Assault or Attrition Read Free

disappears. He
falls off the face of the earth for months. No press release, no
comment. He just up and leaves America in some state-of-the-art
hover plane.
    Then, three
months later he shows up in Canada of all places – the guy can’t
even be bothered to return to America – and in his first public appearance he gets stabbed.
    Sen.
Jenkins: So what are you saying?
    O’Neill: I’m saying that this is just the beginning,
Senator. The tip of the iceberg. Moxon shows his face for ten
seconds in a country where it’s practically illegal to be in a bad
mood, and he almost gets killed.
    He’s the most
hated man on the planet, and there will be a lot more people
out there gunning for him, you mark my words.
    And on a
related note, my new book ‘The Beauty of the Status Quo: Life,
Liberty and Low Taxes.’ will be available tomorrow.
    Sen.
Jenkins: Wait, how is that a related note? And are we finished?
I thou—
    O’Neill: Thank you for being here, Senator. And now a word
from our sponsor.

Chapter
Two
     
     
    “ Are you out
of your mind?” the nurse shouted from just beyond the
threshold. “Lay down, you’ll pop your stitches!”
    With my bare
feet dangling from the side of the hospital bed, I scanned the room
through bleary eyes, tired and stinging from the harsh glare of
fluorescent bulbs overhead. I’d forgotten where I was, and how I’d
arrived.
    By the time the
nurse reached me the blood had already seeped through my gown. “Lay
back,” she instructed, rapidly unfastening the buttons around my
abdomen. The gruesome gash beneath my ribcage looked freshly
sutured, with a single stitch popped out of place. “It doesn’t look
too bad. Just take it easy, and I’ll find a doctor.”
    I glanced at
the translucent bracelet fastened around my wrist. ‘Joseph Brant
Memorial Hospital. Burlington, Ontario’. It all came back to me in
broken, jagged fragments. Screams. Blood. Flashing lights. And
questions – lots of questions. Doctors and nurses asking me if I
knew my own name, and what day it was, and if I could count how
many fingers were being held up in front of me. Surprisingly simple
questions become quite a challenge to answer when you’re fading in
and out of consciousness, blood streaming from a gaping wound in
your body.
    I craned my
neck in search of clothes and quickly realized I wasn’t alone.
Valentina was slouched into an angular wooden chair, cradling a
paper cup in her lap. Using her ability to manipulate water she was
creating a tiny show for herself, forcing the liquid to dance and
flow in long, spiralling streams. When she averted her eyes the
water fell, splashing back into the cup.
    “Good morning,
sunshine.” Her voice was scratchy and dry from the winter air. The
dark circles around her eyes indicated that she hadn’t slept in
days – possibly since I was admitted. “Do I submit a form for
overtime pay, or will the funds show up on my next paycheck?”
    “Don’t worry
about it. You’ll be compensated.” I squinted at the oversized clock
on the far wall, which marked each passing second with an annoying
click.
    “Sixty-two
hours, nineteen minutes,” she stated, before I had the chance to
ask the question. “They said you can leave as soon as you’re able
to climb a flight of stairs. You were lucky, Mox. The blade missed
every major vein and artery.”
    I never
believed in the absurd notion of luck, but as I continued to cheat
death time after time, the concept was slowly growing on me.
    As Valentina
continued to fill in the blanks of the previous two and a half
days, a towering, dark-skinned man strolled into the room with a
briefcase in-hand.
    “Officer...Dziobak?” I remembered him from Manhattan, when he was
hired as private security for Cameron Frost. Even with my memory
functioning at a hundred percent, I still had no idea how to
pronounce his name.
    He chuckled and
extended his hand, shaking mine gently. “I told you, Mox – call me
Todd. And it’s ‘detective’