Wait one minute, until our contact temporarily disarms the security system, before you enter the house by the side-door into the servants’ quarters using the larger key. You will then finish disabling the security system using the second pass-code. When that is done, type that string of numbers into the security unit— this will overwrite the system’s archiving function and make it appear as though the system was never set.”

“What about guards?”

“We have ensured that they will not be at their stations.”

“Unh-hunh. What about dogs?”

“No, the gentleman hates animals. Now this,” Faisal said, handing Mick a folder, “contains a layout of the home. It’s a rather large residence so you’ll want to memorize the lay-out— bumbling around in the dark will only serve to get you into trouble. You’ll also find a map from Love Field to the residence and, upon our arrival, you’ll be given a car. It won’t be much of a car but it will also not be traceable should someone see it.”

Mick studied the map of Dallas. The house was located in an area called Highland Park. “How long from the airport to the house?”

“Less than fifteen minutes. We will be on the ground before eight, putting you on the property just after dark. You will neutralize him using the weapon we provide. I understand Mr. Gilchrist has informed you what he wishes done following neutralization?”

What a word for killing . . . Neutralization . . . Fucking amateurs.

“You want it staged to look like a break-in.”

“Yes. In the trunk of the car you will find two pillowcases, one black, one white, along with the unregistered pistol, a pair of latex gloves and a set of lock-picks.”

“Why do I need picks when I’ve got keys?”

Faisal smiled. “You will use the picks to scratch the side-door lock as well as the lock on the display case from which you will remove the man’s extremely rare collection of handguns— the guns are something that a repairman could notice and report to someone else and provide a plausible reason for the break-in. Put the guns in the black pillow-case. Into the white one, place the contents of the safe lin the back of a Sub-Zero freezer located in the wine-cellar using the combination we’ve provided to gain entry. Return the freezer to the way it was and complete the staged break-in. When you return to the car, put the latex gloves, pistol and lock-picks in the black pillow-case and both pillow-cases in the trunk. You will meet a man driving a black Mercedes in the parking lot of a bar called The Loon, where you will hand over the bags for verification. When that is complete, return to Love Field for your flight home. Any questions?”

“When do I get the tape?”

“When we are in the air on the return home. And the money as well. Good, yes?”

“How about you show me that tape again, make sure you have it.”

“You’re a most cautious man, Mr. Smithidopolous.”

“Whatever, dude. I don’t trust you for shit.”

A smile played across Faisal’s face—

Oh, you’re a sneaky little prick, aren’tcha? Well so am I, bub.

— before he went into the rear-cabin. When he returned, he had a brief-case containing the original Bivo tape, along with Tonya’s boob-job money. “Satisfied now?

Mick shrugged. “Not entirely. I can’t figure out, you guys being so slick and all, why you need me to do your dirty work. I don’t follow Lord Bletchly and Gilchrist doesn’t pull me over, none of this is available to you. It doesn’t make sense. Frankly, neither does however you got hold of Bivo’s tape.”

Faisal smiled. “Mr. Smithidopolous, surely it is because Allah wills it.”