BIA Ch. 137

“…….”

Isaiah lowered the rifle he had raised to shoulder height.

“Why did you come?”

Bran asked, squinting his left eye. Could he be hurt? For a moment, Isaiah felt his heart plummet. The hand gripping the rifle trembled. To hide his agitation, Isaiah slung the rifle over his shoulder and deliberately spoke playfully.

“Hmm, because I heard the voice of Yahweh echoing amidst the flames?”

Bran wiped his face with a relatively less bloodstained part of his shirt and smirked.

“Deuteronomy, is it?”

“You have that memorized?”

“So do you.”

“I’m someone who heard the Bible instead of lullabies.”

As Isaiah drew closer, he immediately checked Bran’s left eye. Thankfully, it wasn’t injured. But his face, wet with blood and sweat, was a mess, caked with dirt and dust. It was no wonder he couldn’t open his eyes properly.

“Hold on…….”

Just as he reached out to brush off the dirt clinging to his lover’s long eyelashes.

“Bran!”

Bran’s subordinates shouted as they ran up from behind. Isaiah quickly lowered his hand and stepped away from Bran. Bran grabbed Isaiah’s arm as he tried to step back, pulling him back to his side, and called out his subordinates’ names.

“Jess, Abe.”

Bran’s men certainly had more loyalty than Chester’s. Chester’s men would have immediately thought of escaping in a car, but Bran’s men were first relieved that Bran was safe, and then gritted their teeth, saying they would now go avenge their brothers.

“Take this.”

After confirming his subordinates’ injuries weren’t too severe, Bran handed them the machine gun he was holding. He also gave a pistol he had retrieved from a corpse’s pocket to one of them. He kept the 17-round magazine of 9x19mm Parabellum bullets that came with it. Weapons in hand, Bran’s men immediately ran towards the parking lot at the back.

“This machine gun fire right now, is that your men?”

Isaiah asked, thinking, ‘No way.’

“Half and half, probably.”

I see. Finally, Isaiah felt a great sense of relief. So Bran’s men had captured the Barone gang’s machine gun.

He had vaguely imagined the worst just from the sound, but it was a relief that a struggle was actually taking place.

“But why are you empty-handed?”

“Empty-handed?”

Bran held up his Glock and smiled.

“Ah, sorry. I don’t consider plastic a real gun.”

“Don’t underestimate it. It did quite well today.”

Pulling back the slide to eject the remaining live round from the chamber, Bran removed the magazine and threw it on the floor. Then he shoved the Parabellum magazine he’d collected from the dead Barone member into his Glock. Thus, a 17-round machine pistol was instantly born. Its excellent sustained fire capability, especially noticeable when paired with a high-capacity magazine, was one of the Glock 17’s few advantages.

“In terms of casualties caused, it probably ranks second.”

“Really? Who ranked first?”

“Probably you.”

Caught off guard by the unexpected answer, Isaiah was quite flustered. He had naturally assumed there must be a sharpshooter among Bran’s men. Inwardly, he even felt a little jealous.

“Didn’t you kill about thirty?”

Bran’s guess was close. He wouldn’t have counted every incoming bullet; he probably calculated the maximum number one could kill during the time they were held up in Taten after the firefight began, based on the time elapsed.

But he underestimated me.

“About forty.”

“Oh.”

“But hits were around thirty, you’re right.”

Isaiah confessed honestly.

“Impressive.”

Bran smiled, brushing back his blood-and-sweat-soaked hair.

Ah, indeed. Isaiah felt his chest swell uncontrollably. It was good that he hadn’t waited obediently in Virginia. My Yahweh had clearly trusted me in some way after all. It was his duty to live up to that trust.

“Isn’t it a bit early to retire?”

Bran just smiled instead of answering. Separate from trusting him, Bran probably hadn’t wanted him to come here carrying a gun. Isaiah thought he understood that complicated feeling, so he didn’t press for an answer.

“Anyway, what about Chester?”

Isaiah subtly changed the subject.

“We need to find him.”

“Does that mean……”

“He’s not dead.”

Bran pulled at his shirt hem to wipe his eyes again.

“Right after the service ended, Pastor Benjamin said he’d give a blessing and took him somewhere.”

“Did he know Martino’s gang was coming and run away?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm.”

Isaiah crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. Did I underestimate Chester?

Leaving his men behind to escape alone was beside the point—Chester was a guy utterly devoid of loyalty anyway—but the method was surprisingly meticulous for Chester, which was surprising.

No, actually, deceiving both Bran and himself to join hands with Barone was already like that. To think he was crying and whining about trusting me right up until the end, while pulling such a foxy move behind our backs. Moreover, when escaping, he didn’t just bolt; using Pastor Benjamin to leave the scene naturally was uncharacteristically clever of him. He was the type who’d barely pretend to listen no matter how much Manny explained what needed to be done, only to end up causing trouble eventually. Was he unexpectedly the type who could actually pull things off if he put his mind to it?

“Anyway, if Pastor Benjamin took him, then over there?”

Isaiah pointed towards the rectory building he had just passed.

“No, this way.”

Bran grabbed Isaiah’s arm and led him towards the main church building where the chapel was located.

“He’s still here? Are you sure?”

“Martino’s men came through the front door, so if he’d gone out that way, we would have run into him already. If he’d left through a side or back door, you would have seen him.”

In other words, there was no chance for him to leave this building.

“Not the lobby, I see.”

Isaiah remarked upon entering the building, seeing the corpses strewn everywhere. Fortunately, they weren’t ordinary churchgoers, but all mafia members. Chester’s men, likely. It seemed they were shot here while fleeing the chapel.

“Not the offices either. Nor the cry room or the sound room.”

Bran said, stepping over the corpses.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The two turned into the corridor.

“Those were the places I checked as soon as the situation in the chapel was under control. There’s no place to hide there either.”

And just as he was about to search elsewhere, the Barone gang swarmed in.

“You didn’t expect Barone at all?”

“I naturally expected reinforcements, but.”

It seemed he hadn’t expected it to be Barone.

“I expected something like a nameless Irish Mob crew roaming the streets. Since the manpower Chester could scrape together was obvious. That’s why I requested ample forces from Martino’s side too, but for some reason, Martino sent far fewer men than promised……”

Isaiah stopped walking without realizing it.

“Isaiah?”

Bran stopped too and looked at him. Isaiah debated what to do, then decided to confess honestly.

“I’m sorry.”

Isaiah couldn’t bring himself to look Bran straight in the eye.

“I told him to do that.”

If things had gone well, he would never have said anything. But if his decision had messed things up, causing Bran harm, he had to speak honestly and apologize. Otherwise, after everything was over, Bran and Martino might end up blaming each other, making the situation even messier.

“I told him to send only half. I figured I could handle the work of the other twenty men.”

The corridor floor was slick with blood. Since the trail started from the lobby, it was most likely Chester’s men’s blood, but one couldn’t be sure. Maybe one or two of Bran’s men were among them. They might have fled into the church from the parking lot to escape the hail of bullets from Barone’s men, only to be shot and killed in the lobby.

The thought made him feel uneasy even stepping on the blood. Taking a step aside, Isaiah apologized again.

“I’m sorry.”

Still avoiding Bran’s gaze, Isaiah anticipated his response.

— Why did you do something so unnecessary?
— That was foolish meddling. We had our calculations for the number of men needed.
— Shouldn’t you be apologizing to my dead men rather than me?

It was none of those.

“Come here.”

Bran simply said quietly. There was no hint of reproach in his voice. Still, Isaiah couldn’t readily approach him. In fact, that made it harder to move closer.

Then Bran came to him first. He wrapped an arm around Isaiah’s shoulder. And gently kissed him.

Bran smelled of blood. And gunpowder. For a moment, it felt like they were kissing on the moon. Though he’d never been to the moon, of course. Nor did he want to go.

After a kiss that merely touched and parted, yet felt long enough to travel to the ends of the universe and back, Bran whispered.

“You don’t need to be sorry. You’ve already done more than your share.”

“Because I killed over twenty men……”

Isaiah whispered back, his lips almost touching Bran’s.

“No, that doesn’t matter.”

Bran said immediately.

“You didn’t have to kill anyone. Just coming here is enough.”

Just coming here…?

Isaiah blinked. That sounded like he didn’t have to shoot his gun. That even without killing twenty, thirty men, just by being here, he had fulfilled his part.

“How?”

Isaiah asked, looking into Bran’s clear golden eyes. Bran kissed him deeply once more, as if he’d been waiting. And just like Isaiah, he ended his sentence with a rising intonation.

“Because thanks to you, I feel energized enough to kill another twenty?”