A Jar of Hearts (2 page)

“How are you feeling now?” Doctor Skeritt asked.

Eric nodded, sitting upright in his hospital bed. “Better.” He glanced about his room, assessing it silently. The odor of sterilization filled the air. Medical equipment graced one corner of his room. The practicality of his room told him that he was indeed in a hospital. But the FBI was involved and he didn’t trust them.

“You’re in the medic wing of a FBI base,” Doctor Skeritt said, studying him carefully. “But I suppose you had guessed that already.”

“What am I doing here?”

“I can answer that for you,” Mark interrupted, strolling into the room casually. “Is it okay if I talk to him now?” he asked the doctor who had his brow raised disapprovingly at him.

“You’re definitely eager.” The doctor shook his head. He gave one last pitiful glance at Eric and then began walking out of the room. “Go easy on him, Mark. His body is still pulling through that dose.”

“So,” Mark said with a tired sigh as he pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “Why did you do it, Eric?”

“Do what?”

Mark swiped a hand over his face. “Let’s just stop with the games, okay? We know your brother, Jamal, bought two tickets to Ecuador on your behalf. You were intending to escape there with your girlfriend.”

“Jamal bought two tickets to Ecuador?” Eric lifted his brow amusedly. The least he could do was enjoy this. As for an escape, he would have to figure that one out later.

“We know they were meant for you, Eric. You are well aware that Ecuador has a loopholed extradition treaty with the United States. And if there is one place you could have successfully remained safe and hidden, it would have been Ecuador.”

“Thanks. Now I know.” Eric smiled.

“Why don’t you just help us, Eric? We don’t need to do this. Fuck, I didn’t need to shoot you down like a rampant elephant if you hadn’t tried to run.”

“I am done with this business. All I want to do is go back home.”

“Ahh right… the girlfriend, Anne Mullen.” Mark sat back in his chair lazily. “You must be curious about her. How she is… what she is doing… waiting for you perhaps?”

Eric tensed. Those questions had definitely hounded him, but he had been too determined to show Mark that Anne didn’t matter to him as much as she really did.

Mark leaned towards Eric. “She thinks you’re dead. She’s mourning for your loss.”

Eric stared at him with disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“We staged your death. Both she and your family are preparing for your funeral.”

“That’s not possible. I am alive.”

“
I
know that. Doctor Skeritt does, and a few others. But not the rest of the world.”

“But my body at the funeral… surely, they would know.”

“You don’t really know how we work, do you?” Mark clicked his tongue. “They are burying a substitute.”

“How… I wasn’t hurt at the accident…” Eric was blubbering, trying to make sense of what Mark was telling him.

“No one knows that.”

“There were people…”

“Who? The people who witnessed your so-called accident? Do any of them know you personally?”

Eric fidgeted on his bed, his temples pulsating rapidly. And if his blurring memory could be trusted, it was the very same truck driver from his accident who had been arguing with Mark last night.

“So whose body is it?” He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Some John Doe.”Mark shrugged. “An unclaimed body. We played with the face a little so it couldn’t be recognizable. As far as your family is concerned, you’re as dead as a door post.”

“And what if I walk out of here and tell them I’m not?” Eric lifted his eyes, staring straight into the other man’s, daring him.

“If you walk out of here without our consent, you walk straight into prison,” Mark whispered threateningly. “And you never see your family again. Furthermore, you will spend a good portion of that time in solitary confinement regretting why you didn’t take this opportunity when it was given to you.”

Eric clenched his fists under his blanket. The bastard had cornered him well. “What is it you want me to do?”

He saw the man’s lips curl into a grin and he wanted to bash it out of him. But if there was anyone who would break the news of his seedy past to Anne, it would be he, himself. And if that meant bending to the whims of a sonofabitch like Mark Dane, then so be it.

Eric sat in a discussion room while Mark dimmed its lights. He watched the man maneuver his way to the front of the room and play with his computer.

“We need you to undertake a covert operation,” Mark started, his eyes still keenly glued on the contents of his presentation. “What you will be dealing with is one of the worst gangs in the United States- The Pachecos. And that is why we would require you to refrain from any further contacts with your family or Anne Mullen.”

Eric stiffened. He didn’t like the sounds of this at all. Perhaps, he should risk prison life after all.

“It would be better if you stayed dead for your family, Eric,” Mark said, studying him carefully. “It’s the only way to ensure they will be safe. Even the cops won’t touch these guys. They govern their territory fiercely and they don’t take too kindly to treachery. And this could possibly mean the death of those you love. You would be worried about them and that in turn could hamper our operation.”

Eric felt his rage bottling inside him. The truth was this man cared nothing for his family. Eric knew he was being made a pawn in this game, and when the time came he would be tossed aside for the queen, whatever that was. His jaw tightened. He needed a diversion or he would explode and that wouldn’t fare well with him at all. “Tell me about The Pachecos.”

Mark nodded and clicked on the first slide. “The Pacheco gang operates at least fifteen miles from the Mexican border in San Diego. At present, there are about two thousand members, making it the city’s largest gang. Now, their influence has spread to other cities. New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas. You name it.” He rubbed his brow, and then switched onto the next slide. “The Pacheco gang works hand-in-hand with the Arturo Brotherhood in Tijuana, Mexico. Their activities range everything from drugs to murders and pornography. With a strong alliance such as that, The Pachecos make them not only the largest but one of the most feared gangs in the United States.” He paused. “How are you taking it so far?”

Eric shrugged. “Do I get a diploma for passing this test?”

Mark ignored his snide remark and clicked on the next slide. “One of The Pachecos’ major rivals is the Espinosa Cartel based in Baja California. While the front man of the Espinosa appears to be Michael Elizondo, the guy who really runs it is the mayor of San Diego, Trent Harvey.”

“What’s all this got to do with me?” Eric asked impatiently. Was he here for a crash course on gangs or did they want him to do something?

Mark sighed and sat on the edge of a desk. “We want you to join The Pachecos. And once you’ve gained their trust, we want you to take a hit on Trent Harvey.”

“Sounds easy on paper. But how can you be sure I’d be able to do that?”

“The Pachecos are impressed with anyone who can handle a gun. An accurate sharpshooter such as you wouldn’t have trouble rising through their ranks.” He leaned forward. “Until this is over, Eric, you cannot contact Anne or your family. We can promise to protect them so long as you listen to instructions. If you decide to have it your way, we would have to deny any associations with you. Are we clear?”

Eric felt his nerves tensing again. Did he have a choice? He could try escaping again.

“Are we clear, Eric?” Mark stressed again.

“Yes.”

Mark picked up a file and flung it over to Eric. “Get acquainted with the facts. This is an entire new life and you need to know it like you had lived it. From here on, your name is James Connelly.”

Two years later

Anne stood in the backyard of her new house. She heard the waves crashing onto the beach. Seagulls squawked in the distance, their cackling melding with the roar of the waves. A breeze blew over her and a strong whiff of the salt and the sea filled her nostrils.

The air was certainly different from the one in Boston. It was fresh. It was alluring. Perhaps, her father was right. A change would ease some of that torturous pain in her heart. A pain she had bound inside her since Eric had died.

“Miss Anne?” Julia said from behind her.

She turned and made a mouth at her. “Just Anne, Julia. Do you see my father here to chastise you about that?”

“Sorry, Miss… um… Anne. It’s a habit. But why don’t you come inside. The breeze is a little too strong here.”

“It’s nice, Julia. Besides, isn’t it why we came to San Diego in the first place? To breathe this beautiful ocean breeze?”

Her housekeeper threaded her arm around her elbow gently and stood beside her. “Not when it is as strong as this. And I do wish you had chosen to go to another place other than San Diego.”

“And what is wrong with San Diego?” Anne said stubbornly. “It is a beautiful place, is it not?”

“Yes… I suppose,” the housekeeper answered somewhat unsurely.

Anne rubbed the side of her arm to comfort her. “Describe it to me. Tell me how the sands and the sea look today.”

Julia sighed. “Well, you’re right. It is beautiful. The sea is blue. A very beautiful sky blue. The waves are big, but not threatening. In fact, they’re perfect for surfing. There are actually a small group of people out further into the waters, catching those beautiful waves…”

Her voice began to fade into the air as Anne began to recall Eric’s words, drowning her thoughts with his voice.

“Tell me what it looks like,” she whispered. She was filled with awe of all the happy sounds in the party.

“There are Chinese lanterns strung above us,” Eric whispered back. “There are children on the far left playing with balloon
s
…”

“Anne, are you okay?” Julia’s voice came booming through her thoughts and whirling her back to reality.

“Yes.” She nodded and began to turn back towards the house. “I think I need to just lay down a bit. I’m not feeling too well.”

Julia watched her mistress stumble towards the house. She wouldn’t have wanted her help even if she had offered it. Anne could be stubborn that way. She missed the cheery young woman she had met almost fifteen years ago. She had always marveled at the way Anne would continue to face the world with so much positivity despite her disability. But in the past two years she had seen all that hope erode from her.

She had never seen or met the man who had changed Anne’s life. All she had learned was that the day he had died, he had killed Anne’s will to live as well. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not even Nicholas Bradley, the man who had once dreamed of making Anne his wife.

She crossed her arms against her chest as she looked out into the roaring waves, remembering exactly when Phillip Mullen had asked her to help Anne.

“I’ll make it worth your while if you go with her to San Diego,” he had said. “I know you have your daughter to think about and so I will offer you this. I’ll pay all the expenses you will need to put her into a good school. Choose whichever you prefer and let my accountant deal with the expenses.”

Her heart had jumped. A good school for Ashley? This would mean a private school with the best teachers. No graffiti stained public schools where kids peddled the halls with drugs and weapons in their pockets. No more fear of her child being attacked or kidnapped on her walk home from school. They would be living in a better house and she would be able to afford better clothes for Ashley. She was eight now and growing conscious of the kind of clothes she wore. Moving to San Diego would help her give her daughter all those things she couldn’t afford before.

The ocean waves crashed against the shoreline, reeling her to the days when she was just a teenager. She had dreams of making a better life for herself and her Mexican immigrant parents. After leaving school, the Mullen job was only supposed to be tentative. She had plans to save her wages and go to college. She wanted to be anything but a maid. She had wanted to wear those fancy formal pencil skirts and matching jackets to a day job. She used to have fantasies of driving through the morning traffic in a beautiful car and to an office in a modern high rise building.

However, one day turned to another, and soon she had spent fifteen years in the Mullen house. When she had met Troy Donner, she had thought things would turn around for her. But Troy ran the moment he discovered she was pregnant. He moved on to another girl and didn’t want anything to do with her child.

Now, at thirty four, she was a single mother, trying to bear it all on her own. But Ashley had been worth all her pain. So what if she could never love again. So what if she still was the poor, life-battering Julia Medina. She had her daughter, and she was determined to make certain that Ashley would never endure the same struggles as she had done.

He stared at himself in the mirror. James Connelly. He repeated the name quietly. He was still the same man with the same feelings, but with a different identity. How could anyone erase a past just like that?

He lathered his cheeks with shaving foam and then glided a shaver down his jaw. His past was gone. There was no Irvines, no Bobby and no history of all those hits he had made as an assassin under the name of Ricky Prescott. The murders were gone, and in its place, he now had a fresh new hit list as James Connelly.

His shaver nipped a bit of his skin and he winced. He dabbed at the small wound with his finger, trying to wash away the blood oozing out of it. But it wasn’t the cut that hurt. It was the wound in his heart he was trying to block away in his memory that pained him more.

Anne…

He washed off the foam from his face and then dabbed it dry with a towel. She had been wrong for him from the start. He saw the rationality now. If she had known about his past, she would never have fallen in love with him. She was better suited to someone like Nicholas Bradley. He would take care of her and give her the life he would never be able to provide to her.

The last time he had stood outside her house, he had seen Nicholas strolling up her pathway and to her door like he belonged there. Perhaps Mark Dane was right. This was his chance to forge a new life, even if it was under the name of a dead man called James Connelly.