BIA Ch. 131

The sound of a cell phone vibrating could be heard.

“Ah, that’s mine.”

Mickey put down the sandwich he was holding and took his cell phone out of his pants pocket. As he read the message, his brow gradually furrowed.

“Jack?”

“No. It’s Samuel.”

“What does he say?”

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

Mickey put the cell phone back into his pants pocket.

“Did something happen? A problem?”

“No, of course not.”

Mickey smiled with an awkward expression. It was clearly the face of someone with a problem, but Isaiah didn’t press him further. If it were a serious issue, Mickey probably would have confessed first. He would have likely pleaded with a tearful face, ‘What should I do now? What am I supposed to do in this situation?’ asking for a solution. If he could hide it, it meant there was still some leeway.

Isaiah yawned and picked up a cup from the table.

“That’s my diet cola…”

“Ah.”

Isaiah returned Mickey’s diet cola and picked up his own orange juice cup placed next to it. Seeing Isaiah still looking half-asleep, Mickey spoke with a concerned face.

“Wouldn’t it be better to drink coffee?”

“No coffee.”

“Why not?”

“It makes my nerves too sharp.”

“Ah, because of the caffeine? Then decaf coffee… wouldn’t really make sense, would it.”

Realizing his own foolishness mid-sentence, Mickey blushed. Instead of replying, Isaiah took a sip of his orange juice. Then, finally picking up his fork and knife, he cut a large piece of the peanut butter and jelly toast in front of him. After dipping a piece thoroughly in chocolate syrup and adding whipped cream on top before pushing it into his mouth, Mickey, who was watching from across the table, carefully asked.

“Are you, by any chance, doing something like intermittent fasting?”

The man who had practically starved himself all day yesterday was now shoving high-calorie food into his mouth as if determined, which looked quite bizarre.

“Not really.”

Isaiah dipped another large piece of toast thoroughly in the chocolate syrup. He scooped up the soggy piece of bread, soaked with moisture, using a spoon, then piled whipped cream on top. This way was convenient as it didn’t require much chewing.

“I’m just stocking up on calories as much as possible. Shooting a gun surprisingly consumes a lot of energy.”

“Ah.”

“You get hungry quickly. And when you get hungry, your concentration really plummets.”

That was why some snipers occasionally ate chocolate bars or filled up on calories with things like glucose candies, but Isaiah wasn’t one of them. He disliked his concentration being disturbed while doing something else, whether eating or not, and frankly, he never felt like eating while working. Even drinking water was a bother.

“Though you have to drink water regularly, if only because your eyes start to hurt.”

“Um, I have a question.”

Mickey said quietly, holding his sandwich in both hands.

“If you need to urinate in the middle of a firefight… what do you do?”

“What do you mean, what do you do? You piss right there.”

“Ah…”

“Shooting with wet pants is nothing.”

Isaiah finished the rest of his toast while explaining the various hardships one could face during sniping. When he told the story of being crumpled up in a squatting position for three days amidst the corpses of comrades whose heads had been blown off in the middle of summer, Mickey finally put down the sandwich he was holding. Isaiah tore off a piece of bread from Mickey’s leftover sandwich and wiped up the remaining chocolate syrup and whipped cream, eating it all. Then, while waiting to pay, he bought a chocolate bar sold at the restaurant counter.

It was two in the afternoon when they finished eating and left. Even though they had deliberately checked out late and Bob had eaten as slowly as possible, there was still plenty of time left.

“Where do we go now? St. Patrick’s Church?”

Mickey asked as he got into the driver’s seat of the black Ford.

“What are we going to do there now?”

Isaiah said indifferently. The service started at six in the evening. Going now would mean not even an ant would be there. Besides that, the FBI would be monitoring the area anyway, so there was no need for them to scout it out themselves.

“Then Bell Financial?”

“We’ll go there, but not now.”

Going early and loitering around, only to run into Bran, would be disastrous. They absolutely had to go after the service started.

“Then… where are we going now?”

Instead of answering, Isaiah entered an address into the navigation system.

“Where is this?”

“My apartment.”

Mickey looked surprised at the apartment, which was shabbier than he had expected. He was speechless not only at the building itself but also at the furniture, which looked like it had been picked up from somewhere.

“How long did you live here?”

“About half a year, maybe?”

Isaiah said, walking towards the bed. When he lifted the pillow, a pistol hidden underneath was revealed. He felt Mickey instinctively flinch.

“It’s so different from the house in Virginia.”

“That’s because Father decorated it.”

Shoving the pistol into his back pocket, Isaiah now knelt beside the bed.

“My taste in interior design leans this way.”

He pulled out a wooden box from under the bed mattress. Opening the box, he took out another pistol that was inside and put it in a different pocket.

“Just how many pistols do you have…?”

“This is it.”

He looked inside the box to see if there was anything else useful, but there wasn’t much. The rifles were all in Tayton and Thevel. Isaiah closed the box, pushed it back under the bed, and stood up. This time, he approached the cabinet in one corner of the bedroom.

He flung the door open and rummaged through the messily piled clothes to find a manila envelope. The envelope felt lighter than expected, making him think, no way, and indeed, Bran’s FBI identification card was missing from inside. Flustered, Isaiah frantically pulled out the documents inside the envelope, only belatedly remembering that Bran had taken the ID back, and muttered, “Ah,” unconsciously.

“Haah.”

As his legs momentarily gave out and he leaned against the wall, Mickey asked with a puzzled expression why he was acting like that.

“No, it’s nothing.”

Isaiah muttered and straightened himself up again. Since he had found the remaining documents anyway, he gathered them all and went to the kitchen. Elroy was one of the cities in the US with the strictest gun possession laws. There were four types of documents required to apply for a license, and these were them. Isaiah lit the now unnecessary documents on fire and threw them into the sink.

Watching the bundle of paper burn black in the flames, he thought of Bran’s ID again. While relieved, he also felt a sense of regret. Since it was going to end up like this anyway, I wanted to dispose of it myself. Then I could have at least kept the ashes.

He suddenly recalled when he first found it. How happy he had been when he discovered it behind the picture frame in Bran’s hometown house.

It wasn’t that he was intoxicated by the sinister satisfaction of learning his secret. Rather, he was glad to have found a reason for Bran’s misdeeds. He was glad that Bran hadn’t just become a villain without reason. The fact that he was still a good and righteous person, but was committing bad deeds out of necessity, reassured him. My Yahweh absolutely had to be that way.

The sound of the front door opening and closing came from behind. Mickey, having apparently gone out and come back at some point, was just entering the living room. Seeing the cell phone in his hand, it seemed he had been making a call. Walking towards the living room, he noticed Isaiah and changed direction towards the kitchen. His expression didn’t look good for some reason.

“What.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

Mickey answered curtly and sat down at the dining table. Then, as if suddenly remembering, he said.

“By the way, Martino’s side won’t attack just before the service or anything, right?”

It sounded like he was trying to change the subject, likely worried Isaiah would question him, but Isaiah decided to let it slide for now.

“That won’t happen.”

Isaiah turned on the water in the sink. With a hiss, the flames instantly died down.

“If either of the two heirs gets injured or dies before the end of the Friday service? Then all assets owned by the Kalisz family will be donated to society.”

“Ah, right.”

Right, that was it. Mickey rubbed his forehead as if just remembering. He really was a terrible actor.

Isaiah took a water bottle from the refrigerator and went to the table. He took the chocolate bar out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the table along with the water bottle.

“Eat this. Don’t whine later that you’re hungry.”

Mickey didn’t refuse. The sandwich he had left behind must have been lingering in his thoughts since before they arrived at the apartment.

“Uh.”

Mickey, reaching for the chocolate, muttered softly. Then, instead of the chocolate, he picked up something lying next to it. It was a small, crumpled piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

Isaiah asked as he sat down opposite him. Instead of answering, Mickey unfolded the crumpled paper. It was a receipt. There was a note written on the back.

「You have a surprisingly cute sleeping face. It doesn’t suit you. But I understand why you were named after that cute little bird. There’s a gift at the front door. I hope you like it.」