BIA Ch. 17

He was such an unnecessarily dedicated professional, Isaiah thought to himself with a mix of admiration and disbelief, when Bran suddenly asked.

“Isaiah Diaz?”

“Huh?”

“Does Isaiah Diaz drink?”

Isaiah thought for a moment and answered,

“Hmm… Maybe.”

“How much?”

“Just, normally? Like other freshmen?”

At Isaiah’s expression, Bran laughed as if it were absurd.

“How much is ‘like other freshmen’? Most of the freshmen I know were addicted to alcohol”

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s it.”

Isaiah nodded as if it was the correct answer.

“Also.”

Smiling as if saying, “That’s what I thought,” Bran picked up his glass. However, when he put it down after drinking about half, his expression had, for some reason, become serious.

Seeing Bran suddenly lost in deep thought, wondering what he was thinking. Isaiah felt inexplicably impatient.

“Uh, by the way, aren’t you going to the wake or something?”

Isaiah said as if he had just remembered. Bran muttered a short, “Ah,” then picked up his glass again and answered,

“The first day is usually a quiet day spent with the family.”

“Oh, really? So, you’re going tomorrow?”

“I just need to stop by tomorrow evening. And after that, it’s over when I attend the funeral three days later.”

Didn’t all Irish people traditionally keep vigil together for several days until the funeral? He thought to himself and as if reading his mind, Bran spoke first,

“Cedric’s orders. Even so, we can’t leave the business unattended for three days. Someone has to manage it. In the past, it was common sense to avoid attacks during a funeral period, but these days aren’t so courteous.”

“Everything was better in the old days.”

Bran spoke to Isaiah, who had muttered this without thinking. ‘Now that sounds like something Isaiah Cole would say.’

“Oh, really? Have I often said things like this?”

“Not really, but it’s not something a nineteen-year-old would say.”

“That’s true.”

Yeah, nineteen-year-olds would probably be more carefree. Because they’re young. Young and foolish. So, they’re more optimistic, reckless, fun-loving… and happy.

“And the old days weren’t necessarily better. We make more money now.”

At Bran’s words, Isaiah thought to himself, That’s true. There weren’t any illegal gambling sites to hack back then.

“You know, who do you think will be the successor? Between Chester and you.”

“Well, it won’t be Chester.”

Unless Cedric has gone senile. Bran added this as he set down his now empty glass. Isaiah suddenly felt bad for Cedric. He raised his sons and now they’re talking about him being senile. Ungrateful bastards.

“Why, if Chester were the frontrunner, would you switch back to his side? Huh? Little bird?”

Bran said, holding up the whiskey bottle. At first, Isaiah thought the “little bird” Bran mentioned referred to a bat. Then he remembered that the message Bran left on the receipt also included the words “little bird” and he couldn’t help but ask, a little shyly.

“Hey, why do you keep calling me ‘little bird’?”

Perhaps it was an unexpected question because Bran wore a rare expression of bewilderment. Then, the next moment, he chuckled softly.

“I see. If you didn’t know, it might seem like a rather romantic nickname.”

“No, that’s not it! I was just asking because I was curious. I wondered if it had any meaning.”

Isaiah said hurriedly. Even though speaking with his face flushed like this would only sound like an excuse, he couldn’t help it. It actually was an excuse.

“You know that the white dove is a symbol of peace, right?”

“I know that…But did White Dove really mean that White Dove? A symbol of peace?”

The naming sense was astounding, even appalling. How dare a contract killing organization presume to be a symbol of peace? Of course, it had initially been a place that trained private mercenaries for anti-terrorism operations, but still.

“Since that’s the organization’s name, White Dove snipers use bird names as their code names.”

“Is that so…? Then what’s my code name?”

“Lanius (shrike).”

“Lanius?”

“Do you know what a shrike looks like?”

Not at all. Isaiah shook his head.

“Here, look. It looks like this.”

Bran searched for “Lanius” on his smartphone and showed Isaiah a picture. As soon as Isaiah saw the photo, he understood why Bran had called him “little bird.” It was, literally, a very small and cute bird.

“What the…? It’s so cute.”

“Right?”

“Yeah.”

But why Lanius? I’m certainly not what anyone would call small.

“Do you know the scientific name of this cute bird?”

“What is it?”

“Lanius. It means ‘butcher’ in Latin.”

“…..”

Isaiah didn’t even want to ask why such a terrifying name had been chosen. But Bran kindly explained.

“Despite its appearance, it’s a carnivore. But because it’s so small, its legs and beak are incredibly weak compared to other birds of prey. It knows that a prolonged hunt puts it at a severe disadvantage. So, it catches its prey and impales it on a thorn or barbed wire. Then it tears it apart bit by bit.”

Apparently, they also impale prey they have no intention of eating. Some say it’s for fun, others that it’s for display, but the reason hasn’t been definitively established. The only certainty is that this is the shrike’s habit. Hence, this small, cute bird is also nicknamed “butcher bird.”

He suddenly remembered the video Chester had shown him in the car. The image of himself walking right up to the target and aiming directly at the philtrum between the nose and upper lip. Because a prolonged hunt would put him at a severe disadvantage. So, like a small butcher, he carried out bold assassinations to kill his prey instantly.

“As far as I know, you joined White Dove at a very young age. You probably weren’t this big back then. The instructor who trained you would have taken your physique into account and taught you the most effective techniques.”

Bran offered unusual words of comfort. Isaiah, surprised, only understood the reason when Bran handed him a tissue. He had been crying without realizing it.

“A failed shot means death. The only way to survive is to kill instantly.”

“I would not know about such things….”

Isaiah muttered, ignoring the tissue Bran offered.

“I’m just Isaiah Diaz.”

“No, you’re Isaiah Cole.”

Bran spoke in a gentle voice but with a firm tone. As if to say crying was acceptable but childishness would not be tolerated.

“You have to remember. I told you, didn’t I? What I need is Isaiah Cole. He’s the only thing that’s useful to me.”

He knew. What Bran wanted was Isaiah Cole on his side. Because he was useful. Useless things were unnecessary. A useless Isaiah would die. Either by Bran’s hand or by Chester’s.

He would not die. He had to survive, somehow. And to do that, he had to remember.

After crying for a while, Isaiah wiped his tears with his palm instead of the tissue Bran had offered.

“I…I’ve heard it before.”

“Heard what?”

“The name Lanius.”

“…Where?”

“There was a text message.”

That morning, when he had just woken up. Isaiah sniffled but continued speaking.

“It was on an old slide phone. There was a text message about Lanius but I thought it wasn’t my phone, so I just left it there.”

“By ‘there,’ you mean your apartment?”

“Yes, in the apartment…on the bed. It’s probably still there.”

“I see.”

Bran casually put the rejected tissue back where it belonged. Then he finished pouring the drink he had left unfinished. He downed the whiskey that overflowed the straight glass in one gulp, then set it down with a thud.

“It’s late, so let’s sleep and tomorrow, we’ll go back to your apartment.”