The Balance

By Phoenix Ward

Assassin Andy Winter has only a week to kill Haley Flynn. Yet, he's not sure he should do it. All of his other assignments seemed like faceless targets, but there's something about Haley. Something his employer doesn't want him to find out.

Will Andy be able to snuff out an innocent life, or will he sacrifice himself for a stranger? Find out in the first installment of the Guardian Angel series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phoenix Ward
• Release date: May 3, 2017

Phoenix Ward

Phoenix Ward is the author of thought-provoking science fiction and dark thrillers. The inventive mind behind A Guardian Angel, Oneironaut, the Alfred Arnold Saga, and the Installed Intelligence series, Phoenix captures the bizarre eccentricities that make reading unique. When he’s not writing foreboding tales of futures-to-be, Phoenix is an avid gamer. In fact, he is the owner and primary contributor for a video game blog called Ham Goblin Gaming. Phoenix wears pajama pants under his jeans in the winter and has a ham tattooed on his chest. He draws inspiration from such science fiction legends as Philip K. Dick and Isaac Asimov. He currently resides in Fort Collins, Colorado, USA.

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Copyright © 2017 Phoenix Ward

All rights reserved.

Also by Phoenix

A Guardian Angel (Complete Collection)

Forty-Ton Angel (A Guardian Angel Book 2)

Knights of the Proletariat (A Guardian Angel Book 3)

Harbinger (A Guardian Angel Book 4)

Alfred Arnold’s Great Adventure (Alfred Arnold Book 1)

Explorers of Serdame (Alfred Arnold Book 2)

Timeglass (Timeglass Book 1)

Oneironaut

The Man With Two Bodies (Installed Intelligence Prologue)

To those with hard choices.

St. Petersburg

Chicago

Lumnin

Haley

Circumstance

Why

Dinner

Lumnin's Finest

True Intentions

Deadline

Max

Verdict

Chapter One - St. Petersburg

Andy couldn't ignore the large fist that battered against his jaw. Andy kept his hands moving toward their task rather than leaping up and rubbing the center of throbbing pain over his mouth. Blood dribbled from his lax lips as he tightened his fingers, folding them tighter over Marchel Shivolinrid's throat. It was a beefy throat at that and needed Andy's concentration were he to close it. His only desire was to prevent further flow of air into the man's lungs. The defining task of his trade.

Shivolinrid was by no means a man of weak stature. He towered a full head above Andy and swung with melon sized fists at his attacker. Another decent blow to the side of Andy's head sent him tumbling off of the Siberian. The situation dangled out of his control and he found himself in far more danger than he preferred. The defining problem of his trade.

Porcelain stopped Andy from hitting the floor. It cracked and made a sharp rattle which the ringing in his ears drowned out in an instant. Despite the sheer shock of pain and the graduating ebb of clarity and darkness in his eyes, Andy rose on one knee. Shivolinrid got up now, grunting as he tried to regain his breath.

In all the places for a noisy exchange, a public bathroom? This public bathroom?

Andy snapped to his senses and charged his shoulder into the rising hulk, throwing him off his balance and into one of the stall doors. It opened inwards and Shivolinrid fell back through it, thrashing his arms out in front of him in order to strike or grab at Andy. Most of the incoming fingers were deflected, but two still grasped onto the attacker's wrist and dragged him into the stall after the Siberian.

It would have been another sharp meeting with porcelain if Andy's tuned reflexes didn't send out his leg first. He stepped onto the rim of the toilet and used his other leg to ram straight into the man's face. Too soft of a blow. The gigantic man's resistance still gathered strength. Andy kicked again, but Shivolinrid clutched onto the offending leg so he could not retract it. Andy bit his lower lip to stifle a yelp as sharp pain radiated from his calf. The bastard! He thought. He's biting me!

He rammed his knee into the biting Siberian's mouth, further and further. He interpreted every crunch and every snap as a painful lesson that Shivolinrid learned about biting others. The slobbery cloth of his trousers muffled the screams coming from the large man.

Good, Andy thought. Be silent.

As if hearing his thoughts, Shivolinrid's internal fight-or-flight meter screamed toward Fight! and his fists shot upwards into the assailant's stomach and groin. With the increasing combat came increasing volume. Noise worried Andy more than the violently retaliating behemoth on the floor did.

Perspiring, Andy looked to the door. Any second someone could come in and ruin everything. There was no more time to waste. Deciding that the fight endured longer than he liked, the customary fifteen seconds, he retracted and rammed his knee into Shivolinrid's nose again, hopped onto both feet, drew his silenced three-eighty auto and emptied the chamber.

He looked up from the body to the door of the restaurant. The music being played in the lobby reached a brief pause in between songs. The clatters and clangs of dishes and silverware bled its way through the space beneath the door.

Any second now, Andy thought. Hurry.

He tried his best to prop up the corpse against the wall as he concealed his firearm. He secured the stall door behind him, delaying the inevitable detection of Shivolinrid's body. It wasn't the form itself that he could conceal, just its lack of vitality. Not that the Siberian was a warm man, thought Andy, but he was hardly a candidate for one now.

He dispatched him in an ideal location, the assailant noted. As bad as it had gone, a silver lining existed. He didn't have the time to over think it, though. He had to act without hesitation. He snatched a paper towel from the dispenser, covered his face, then burst out the door into the restaurant.

I've been assaulted! he wailed in Russian. There's a thug in the bathroom! He's in a rage! He let one hand trail behind him as an indication back toward the restroom.

The entire room bustled with overconfident men excusing themselves from wide-eyed women as a crowd assembled around the bathroom. From this crowd peeled Andy, out of the restaurant and down the street.

He hesitated before removing the paper towels clutched over his face. He couldn't be sure he was far enough away. He winced as he peeled them off his wounded features.

Andy had been in the city for five days straight. Each and every day he waited for long hours at a seat besides the window. He wore different outfits each day, making sure no one noticed his continued presence. Until the fifth day, Andy found himself in an uncomfortable cycle of acting like he was completely oblivious while paying sharp attention to everything around him. His target possessed only a name and a face. He knew little about why his corpse was a valued product. He cared little, as well. Andy meant only to produce as expected.

They had discovered his body by now, he noted. He had no doubt. Someone must have gotten too close, too curious as to why the large man in a rage wasn't responding to him. Someone spotted the gunshot wound. It wasn't a gory mess like most head shots, but there was a curious pool of blood by now. Andy felt sorry for whoever truly discovered the dead man in the bathroom.

All over the restaurant, people were looking for him. Do you see him? Do you see the man who just came out? they would ask each other. What did he look like? one might ask back. The first one would be stumped. All I remember is paper towels, he'd say and shrug.

No one in this country would know that Andy Winter killed Marchel Shivolinrid.

Andy sighed as he tapped on a cut on his face and straightened out his tie. The walk home was always the best part.

Chapter Two - Chicago

Is that the last one in St. Petersburg? Andy asked as soon as he boarded the small private aircraft with his employer and trusted staff. The middle-aged man in the seat across from him gave a quiet chuckle before nodding in reply.

Good, Andy commented. Too cold for Hitler, too cold for me.

Again the man laughed.

It's nice to see you in such a good mood, he said as he and Andy both accepted thick, pungent bourbons from the on board stewardess. He watched Andy drink. How did you appreciate the accommodations?

Andy recalled the lavish hotel at which he had stayed for the last five days. Large platters of hand prepared entrees were brought up to him but he found it difficult to touch after spending dozens of hours in a diner. Instead, he packaged it and brought the leftovers with him. Most of the food came in from international markets, Andy less than a fan of Russian cuisine. The one thing he did consume locally was the vodka from a distillery two miles from his hotel.

The sheets were woven of fine, decorative thread and the blankets were thick and soft. The beds were tucked and made for tourists to burrow up in and forget exactly how cold the city was. One joke he'd always make to his Russian-native housekeeper as she took the dirty sheets and replaced them with clean ones was, It's a good thing you change your Lenins this often, which he only made for his own benefit. She couldn't speak English.

Along