John Wick - Chapter 27: Henry's Past (Part 2) (Patreon)

Nate picked up his whiskey and took a long drink. The liquor burned down his throat, and only then did he realize his palms were covered in sweat.

“What did Henry use? A gun? He was at that warehouse on the west side tonight, and his accuracy was unbelievable.”

Winston smiled.

“He is very good with a gun. But no, that wasn't his specialty.”

“Poison. When it came to poison, he took the craft as far as it could possibly go. There are plenty of talented people in this world. Henry was fortunate enough to bring every bit of that talent to its full potential.”

Nate had no memory whatsoever of Henry knowing anything about poison.

“So the other members of the High Table agreed to let him take the seat?”

“They did, and they didn't.”

Winston set down his glass, stood, and walked toward the window.

“He fell in love with a woman.”

“She later became his wife and gave birth to a daughter.”

Nate looked up thoughtfully.

Lily's mother?

He had no memory of her at all.

Winston continued.

“According to the High Table's rules, anyone who takes a seat must sever one attachment to their former life and use that sacrifice to prove their loyalty to The Elder. From that moment forward, you are no longer anyone. You exist only as the decision-maker occupying that seat.”

“And in Henry's case, the attachment they chose was his wife.”

“The High Table gave him two options. Kill her, or give up the seat.”

“He gave it up.”

“And then?” Nate asked, his voice tightening.

“Then he disappeared from the world.”

“That easily?”

Winston returned to the sofa, picked up his whiskey, and drained the glass.

“Of course not. Before he left, Henry did something rather significant. The High Table issued a contract on him for an astronomical amount. Seventeen top-tier hitmen went after him.”

“Every one of them failed.”

“Henry killed them?”

“No.”

Winston shook his head.

“He didn't kill any of them. He simply left all seventeen unable to fight back, then left them there for the High Table to collect.”

“And he had them deliver a message.”

“Once that message reached the High Table, the contract was withdrawn.”

Nate waited.

Winston looked at him.

“The message was: Let me leave, or the High Table can choose twelve new people.”

Nate stared at him.

“You're messing with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Winston's answer was immediate.

He set the empty glass down.

“By then, Henry had already assassinated the Seventh Seat and walked away untouched. Even the High Table, an organization that had controlled the global underworld for longer than anyone could remember, chose to compromise.”

“Not because they believed they couldn't kill Henry.”

“They simply calculated the cost.”

“And they realized that hunting him down would cost far more than allowing him to disappear.”

“A top-tier hitman who wants neither money nor power and doesn't care whether he lives or dies, who only wants to take his wife and child somewhere no one knows them and live an ordinary life.”

“That is not the sort of man you provoke.”

“Because once you do, you won't know whether your next meal is safe. Your bathwater, your cigarettes, even the toilet paper you use could be contaminated with something lethal.”

“They were afraid of him.”

Winston's voice softened.

“And that was how Henry successfully left the High Table behind.”

“For all these years, even I had no idea where he was.”

“Until a few days ago, when Charon told me someone had used an old code online. A code I had only ever shared with Henry, something we used to verify each other's identities.”

“That was when I knew he'd returned.”

Winston set down his empty glass and rose to his feet.

“He didn't come back to reminisce.”

“He came back because something happened.”

“A man who gave up a seat at the High Table thirty-three years ago for an ordinary life has suddenly stepped back into this world, bringing his daughter and a gun with him.”

Winston glanced at Nate.

“And he brought you.”

Nate remained silent for a long time.

Winston poured him another drink. His voice stayed calm, but there was something difficult to read in his eyes.

“He never wanted you involved in any of this.”

“But that choice has already been taken out of your hands.”

Winston paused.

“You're nineteen now, aren't you?”

Nate thought for a moment.

“My birthday was a few days ago.”

“I see.”

Winston nodded, then asked a seemingly unrelated question.

“Have you ever heard of the Álvaro family in Paraguay?”

“The drug traffickers?”

“Yes. The drug traffickers.”

“They control thirty percent of South America's cocaine routes.”

“More than thirty years ago, the Álvaro family kidnapped a very famous journalist.”

“Everyone said there was no chance that journalist would make it out alive.”

“Henry went to Paraguay alone.”

“He spent eleven days in Asunción.”

“During those eleven days, the core members of the Álvaro family began disappearing one by one. First their head of security. Then the man in charge of their finances. Then the second-in-command's son. Finally, the second-in-command himself.”

“In the end, Henry killed the men who had kidnapped the journalist and brought him out alive.”

“Within six months, the Álvaro family had completely collapsed.”

Nate turned the story over carefully in his head before finally speaking.

“I get that Henry was incredibly capable. But what does any of that have to do with me?”

Winston studied him for a long moment.

Then he asked, “Care to guess who that journalist was?”

Nate opened his mouth.

Pieces began falling into place in his mind.

He looked at Winston uncertainly.

“That journalist was my father? Vincent?”

Winston nodded.

His gaze remained fixed on Nate, quietly assessing him.

“You now know Henry was a legendary hitman who retired. You know he knew your father. You know he kept his head down all these years and raised you.”

“But have you ever wondered why he chose to reveal who he was tonight?”

Nate didn't answer.

Winston didn't expect him to.

The manager of the New York Continental straightened, adjusted his suit, and once again wore that impeccable professional smile.

“Go upstairs and get some rest,” Winston said. “You're in 307. Henry is in 304.”

“He may decide to talk to you.”

“If he doesn't, don't ask.”

Nate stood and headed toward the stairs.

His hand had barely touched the railing when Winston called after him.

“Nate.”

Nate turned.

Winston stood beside the small round table with both hands in his trouser pockets. The light cast his shadow across the dark red carpet.

For a moment, his expression was unusually gentle. Far too gentle for a man who held so much influence over New York's underworld.

“When Henry left thirty-three years ago, I thought I would never see him again.”

“He is one of the few friends I've ever had.”

“In this line of work, friendship is a luxury. Sometimes you only find it once in your entire life.”

“So please.”

“Don't let him down.”

Nate nodded, turned, and went upstairs.

As he passed the second floor, he could hear Lily's voice coming from somewhere ahead, broken into fragments by the hallway. He couldn't make out what she was saying.

The door to Room 304 wasn't completely closed.

A narrow gap remained, allowing warm yellow light to spill into the hallway and draw a thin line across the carpet.

Nate could hear Lily rummaging through something inside, along with the old man's satisfied grunts.

The sounds were completely ordinary.

They felt strangely out of place after everything that had happened that night.

“Sweetheart, hand me that hot water bottle. My back's about ready to fall apart after everything tonight.”

Lily's exasperated voice immediately followed.

“Dad, what happened to all that confidence from earlier? A little while ago you looked like the greatest marksman alive, and now you're asking me for a hot water bottle?”

“Killing people is one thing. A bad back is another. Two completely different problems.”

Lily laughed.

There was relief in that laugh, the relief of someone who had narrowly survived, but also affection for a father who suddenly seemed both fragile and impossibly strong.

Nate stood outside the door.

Without realizing it, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.

He pulled a gold coin from his pocket, rolled it once across his fingers, then closed his hand around it.

The coin's cold surface quickly warmed against his palm.

Nate raised his hand to knock.

Then he stopped.

“Come in.”

Henry's voice came from inside, slightly muffled by the door.

“If you stand out there much longer, you're going to wear two holes into the hallway carpet.”