Of course, he hadn't told George yet.
They had only just returned yesterday. He couldn't exactly step off the plane and imdiately say, "Hey George, I'm planning to take Gwen out to sea for New Year's, so we won't be spending it with you."
George would lose his mind.
To George, this trip to Augusta was practically an elopent. He had called three tis a day—morning, noon, and night—without fail. Once, when Gwen was in the shower and missed a call, George had dialed Locke's phone directly.
And then... Gwen had answered.
At that mont, Locke could clearly sense George's heart rate spike and his breathing grow heavy through the phone. If they had been in New York at the ti, Locke had no doubt George would have ordered the NYPD to surround his room within minutes.
But now, Locke looked at Gwen's expectant gaze and smiled, nodding. His expression said: 'I'll tell him when we go fishing this weekend.'
He hoped George would agree. If not, Locke mused that George might regret not wearing a helt while fishing.
...
Late afternoon.
Locke and Gwen said their goodbyes to Cindy and Kahn. Midtown High had technically started its winter break yesterday—at least for those following the "Happy Education" track. For those pursuing a real education, today was the official start of the holidays.
Gwen buckled her seatbelt as she got into the R8. "Coming over for dinner?"
Locke smiled, waving his phone. "I left so things at Chester's place before we went to Augusta. I need to go pick them up."
Gwen's eyes lit up. "Need help?"
Locke thought for a second. "You could help, but it would an lying to your father."
"Huh?"
"Guess what I'm picking up."
Gwen saw the mysterious smirk on Locke's face and imdiately understood. She sighed helplessly. "You know that if the NYPD catches you, you're in trouble, right? My dad definitely won't help you."
Locke figured he'd be lucky if George didn't kick him while he was down. "I'm a cowboy, Gwen. Besides, I'm not drinking in public."
Gwen shook her head. "Fine, I won't go with you. But you'd better hide it well. Dad told last ti he ca over exactly where he found your stash."
Locke looked at her. "Maybe you could text those locations so I can find new spots?"
Gwen rolled her eyes. "...Fine."
Locke's lips curled upward. See? Having an inside informant was wonderful. Poor George probably hadn't realized his "little girl" was leaking information like a sieve.
After dropping Gwen off, Locke swung by Chester's to load ten bottles of Thunder Bourbon into his car before heading ho to the Star Tower. Looking at his empty bar, he licked his lips. "To fill this place up, I'll probably have to wait another four years."
He shook off the thought, feeling the connection to his "dead" clone in Augusta. He severed the energy transmission to the decoy and used the Golden Apple to manifest his true self.
...
Deep of night.
A car sped through the streets.
An industrial warehouse in Brooklyn.
Locke, wearing his sunglasses, sat in the car and made a call before flashing his high beams twice. Monts later, the heavy warehouse doors slowly groaned open. He drove straight in.
Getting out, Locke glanced at the ard guards flanking the entrance. He offered a light laugh and shook hands with a white-haired elderly man walking toward him. "Dr. Keller, sorry for the trouble tonight."
Whether as Locke or the Peerless Assassin, he remained impeccably polite. Especially since he needed sothing from Hans Keller.
Hans Keller.
The gold-standard plastic surgeon of the criminal underworld. A magician of identity. If you committed a cri and could find Dr. Keller, his miraculous hands could give you a completely new life.
However, his fees were astronomical. Usually, he only took clients like legendary jewel thieves. It was a common consensus that thieves were wealthier than assassins.
Hans Keller looked at Locke—suit-clad even at midnight, sunglasses on, leather gloves never removed. He offered a strained smile. "This way, please."
If he had a choice, he wouldn't have taken this job. He preferred jewel thieves not because of the money, but because they lacked the cold ruthlessness of assassins. He never had to worry about a thief "cleaning up" the witness after the surgery.
But he had no choice. He could only hope the Peerless Assassin would be like his other exceptional client—Raymond Reddington—and not kill the goose that laid the golden eggs.
Locke seed to read his mind. "Relax, Dr. Keller. I don't kill the innocent. That's why you chose to take my call, isn't it?"
'Choice?' Keller thought bitterly. 'If you hadn't knocked on my window in the middle of the night, I wouldn't have given you the ti of day.'
Keller led Locke into a state-of-the-art surgical suite. He nodded to two nurses and stepped out, leaving Locke alone with the girl sitting on the bed.
Locke tilted his head and smiled. "Chosen your new face yet, Carrie?"
Carrie stared at him. "Why?"
Yes. Carrie.
The body pulled from the ruins wasn't her; it was a Golden Apple construct. The real Carrie had been whisked away on a private "black" flight that very night.
Locke pulled up a chair, grabbed an orange from the bedside table, and began peeling it. "My power is for killing, Carrie, not for suicide."
That night, Carrie hadn't used the potion to save her mother. She had intended to die with her.
Locke handed half the peeled orange to the girl. "Your actions that night were impulsive, not a calculated decision. If you still want to die after this, no one can stop you, can they?"
Carrie looked at the orange, remaining silent. "So many people died. I'm a demon. Mother said I was the daughter of a demon."
"They were guilty," Locke said softly. "When you first wanted power, wasn't it so that no one could bully you? The ones who died were the ones who mocked and humiliated you. Even in your rage, you spared those who helped you... like Miss Desjardin."
Carrie's eyes flickered. In the gym, she had almost lost her mind. She had even lifted Miss Desjardin into the air, intending to electrocute her. But her reason had prevailed. She recognized the only teacher who had ever stood up for her.
"And Sue!" Locke added.
"Sue?"
"Yes. Even though she played pranks on you, she knew she was wrong and tried to fix it. You forgave her and pushed her out of the house at the last second, didn't you?"
Carrie bit her lip. "Sue..."
"See? The ones who died deserved it. The innocent, you didn't touch. Do you think a demon would act that way?"
Carrie hesitated, then shook her head.
Locke's smile brightened as he pressed the rest of the orange into her hand. "Now, you have a new life. Pick a face and start over. Your future is far more brilliant than the futures of those you left behind. I promise."
She was his first recruit, after all. He couldn't let his first "M78 Nebula" mber die so easily. Besides, Carrie was a Witch. Locke would never switch his own class to Witch—that was like cross-dressing; once you start, there's no turning back. Having a Witch subordinate was a practical necessity.
Locke patted the edge of the bed and stood up. "I look forward to your rebirth, Carrie."
"...Wait."
Locke turned. "Sothing else?"
Carrie looked at him from the doorway. "Why?"
Locke stood silent for a mont.
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