the time, the people he really saw were through the crosshairs of a gun sight. After years of practicing being unseen, practice became perfect and no one saw
him. His career made his life very impersonal. Even after two years of dealing with the same employer and
over half a million dollars of fees, he’d never met the man face-to-face. His home in Boston was like the motel room he sat in now. There were no photographs of
him or his family, books, CDs or other material possessions.
If someone walked into his house they couldn’t
tell if he had moved in, let alone lived there. He snapped out of his thoughts before he depressed himself.
He had work to do.
He removed one of the three cellular phones from
the briefcase. This one, like the other two, was the payas-you-go type, unregistered and purchased with cash.
This phone he used for his employer. He disposed of the phones regularly to prevent a regular record building up against any one person. He selected the preset number and listened to the phone dial. The call was picked up immediately.
“Yes?” his employer said.
“I have an update on the situation,” the professional said.
“And?”
“The Michaels assignment was unsuccessful.”
“What the hell do you mean? You told me it was
completed yesterday.”
“Your mark suddenly discovered he could swim.
Your files were wrong.” The professional emphasized that the blame wasn’t his.
The employer put his temper on a leash, but it
wouldn’t take much to set it off again. “Is there any police involvement?”
“Yes, but they’ve got nothing to go on. I’ve been monitoring police dispatches on my scanner. I’ve
caught a couple of transmissions and there are no further actions planned unless anything else comes to
light. Which it won’t.”
“It better not. What’s your next move?”
“I’m going to do some more research on Michaels,
get involved in his life. The closer I am to him the easier it will be.”
“I don’t want you exposing us,” the employer said.
“What about the other project?”
“To be dealt with over the next few days. I see fewer problems with that one. She’s less active than Michaels.”
“Let’s hope your next call reports success and not failure.”
“Have I ever failed before?”
The professional heard the line disconnect and
switched the phone off. He bore no resentment for his employer. The man was a greedy asshole who believed he was in control. That was fine with him. That thinking made his employer vulnerable, making it easy for
the professional to eliminate him if the occasion arose.
He replaced the cell phone in the briefcase and removed another of the phones and an address book. The
professional flicked through its pages. The names and addresses it contained didn’t belong to friends, family or business contacts, but victims. Each name was the name of a person he’d killed on behalf of his current employer. He felt obliged to record their names for posterity. All craftsmen kept records of their work, so why shouldn’t he? He knew carrying the book with
him was highly risky, but he couldn’t help himself.
He stopped at the Ms. It listed only one name. The names of Michaels and Macey were to be added very soon. He tapped the page and said, “Not long now.”
He returned the book and the files to the briefcase and locked it. Taking the case with him, he left the motel room for his car. He got into a Ford Taurus, the Explorer’s replacement. He knew the police didn’t have a
make on the license plate, but it wasn’t worth taking risks. Opening the case again, he removed the 9mm semiautomatic pistol. He checked it and holstered it under his jacket.
“Let’s see what Mr. Michaels is up to tonight,” the professional said to himself.
CHAPTER FIVE
Josh walked into the sports bar and scanned the room for someone he knew. The bar was cool and the after work crowd was just arriving. The level of conversation was set on simmer, but Bob Deuce’s voice could always be heard above the level of any conversation. There he was, two hundred and twenty-five pounds of happy
man. His size was the product of beer, junk food and a voracious appetite for sports. Any sport would do; he had even developed a taste for soccer in recent years.
Sitting at the bar, Bob objected loudly to a baseball umpire’s decision on the television. He expressed his dislike to a man sitting next to him that Josh didn’t know. Knowing Bob, he didn’t know the man either, but he had a way of picking up conversations with complete strangers. Bob s disgusted look turned into a broad grin when he saw Josh looking in his direction.
“Hey, glug, glug, Captain Nemo,” Bob boomed
across the room.
Everyone turned in Josh’s direction and his face felt hot with embarrassment. He raised a hand at his friend
and crossed the room, trying to avoid the unwanted gazes.
“Barkeep, a glass of your River City water for my good friend,” Bob demanded.
“What can I get you, Nemo?” The barman failed to
show the slightest interest in Bob’s reference.
“A Sam Adams,” Josh said.
The barman cracked open a bottle and put it in front of Josh.
“This is the man who climbed from his sinking car in the Sacramento River and swam to shore even though he can’t swim,” Bob expanded while paying for Josh’s drink.
“You’re the one,” the barman responded flatly, then moved on to the next customer.
“I saw that on TV. You’re a lucky man,” the man sitting next to Bob said.
“Something like that,” Josh said, before turning to Bob. “With your level of subtlety you should work with the terminally ill. You have a great bedside manner.”
“Hey, man, you looked as though you needed a little tail pulling. Your face is longer than that jump you made into the river. But seriously, I’m glad you’re okay, pal. You scared us for awhile,” Bob said and slapped Josh on the back.
“I’m glad to be around and thanks for looking after Kate and Abby, I appreciate it,” Josh said.
“You’re not going to tell me you love me and get all metrosexual on me, are you?”
“Bite me,” Josh said, smiling.
“That’s my boy.”
Josh swigged his beer and watched the game with
Bob to allow a moment to compose himself before
broaching the subject of his problems. Bob ruined his plan by speaking first.
“So why did you want to meet here?” Bob gestured
to the bar with the bottle. “We haven’t been in a bar together for some time. What’s up?”
“Come on, let’s sit down where we won’t be overheard.”
