New Armour Read online

  New Armour

  (Noah's Closet)

  Noah Harris

  © 2016

  Disclaimer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Edited by Amber Krogh.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all invented for the reader's desire. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all unintentional.

  This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for a

  MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY.

  Kevin sat at the oak desk of his study, a look on his face that was a mixture of anger and curiosity. On the desk in front of him was a cheap, disposable cell phone. Not a smartphone, but one of the single piece phones with a simple black-on-green screen, and built like a brick. Kevin didn't even know they made phones like this anymore, but here it was, right in front of him, its silver and blue body a small rectangle on the wide, sand-colored expanse of his home office desk. The partially-full moon was beginning to grow into visibility in the evening sky; a big, silver disc just beyond the opened blinds.

  He didn't know much about burner phones, other than that there were two types of people who owned them: drug dealers and cheaters. Mike had been sober as a judge from their first date, over five years ago to now. Kevin remembered the look of disdain that Mike had let slip when the waiter brought the fizzy, colorful drink that Kevin ordered to the table. "That garbage poisons your mind," he remembered him saying, Kevin choosing to interpret the remark as a cute quirk of a driven man, rather than the sneering judgment he now felt that it might've been. His mind now drifting, he snapped himself back to the present.

  Not a drug dealer, he thought, definitely not that.

  But a cheater? It seemed so strange to Kevin, the idea that his button-down husband would be unfaithful to him. One of the things that Kevin admired so much about Mike was the strict, almost cripplingly-rigid code that he lived by---no booze, no drugs, an hour of exercise every day, and clothes always clean and pressed. It was a stark contrast to the hard-partying lifestyle that Kevin had barely managed to restrain in order to function in their new life of domestic bliss. He thought they balanced each other well, but if he were cheating...not only would this undermine any trust they'd manage to build together, but it would make Mike's whole code thing ridiculous. A gin and tonic after work is out of the question, but stepping out on your husband was just fine? Part of him just wanted to put the phone back into the slide away panel in the back of their closet where he'd found it, but he knew if he didn't get to the bottom of what was going on, he'd always wonder.

  And this was the perfect time. Mike was at work late, as usual, and Kevin, his laptop open to a Google search of "how to break into a phone" at his side, had hours to figure this thing out. He clicked the first Google link, scanned the first few lines on the page with squinted eyes, and turned his attention to the phone, and got ready to work.

  But just at that moment, the grandfather clock of their study struck six, and a series of low, bassy bongs emanated from its tall, ticking frame. It shook his concentration for a moment. Gathering himself, he turned back to the phone.

  Then, as the clock finished its hour-signaling chimes, the phone shook, dancing inches across the flat surface of the desk with violent shakes. Kevin grabbed the phone, hit the silence button, and looked at the screen.

  ###UNKNOWN NUMBER###

  He pressed the answer button, held the phone up to his ear, and said nothing.

  For a moment, he wondered if anyone was on the other line. Finally, a voice spoke.

  "Heathman Hotel. Mark Benson. No noise. Deadline is oh-one-hundred tomorrow morning. Due to the visibility of client, pay will be double the usual amount."

  Then the line went dead.

  And that was it. Kevin's brain wracked as he considered what this call could've meant. Mark Benson...he knew that name. He turned to his laptop and typed the name into Google. Several pictures of a middle- aged, balding man with a neat, trimmed beard came up. His eyes darted to the Wikipedia excerpt on the right-hand side of the screen "Mark Benson (b. August 11th, 1952) is an American Politician and the junior senator from Oregon...." Kevin's blood ran cold. Why was Mike getting information on one of their state's senators? What could "no noise" mean? And what was he being paid for?

  The realization hit him like stomping pachyderm. Everything clicked into place with startling simplicity. Why else would Mike be so secretive about his work life? Kevin shook his head at his foolishness at not realizing the simplest explanation for this situation--that his husband was a hitman.

  Kevin ran his fingers through his thick head of charcoal-colored hair, his brow knitted in worry. He knew that he wasn't supposed to know this. He would've been better off staying in the dark. Not only was his husband a murderer, but he was also a high-profile assassin, set to kill a member of Congress.

  And just at that moment, he heard the front door open with a sharp pull, followed by a hard slam that Kevin could've sworn he felt vibrate through the floor.

  A quick rapping of hard footsteps grew louder as they came up the stairs. It was Mike.

  Shit, shit, Kevin thought, slamming the laptop shut and darting his eyes around the room to figure out where to hide the phone. But Mike would know he had it if that's what he came back for.

  OK, if I throw it in the junk drawer, he thought, his mind racing, th--

  But just at that moment, a long shadow fell over Kevin where he sat. He looked up; it was Mike, his huge, muscular frame blocking the hallway lights, giving him the appearance of someone made of out shadows.

  Kevin's eyes drifted into focus, and his stomach quaked with anxiety. Sure enough, it was his husband. He stood at the doorway of the office, his heavy chest heaving and falling through a crisp, striped dress shirt, his shoulders squared under his jet black, Savile Row suit jacket, his chiseled, deep-set face with an expression both frantic and furious. His blonde hair typically slicked back with pomade, not a hair out of place, dangled across his forehead, a few strands hanging over his sharp, crocodile-colored eyes.

  "What the fuck is that?" he said, his voice one of barely-restrained anger.

  Kevin twisted his face into a look of guilty playfulness, like a kid caught in the middle of drawing on the walls with his crayons.

  "Oh...hey baby. Um, you're back early. Yeah, I just found this in the closet and was checking it out. I was like, woah, Nokia brick phone! They don't make 'em like this anymore, you know! So I wanted to check it out, for, like, nostalgia fun, you know?"

  Mike stomped over to the plush, red-backed chair where Kevin sat, slammed one hand on the desk, and with the other, swiped the phone from Kevin's hand with an inhumanely quick snatch. "What did you hear?" Mike's voice was tight with stress.

  "Um, nothing?" he stammered, "so, what were you thinking for dinner? I was just looking at some places online a--"

  "I know you didn't hear 'nothing.' I was expecting a call at six on the dot, and I know you heard it," his face grew grim and dark as he leaned in closer to Kevin's face, his blue and yellow-striped tie now draping across the desk.

  After glowering for a moment, he shoved himself off the desk and ran a hand through his hair in an effort to make it look somewhat more put-together.

  Silence hung in the hair as Mike made slow steps away from where Kevin sat.

  "Fuck!" he shouted, causing Kevin to quake in reaction.

  "Sorry, babe! I was curious; no one
who has a burner phone is up to any good, I just didn't think it was that you were an assassin!" His voice had a pleading tone to it.

  As soon as the final word left his Kevin's mouth, Mike shot over to him with a speed that Kevin didn't know he was capable of.

  "Don't ever say that word out loud, not in this house! Who the fuck knows who's listening?"

  Kevin stammered for a moment and felt his blood run cold. He had always known Mike to be a little more on the severe side, but this level of anger was something that he'd never seen before. It scared him.

  "Baby, please, we can talk about this," he said, standing up from the desk and walking towards Mike with slow, hesitant steps.

  Mike again ran his hand through his hair and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

  "Fuck!" he said again, "this is it."

  Kevin stopped in his tracks.

  "Woah, woah, what's 'it?' What're you talking about, babe?"

  Mike turned to face Kevin, his chest drawing in long, slow breaths.

  "You know what I am now. This," he said, gesturing in frantic motions to the home surrounding them, "is over. I should've known better than to get married, they all told me it was a bad idea."

  "Baby, we can get past this, I can just pretend I didn't hear anything!" he extended his hand towards his husband's shoulder.

  "No, there's no going back; it's only a matter of time until you have one drink too many and say something you shouldn't," Mike said, straightening his tie and slicking his hair back to its normal sheen.

  "But--"

  "There's no 'but.' People have found me out before, and the difference between them and you are that you're still standing."

  Kevin gulped. Was he saying what he thought he was saying?

  Mike sighed again. "I have a job to do. But I guess you already know that. I love you, and nothing's going to change that. But this it; we're done. I only came to get my phone. I'll be back in twenty-four hours. If you've not left by then," he turned away from Kevin, "you'll end up the same as the others."

  Kevin's eyes grew wide with both fear and pleading.

  "Baby, you can't mean this. You're gonna throw everything away bec--"

  "Not another word," said Mike, cutting his words off as though with a cold blade.

  He walked over to the desk, removed the phone from the desk with a quick swipe, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Then, he turned towards the door to the office.

  "Twenty-four hours," he said.

  Then he left, shutting the door behind him.

  Kevin stood still, his eyes locked on the door, his mouth slacked open in shock, no sound other than the heavy ticking of the grandfather clock. He didn't know what to do with himself; he felt like he was just the victim of some kind of prank. Finally, after minutes of standing like this, he decided that he had to do something. With wavering, unsteady steps, he made his way from the office, down the steps of their home, and to the kitchen. With overly-careful moves, he opened one of the smooth, white cabinets above the stainless steel stove, and reached far into the back. After fumbling blindly for a moment, he felt the smooth shape of what he was looking for and pulled it out.

  It was a bottle of Dominus Estate Bordeaux, a gift from Kevin's parents the first time that he'd brought Mike to meet them. They'd been saving it for a special occasion, but after the unfolding of the events over the last half hour, he realized that the occasion would never come.

  His hands still quaking, he opened the bottle, removed a clean pint glass from the washer, and filled it to the brim with the dark, ruby-colored liquid. He then took the glass over to their countertop bar, slid into one of the metal, high-legged chairs, and took a sip. The wine was rich, but light. He sat for a moment, trying to recall the proper wine tasting procedures that he and Mike had learned on their trip to the Willamette Valley last year. Bubble it in your mouth? Let it sit? It was something like that. After making his first, tiny sip, he looked at the full glass in front of him, picked it up, and took a long, gulping swig, like water after a hot run.

  He set the now half-empty glass in front of him and looked at the kitchen around him. It was wonderful; newly-redone, lots of stainless steel, just like Mike liked. Just beyond the kitchen was their living room. A big fireplace took up most of one of the walls, and long, leather couches formed a 'U' shape in front of it. A huge TV hung over the fireplace, perfect for cozy nights in watching movies. It was the ideal setup for hosting guests and throwing the little parties that he loved, even though Mike hated being around big groups like that.

  He shook his head, realizing that he was lost in dreamy recollection about times that he would never see again. His head began to swim from the half a pint glass of wine that he had just thrown back. He needed to leave, evidently within twenty-four hours. Why that amount of time? He knew that Mike had a job to do; maybe he just expected him to leave before it was done?

  Picking up his glass of wine, Kevin walked into the living room. His eyes flicked down to the cream- colored carpet at his feet; Mike would've never let him drink red wine in here. He allowed himself a small smirk, before taking another sip. He flicked on the TV, for lack of anything else to do.

  "--taff at the Heathman Hotel is preparing for the arrival of newly--sworn--in Senator Benson."

  Senator Benson! He almost dropped his glass in shock. This was who Mike was set to kill! His eyes fixed on the TV, Kevin sidled over to the couch, planted himself on it, and leaned forward with wide eyes.

  "A controversial figure known for his open support of Metahumans is set to deliver a speech for the hotly-contested Metahuman Rights Act, or MRA, which he and other members of Congress are hoping to pass and have on the President's desk by the end of this year."

  Metahumans. Kevin leaned back in his seat. This was that name given to the strange breeds of humans that had made themselves known in recent years. Vampires, Werewolves, Faeries, even Succubae and Incubi, had simultaneously declared their presence to society at large. At first, and still, the subject of intense scrutiny and distrust, they were now agitating for the same rights and treatments of normal humans. No one knew why they had chosen when they did to announce their existence to the world, though some suspected that with the rise of portable video technology, it was only a matter of time before they simply couldn't hide it any longer.

  And in the months before the simultaneous announcement that took place over just about every social media and news outlet online, there had been a massive surge in the amount of pictures of just about every mythical creature known in written history. Kevin remembered the Youtube clip of a group of boy scouts coming across a werewolf in a moonlit glade. He was in mid shift, his skin ripping from his body as he howled at the bright, full moon. He remembered clearly the fearful voices of the boys as they hushed each other, and the sighs of relief when the horrifying beast ran off in the opposite direction, its huge, clawed feet hitting the ground with heavy stomps that caused the camera to shake.

  He turned his attention back to the news. On the screen was a handsome-faced man with a sharp crew cut. His head was tilted towards the orange felt tip of the new channel's microphone.

  "--we're not taking any chances. We know that the MRA's got plenty 'a people all angered up, and we're going to make sure that Senator Benson's got nothing to worry about."

  Kevin barely heard the words that came out of his mouth; he was too focused on the man's face, with its sharp features, sky-high cheekbones, and wide jaw. He was the ideal soldier boy type. He chastised himself for thinking about something like this at a time like now and looked at the name under the face before they cut back to the studio.

  It said Lt. Ted Fridolf -- Senator Benson Security Detail

  Security detail? His mind began to race, and some sort of hardwired sense of morality began to bubble to the surface through the shock that he still felt, and through the huge glass of wine that his brain was now swimming in.

  The senator was here in town, and it was Mike's job to kill him. And Kevin knew
this. He couldn't just ignore all of this that had been placed at his feet, could he?

  His eyes drifted to the half-empty glass of wine and soft, deep leather couch in front of him, and for a moment, he contemplated letting himself lie down and close his eyes for just a little bit. He shook his head to refocus on the task and hand. He slipped his phone out of his jeans pocket and pulled up the downtown Heathman Hotel. About twenty minutes away, he could do this. He went to the sink, filled a large glass of water, and threw it back. This wasn't the first time he'd had to make a drive after having a little too much wine, and as his resolved shifted to 'steely,' he swiped his keys off of the kitchen counter and headed to his car.

  -

  The dusk was beginning to steal the last few bits of daylight from the sky, leaving behind a sparkling lavender that bled into a light orange as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Kevin felt numb, a strange sense of duty the only thing compelling him to keep going. The events of the last few hours--the revelation of Mike's true nature, the fact that he was planning on assassinating a major government figure--didn't seem to be causing him as much distress as he expected himself to feel. He shook this concern away and concentrated on the road.