The Night of Seven Read online

  “That would be amazing, Chris, thank you.”

  Most of the people who work at this hotel have been working here for quite some time now, and Madden Callahan knows most of them by name. He likes to think that he can take care of them as much as possible as well. Truly, he is a very blessed person.

  Madden turns his focus to the tray and picks up the little white card with the message that his wife had relayed for him, Thinking of you, wishing you were here with me. Madden grins and chucks the card into the bin before sitting up and lifting the silver dome away from his food with a smile. She knew just what he was craving, miracle woman. Picking up his cell phone, he sends her a quick text, ‘Can’t wait to see you next weekend, love you, give the kids a hug for me. Breakfast was amazing.’ and starts eating while the smell of roasted coffee beans starts to fill the room.

  Chris leaves him to the silence of the room, and Madden finishes eating in peace while memories of the other night play over and over. Halfway to his morning shower, he stops and does a half little jog back to his private cell phone and wires her another fifty dollars with a message that says ‘For the panties I broke’ and heads back into the bathroom that’s slowly filling with steam. The private phone dings with an alert that only she is assigned to, and he cannot resist knowing what she said, heading directly back to the phone only to see that it’s a picture message….a naughty picture message. Chuckling darkly, he decides to take that same phone into the bathroom with him, now that he has a little inspiration, perhaps he will take an even longer, very relaxing shower.

  Fuck, he can’t wait to see her dance tonight.

  Chapter Three

  N athan

  The days are getting harder. There’s a pounding in his head that he can’t place at first. Something heavier than a normal headache but different than his usual migraines. The visions have been getting worse and worse lately. With every passing job that he does for the company, he finds himself closer and closer to retirement. At least what he thinks is retirement. He doesn’t even technically know how long he’s been working for the company at this point. He doesn’t know if he will be given his memories back whenever his contract is up. He doesn’t know if that’s even possible because he still doesn’t know what the company did to him in the first place. Was it surgical? Does he really want to dig into that too closely? Nathan has been battling with the fact that he’s not sure that he wants to know exactly who he was before. Perhaps he wasn’t a good person. Perhaps he didn’t make all the right choices or do the things that he was supposed to do. He might not have been the person that his mind's eye likes to think that he was.

  He can’t remember the first vision that he got while working with the company. Was that his first vision ever? Was that the reason that he was chosen to be a part of the Doe collective? He doesn’t know for sure. It’s a slippery slope, and so far, they have been rather forgiving. Nathan just doesn’t know if that's going to be a good thing...or if they are attempting to lure him into a false sense of security and then have him terminated entirely. The jobs that they have been sending him out on are so varied. They are smaller jobs than he is used to doing. Normally, whenever the company contacts him, they have very specific things that they want accomplished. They give him coordinates and a victim profile; they report to him on the crime that happened and who he might need to get in contact with. They assign him one of a handful of false personalities that have been put together by the company that he is to assume in order to better fit into the case, to get it solved in the most effective manner.

  The problem lately has been that he wants to step into those alternate personas’ shoes...and he wants to stay there. He doesn’t want to get out of them and have to deal with this life where he’s constantly questioning everything about himself and if his thoughts are actually even his own or if they belong to somebody else instead. Are they all just plant memories and ideas from the company? At some point in the last year or so, Nathan turned to drinking. It was sparse at first, something that one of his assigned personalities needed to do for a case to gain the trust of the contact that he was working with...only it turned out to be something more in the long run. Turns out, he has a taste for it. Was that something planted by the company as well? Did he always like to drink? Did he have parents that liked to drink, or were they the religious sort that couldn’t stand even the idea of it? Assuming that he has parents at all.

  He knows that he should tell somebody about the fact that he feels like he’s starting to come apart at the seams...but he also is afraid of what will happen if he does. Have any of the other Doe operatives had this issue?

  It’s been three days since Nathan finished his last case. He has spent all three of those days rip-roaring drunk, and now his head is paying the price. It takes a long moment for him to understand what woke him up, but his phone is flashing an alert to the text message that he’s got another case. Nobody else but the company has the ability to message his phone. It’s not like Nathan has anybody that he wants to talk to anyway; he’s been alone for as long as he can remember.

  Squinting, Nathan’s fingers fumble over the floor beside his bed where the phone is plugged in and charging until he can smack the thing to open the message. The screen is the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-black motel room. It probably smells as bad as it looks...he can’t even remember most of the last three days. That’s a habit that he needs to break himself out of very quickly. He reads the numbers on the screen and recognizes them as coordinates. It takes his brain too long to figure out in his head just where they were going to take him. Las Vegas. Normally, the company doesn’t send him to large cities, but his curiosity is piqued enough that he forces himself upright and starts to carry himself to the shower. He already knows that just getting this message means a handful of things; it means that there is going to be a black car waiting for him out in the parking lot, and the keys will likely either be at the front desk waiting for him, or they will be tucked up under the wheel well of the car where he will need to access the trunk to find all of his case information.

  Nathan showers quickly, and since he doesn’t have very much in the way of personal belongings, he is packed and leaving the room in under fifteen minutes. His short brown hair hasn’t even finished drying yet. The keys to the car he finds under the wheel well, opens the trunk, and tosses his small duffle bag of personal belongings inside of it. He grabs the driving gloves and a small folder of information from inside of the trunk and carries it to the car, where he enters the driver’s side door and starts the car. He’s going to need a hell of a lot of coffee for such a long drive. He doesn’t leave right away, intrigued by the information that he finds on the first page of the case file. Apparently, he’s not going to investigate somebody who has already committed a crime, but rather, he’s supposed to be there to ensure that a crime doesn’t happen.

  Something in him tells him that maybe he’s not the only one having visions after all. Wouldn’t that be something, if they could use these strange things that happen to them for the better, something that would enable them to save the lives of the innocent people that they later have to avenge if only they could save them before anything even happens? Nathan wants to know more. Perhaps this is nothing more than a simple tip-off, and that’s all that happened. Either way, the interest that he has in it is more than enough to wake him up and focus his energy.

  Nathan searches the GPS for the nearest place that he can buy coffee and sets off in his way. A preemptive strike. Isn’t that something? He doesn’t think that he’s ever been to a casino before; perhaps this mission is going to be a collection of firsts for him.

  Nathan pulls into a gas station just off of the main highway and purchases a couple of energy drinks and two of the largest coffee drinks that they have, despite the strange look on the cashier’s face for him buying so much caffeine all at once, and Nathan just smiles and shrugs that he has a very long drive ahead of him, and leaves it at that.

  As he�
��s getting back into the car, Nathan’s vision swims in front of him. Just for a moment. It’s almost like a cloud of fog crosses directly in front of him. The fog is made up of faces or events, something that if he could just squint at it a little better, he could see the vision a little more clearly, but it’s just out of focus. It’s something he can’t touch but he knows is there, and then just as quickly as it came, it’s gone once more.

  Another reason for his drinking is that the visions are getting more and more frequent, and they are making less and less sense. It used to only be triggered by a place, item, or specific event, but now they are like hazy clouds or pictures that feel familiar, but he doesn’t have any idea why they might feel that way. He’s going to have to be careful. He can’t afford to drive off a bridge along the way. There have been no other instructions from the company, and he knows that he will be offered another small gem of insight into his past if he does this job right...he really can’t afford to not do this right. Not with so many uncertainties hanging right over his head. At least that much has been made abundantly clear to him from the couple of big jobs that he was given last that the company felt that he mishandled. He can’t allow that to happen again. Whether he gets terminated or he is allowed to walk away, either way, Nathan knows that his time with the company is slowly coming to an end.

  Chapter Four

  M aximo & Cruz

  “We got another one, boss,”

  That is what he likes to hear more than anything else. Boss. What a perfect title for himself. Maximo turns to the direction that his head of security, Cruz, is standing in. They are standing in an average-sized room, but it feels smaller because of how dark it is. To one side of the room is a wall of small screens playing a constant live stream that covers each and every inch of his casino. Maximo spared absolutely no expense in making certain that there isn’t a single blind spot anywhere in his casino. He knows anytime anything happens, and he pays three men to sit in this room and stare at each and every single one of those screens at all times. They have the lowest crime and cheating record of any other casino on the strip. It’s practically impossible to even attempt to get anything by them.

  In truth, Maximo might spend too much money on security. This place is a fortress around the close security and a ton of employees. There are more than a handful of rumors that surround this casino, wanting to know what they are guarding so heavily, if they are keeping people out or keeping something in. Many people have gossiped about how a humble little casino can afford such things like this, how they can pay as well as they do. Though, nobody can deny having a really wonderful time in the casino. Whether they are just playing their hand at the many games and machines available on the casino floor, or if they are enjoying themselves at the bar or taking in one of the many delightful shows that the casino offers. Maximo likes to think that coming to his establishment is something of an experience that you never experience the same way twice.

  He renovates far too often for something like that. He does too much; he changes things too often, and really, he seems to have totally bottomless pockets. Some of the darker rumors about him include that he’s got his hands deep in the pockets of very many people that most reputable businessmen need to either pay a “special” tax to or avoid entirely. It’s said that Maximo is favored by many, but perhaps that’s just because Maximo creates those particular rumors himself. Despite how much his casino is spoken about itself, very little is known about the man who owns and runs it. Even in interviews, he is prone to changing his story. Perhaps he’s just private. Perhaps he doesn’t want people getting that close to him, or perhaps he embellishes because it’s not an interesting story. Everybody loves a good mystery. The only thing that everybody seems to agree on about Maximo is that he likes the attention. No, he loves the attention. It doesn’t matter what kind of attention, so long as people are looking at and talking about him.

  Being called Boss by somebody as formidable looking at Cruz only further cements that in his ego, each and every time that he hears it.

  “Got another what, big guy?”

  Maximo turns his attention from the screens covering the far wall to the man speaking to him. Cruz stands at a formidable six foot three and is built with more muscles than any one person should be allowed to have. Cruz is very much the opposite of his employer. He likes to keep to himself; he is a no-nonsense sort of person. He doesn’t participate in staff functions, and he keeps a giant, electric fence between his personal life and his professional life. He doesn’t engage in small talk, and he tends to wear all black. Maximo knows that he has both served time on multiple felony charges as well as served in the Black Ops special forces because those two strange things stuck out on the man’s resume like they wanted to bite him. Maximo knew then just from looking at the piece of paper that he needed to hire Cruz, and ever since that day, Cruz hasn’t given Maximo a single reason to regret it. Yes, he’s an incredibly dry person but almost nothing gets past him.

  “Card seven had an amateur attempting to sneak two extra queens into the deck from some little slot in the sleeve of his jacket; the dealer thought that something felt strange when the deck wasn’t as balanced and alerted security.”

  Small red buttons were placed under the dealer seat at the table of each and every one of those nice card tables. Maximo likes the way that they look so important, and even more than that, it’s a very efficient process. He has them in the dressing rooms and under the bar. Even just installing them made him feel like he was stepping onto the set of some spy movie. Maximo loves those adventure and spy movies. He loves them almost as much as he loves old Mafia movies. He loves the aesthetics of them; he loves the way that they talk, and he loves the way that they are such a closely bonded family. Maximo grew up in a run-down shack with a crackhead for a mother who tried, on more than one occasion, to sell him for drug money. It certainly isn’t something that he is proud of, but he is rather proud of the man that he has built himself to be. Loud, flamboyant suits and all.

  “And I trust that you have taken care of the issue, Cruz?” Maximo says with a flair, a sinister glint in his eyes. Cruz’s expression doesn’t change, but he nods that yes, the issue has been taken care of. “This is why I spend all of this money, to make sure that all of the games are fair. That everybody is here for a good time.” Maximo says, “now, of course, the house takes a little off the top here and there, but the house always wins. It’s a good saying for a reason, don’t you agree, Cruz?”

  Cruz doesn’t move; he simply watches.

  “See, I knew that you would agree with me. That’s why we have such a nice little family unit here. That’s why we all work so very well together. Don’t you think? Well, I guess that doesn’t matter; none of you are even here to think; you are just here to do my bidding.” Maximo chuckles mirthlessly, waving his hand as if attempting to convince the others in the room that he’s joking. He moves to the security panel and starts pressing buttons, attempting to get the screens to do something. The security man flinches and attempts to stop Maximo and then thinks better of it; it’s obvious that he’s not wanting to cause trouble and is going to be in for an hour or so of coding to fix whatever nonsense that Maximo just did to the cameras in an effort to make himself feel important. So long as the “Boss” is happy, that’s all that really matters, and they all know it.

  “Very good, very good. Come with me, Cruz,” Maximo looks at the screens as if confirming something that none of the rest of them could possibly see. It’s all a show to make him appear smart, even if it’s only himself that he’s convincing. Even his employees don’t know how he could possibly be running a casino all on his own. Most of his staff just assume he’s insanely wealthy from some old family money of some sort.

  Maximo doesn’t wait or look behind him to be sure that Cruz is following as he starts to saunter down the hallway, muttering to himself until Cruz is heard behind him, those large, heavy footsteps somehow very controlled and rhythmic. “I also wanted to make
sure that you have everything in order for our special guests tonight, Cruz. I know that I have laid out very specific instructions, but it’s of the top, priority, utmost importance that absolutely nothing can go wrong. I simply cannot stress that enough. The ‘package’ needs to be in place at the exact right moment.” Maximo speaks with his hands, placing air quotes around his emphasized words. “Then, our guests will arrive and take the package to where it needs to go. Or else. You really don’t want to know what the or else is Cruz, I can promise you that. I know what it is, and I wish I didn’t. Tell me that everything is in order.”

  Cruz says nothing; he only nods.

  Maximo looks visibly relieved. He sighs. “Such a shame that the package has to be so pretty, and go into such a horrible place, don’t you think? You don’t find dames with legs like that, that can kick quite that high just every day. I’m so worried that my show is just never going to be the same. Not that anybody ever thinks about me or how I’m going to feel about these sorts of things. This is my casino, after all; they should take that into consideration at the very least, but here we are.” Maximo stops just outside of the door to his personal office. “I’m going to pop in for a snacky snack,” Maximo explains, rubbing his thumb under his nose in clear innuendo to what sort of ‘snack’ he means, and Cruz says nothing. “Come and get me the moment that the package arrives.”

  Cruz nods. “You got it, Boss.”

  “Boss,” Maximo repeats with a happy chuff, and ducks inside of his office.

  Chapter Five

  S awyer

  “Honey! Have you seen my tie? I should have left for the airport about thirty minutes ago! You know how I like to get through security with time for a bagel!” Sawyer has always been a very punctual man. He’s not the brightest, the most handsome, or really the best at anything at all, but he is very punctual. In almost every way, Sawyer is a very average man. He’s not tall, but he’s not short. He’s not skinny, but he’s not fat. He isn’t really much of anything. He has a very average life, an average-looking wife to live inside of his average looking house. Though recently, he’s been given a string of luck that is proving to be anything other than average. In fact, he doesn’t think that he’s ever been this lucky in his life.