Bullets and Yams

Red Sapphire. That was what the jeweler suggested to Canan Donahue. The seasoned shop owner presented the man with a golden necklace with the blood-red stone in the center surrounded by diamonds in the shape of a flower. Canan smiled, pearly white teeth breaking the seriousness of the entire twenty minutes there. The jeweler smiled back. Canan liked the gem. It matched his red dress shirt under his black vest and suit. It wasn't for him though. 

He paid the jeweler then exited the shop, glossy white bag in hand, a grin on his face as he walked down the street. It was the next perfect gift for his mother. Momma Donahue always received the best of gifts. She deserved it after all. It was the least he could repay her for dealing with him and his brother when they were toddlers. Once again, on the first holiday they celebrated of the thirteen years he became successful, she would realize that. Tomorrow was thanksgiving. Tomorrow was the day.

Across the busy city street of Chicago, through a vacant floor under construction, the sniper zeroed in on the ebony-skinned man. He was heading to a limo, the driver outside, the door held open for him. One shot. One kill. That was the sniper’s motto. He never missed. 

Except for today.

Footsteps behind him. He turned, pulling his silenced pistol out, but he was too late.

The masked man slid something cold in the sniper. He could feel the sharp metal slide into his stomach, through his ribs and twist. The masked figure yanked his gun out of his hand, then slammed him to the ground. Heavy knee on the sniper’s throat. The masked figure got close for him to hear his hoarse whisper. “That was your left ventricle. You can bleed out in the next thirty seconds.” he paused. “Or you can keep hold of this knife,” he set the sniper’s hand on the long blade. “Keep pressure. Call your handler. Tell your associates nobody touches Canan.” The masked man was gone.

He watched as Canan’s limo disappeared down the street and exhaled irritation. He felt it rise the more times he had to save the kingpin from assassins of all types. Snipers, hit squads, and ninjas. Even chiropractors. He knew they would come, the sniper’s handler had a connection with a private military group that wanted Canan dead badly. They were known to be persistent. He would have to follow his brother. He groaned.

 The annoyance faded however as the jewelry bag flashed back through his mind. Canan never brought jewelry, thought it was a waste of money. The only time he brought it was for celebration, for someone else. Someone like his mother. The man’s eyes widened. Canan was visiting his mother. Tomorrow. On that day. Thanksgiving. 

....

“I love it!” Momma Donahue embraced her son in a hug. Canan smiled as she led him through her two-story home. She always loves it. I picked it out after all, he thought. The smell of dressing, oven-roasted turkey, buttery rolls, and tons of mouth-watering meals filled Canan’s nostrils. She led him to the lounge room and sat him down, catching up. “Thank you Can’,” she admired the necklace. “This must have been a fortune. You sure a defense lawyer like you can afford this?”

Canan grinned. “You’d be surprised how much we defense attorneys can make. Lots ma. Lots.”

Momma Donahue took a breath of relief. “I’m so glad you boy's turned out okay. Lord knows that after your tours in the middle east, you’d be changed. I thought I would lose yall.”

“Don't worry about me ma,” Canan shrugged. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing at all.” Canan patted his heart, where under his jacket, his holster pressed against his breast.

Momma Donahue jumped up as the ding to the timer went off and the smell of cinnamon yams made Canan’s mouth water. “One of my boys became a lawyer and the other owns a landscaping company!”

Canan grimaced behind her shoulder at the remark. “Landscaper. Yea. Helmer loves clipping bushes.”

He stood over the kitchen island, trying to stick a finger in the yams before the doorbell rang. His mother was out of the kitchen and to the door faster than he could stand. He wouldn't have loved to see who was there anyway. The “dearly” brother who owns a landscaping company was entering the kitchen behind his mother. Helmer Donahue and Canan stood staring at each other, sneers hidden with grins as their mother continued on in the kitchen. The brothers were twins, the only difference was instead of a dark and smooth-skinned Canan having short hair, Helmer was more rugged, or “free” as he would say, with long locks and a full beard. His most defining feature however was the scars sprawled across his face, a deep one cutting down his beard. He nodded to Canan. “Long time no see brother.”

“Sibling.”

Helmer let out a hand. They shook and clamped down each other’s hands for a moment longer. “How’s business?” Canan stared at him. “Pretty good. Just cleaning up other people’s yards, y’ know the deal. How about you hmm? Serve the public and the law lately?” Helmer stared back. It was the appearance of their sister that broke them up.

Constance Donahue was bronze-skinned with long curly hair and soft brown eyes that looked golden in the sun. She hugged both of her brothers before their mother pushed them out of the kitchen and to the dinner table. Both brothers sat across from another, leaving their sister at one end of the table and Momma at the head. She urged them to stay seated as she wheeled out the full platter of dinner that would be leftovers for two weeks. Turkey, chicken, dressing, homemade dinner rolls, string beans, alongside cornbread, apple pie, and yams with a tray of special macaroni and cheese. “And I used coconut milk this year Helmer, just for you.”

“Thanks ma,” the man smiled. Canan nodded. “So how’s life? Y’know being vegan? Trimming roses?”

“Boring. Kinda like your job right? Never a dull moment? Pick up any interesting clients lately?”

“A few here and there. Sometimes I wish I could live out in the woods and get away from civilization for a while. Y'know, like your brother.”

Helmer nodded. “I bet.” The two tapped at their jackets as Momma Donahue sat down. Canan gripped his holster while Helmer jiggled his Ka-bar knife in his pocket. “Yea, there’s definitely nothing going on here,” Constance rolled her eyes at the two. The family held hands as they said grace, then dug into the meal as the two brothers darted eyes to each other frequently. Canan nodded to the small pan of macaroni and cheese beside Helmer. “I thought you didn't eat cheese brother?”

“It's cashews, almond milk, and nutritional yeast.oo! And some of that vegan cheese you recommended to me at Whole Foods” Momma Donahue grinned. “Been wanting to try it out for a while. How is it Helm’?

“Delicious ma.” he smiled, then stared daggers into Canan. It was like that until the two were fully stuffed and the family lounged around the table. “Would you excuse us ma? Me and Canan need to have a word?”

Ma nodded then the two brothers stepped out of the room and walked down the long hallway. They made it to their father’s old study, where they locked the door and stared at one another.

“We need to talk about business?” Canan slid off his jacket and dropped his holster. “It's always business between us loving sibling.” Helmer let the knife stick through the mahogany desk like butter. They charged at each other. 

Years of military and time training with a league of assassins made them ferocious, yet careful as they maneuvered around the room. Canan was the greatest striker of his old assassin’s band, every knee and elbow powerful enough to land through solid trees. Yet Helmer was light, fluid as he ducked and weaved. He grappled his brother and the two clenched each other. “You can never clean up after yourself can you?” Helmer asked.

“Screw you turd!  What are you talking about?”

The two collided into a bookshelf. “I’m talking about a sniper that checked you out yesterday. While you were trying to out-gift me again!

Canan laughed. “No idea. “

“Exactly.”

The two parted. “That’s your problem brother. You’re too reckless.” Helmer pointed a finger at him. “Never careful and you never watch your surroundings.”

Canan flipped him the bird. “I appreciate you helping brother. But I can handle myself. That little sniper and his handler are gone. My men are cleaning up the rest of their branch in Chicago now.”

Helmer stuck his middle finger in his brother’s face. “Don't make me clean up after you again.”

“I won't.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Alright.” Helmer nodded.

“Alright.”

“....I’m this close to stabbing you, you know that?”

“It's namaste. I thought that was your motto.”

“You’re always an exception you twit!”

“Twit!” Canan mocked. Helmer wrapped him in a headlock and the two went back to clashing. As someone waited…

…

The house was two stories, secluded around trees, a mile away from any seeing neighbors. The cloaked assassin zoomed in on his binoculars at the window where the two brothers were scuffling. He laughed. Idiots, he thought. He re-checked his memo on his burner phone at the photo of Canan. The crime lord was a genius at his age, only twenty-six and able to control most major cities with his drugs and weapons smuggling. The vacuum that he would leave if he was to disappear…? Well, it would be much profit to the assassin’s customers. The other brother, Helmer, was not on the list. That was until the assassin’s burner blinked and he stared at the photo of the hairy twin. He smiled.  Two birds with one stone? Double the money and double the fun.

…

Momma Donahue was asking Canan how he caused his nose to bleed when Helmer felt it. It was a sense long trained from Alucard of the assassin’s Guild. It was called many things, sixth sense,  and intuition most known. It was a tight twist in his stomach and he knew what was coming. He looked over to Canan and his twin seemed so too. He picked up his buzzing phone and excused himself from the table. Helmer was already following him in the living room. “That was a motion detector around the property. Guy was smart too, disabled the rest of them, except for the infrared proof nanobot in the trees.” Canan turned to him. “Somebody’s here. “

“I was gonna say the same thing.” Helmer nodded.

The two stared at one another before an agreement was made between them. In their “clean world,” family was a no-no. Whoever this assassin was, was going to pay miserably. Helmer could see his brother’s skin crawl with veins, his jaw tightening in anger. “On thanksgiving? I didn't even get to have seconds.”

“Breathe.”

“Breath, breathe, breathe!’ Canan mocked his brother. “You and your meditation crap!”

“It's actually very beneficial against stress and high blood pressure. Like what you’re having. But I understand.”

“You do?” Canan grimaced at him. Helmer nodded. “I do. Let's get this done before ma notices.”

The two ascended upstairs and entered their old room. Knick knacks and toys from the past lined drawers as old posters faded on the walls. Canan swiped hung clothes in the closet, then put his hand on the wall. The wall glowed, then slid open to reveal a cache of weapons. Helmer scoffed. “You and your toys huh?”

“Oh no brother,” Canan lifted an assault rifle. “Our toys.”

“Well ‘our’ toys are too loud. We need our visitor alive anyway.”

“Bah!” Canan whined. “Don't start with your ‘no stepping on ants’ rule!”

Helmer grabbed a twelve-inch steel stick that extended to a ten-foot staff. “Wanna find out who led our visitor here? Then we do this my way. Hurt rather than maim. Maim rather than kill-”

“And kill because he’s a prick! Let's go Buddha.”

…

The assassin was scaling through the thicket of trees at night, circling the house. He readied his vest of silver daggers, grinning under his demonic mask. His dark blue suit sunk him into the darkness. It was better than black, less bold in light and it matched the natural starry night. His plan was to go through the cellar in the basement, then search the house. He didn't worry about the mother or sister. He killed kings of European countries and billionaires with the most expensive security systems, so he was positive two women were not going to interrupt him in killing the infamous Donahue brothers.

He was careful to avoid dry leaves and twigs on the forest floor. He did this by scaling the trees, like a bird hopping from tree to tree. He was down on the ground, ready to traverse across the backyard when something ran into him.

He ducked in time to see Helmer, a bo staff running towards him. The assassin unsheathed his blades and metal scraping against metal, causing sparks to fly across the dirt. In the moonlight, their shadows danced. Helmer was quick to adapt and duck under the killer’s blades. In his head, the assassin cursed to himself. He didn't want to fight Helmer head-on. He was as cunning as the stories told of him. He controlled the distance with his staff, jabbing and swinging arcs in the air without a thought at all. He scraped dirt and sticks from the forest floor and blinded the assassin, would duck and disappear behind trees, then leap out from cover and trace around his blades. Each blow sent the assassin backward. 

In the distance, Canan cursed under his breath. Of course, he would be the lookout. Never on the front lines. He remembered back to his time as a sniper in the special forces and the long boring hours behind cover, watching like a bird on the battlefield. He wanted to be in the thick of it. Smell sweat, feel the heat, feel fist hit bones and flesh. Now he was looking through a scope at the two shadows below him. He saw the long trails of his brother's hair and grinned. He pointed to the shadowy assassin and repeated a motto his old instructor told him.

One shot. Don't you miss boy.

Canan never missed.

He pulled the trigger.

The assassin fell with a thud. Helmer wiped blood from his face, then held up a finger at his brother's elevated position. “What did I say??

Canan waved. “Whoops. Wrong bullet!”

…

They hid the body in a ditch, swiping sticks and autumn leaves on it. The animals would do the rest. They slipped back in the house from their “cigarette” break and made it back to the dinner table, swiping leftovers on their plates as Momma Donahue spoke. “I keep telling you boys that smoking will kill you. I got plenty of patches if you want any.”

“Well it wasn't necessarily cigarette’s Ma,” Canan said. “Helmer here brought the ‘good’ stuff.”

Helmer scoffed at his brother. Momma Donahue stared needles into Helmer. “What did I tell you about marijuana?”

Helmer shrugged. “Ma. It’s legal.”

“Plus,” Canan grinned. “Who said Marijuana kills?”

Canan passed Helmer the platter of yams and snickered under his breath. Helmer looked at him. Canan held up a small item, pointed at the end. Helmer’s eyes widened. A tranquilizer dart. Canan winked at him as he chowed down on the vegan macaroni and cheese. The two spent the rest of their thanksgiving together, enjoying their company deep down. It wasn't the perfect holiday for them, but bullets and yams weren't the worst to happen to them. Not even close.

…

A figure zoomed in on his binoculars down at the house. The twins grimace at each other as they celebrated their get together. The figure smiled. Soon. Very soon. But not today.  He let go of his tight grip of the katana then walked away, disappearing in the forest. I have to wait. I have to wait.