There wasn’t any preparation to be done prior to the meeting, and, rather than stay in the apartment and find an excuse to fret, Milton decided to go for a walk. He walked for miles, and without really being aware of where he was headed, he found himself outside the social club that had hosted his one and only AA meeting since he had arrived in the city. The little sign—the interlinked A’s on blue cardboard—was fixed to the door, and it fluttered in the wind. Another meeting was in progress.

Milton stopped and stared at the sign. He had not found the sense of peace that he usually found when he had attended the meeting. He hadn’t wanted peace. He had sat in the back row and, rather than maintain his usual silence, he had raised his hand to share. He had admitted to the roomful of drunks what it had taken him years to discover: his drinking had been to drown the side of his personality that had allowed him to work for the Group for so long. Alcoholism was his sickness and his cure, or, at least, the only way that he was able to forget. Finding the meetings had given him another way to deal with the burden of guilt that he had to carry.

Beau’s murder meant that the solutions that he had found to his problems—the bottle and then the Fellowship—now seemed counterproductive. He wasn’t going to drink the guilt away, and neither was he going to mediate it through the things he learned in meetings. He didn’t want to forget that darker part of himself.

The killer.

The assassin.

The murderer.

Not now. He no longer wanted to drown that side of his personality.

He needed it.

He knew that what he had elected to do was likely to get him killed, and he was happy with that. He deserved it, and always had. But, if he was preparing to go out, he was going out on his terms, and he would be bringing those responsible for Beau’s death with him.

And, to do that, he needed to be Number One again.

He needed the old Milton.

9

Milton returned to the apartment and changed into a new suit, pairing it with a fresh shirt and a box-fresh pair of loafers. He took a moment in his room to compose himself again. The fact that he was unarmed was a problem, but it could not be avoided. He would be frisked again before he could see López. And, despite his distaste for the Mexican, killing him was not Milton’s objective. Milton had a plan to deliver the punishment that López deserved, but it was one that would bring ruin upon him rather than death. López was a rung on the ladder to a more deserving target; no more, no less.