He stared at the silent TV screen, as his elongated figure sat awkwardly upright in the chair by the window. He did not concentrate at all on the images as they flickered across the screen, but relaxed his mind instead. He was here to do a job for a repeat client, and patiently waited for the message to arrive on his phone. It was a high tech smart phone, activated and billed to a Mr. Willard Appleton, though Mr. Appleton never saw the bill and would never know of its existence. He had helped this client of his several times through the years. Always on a professional level. They would never be confused as being friends, or for that matter, even acquaintances. They had never spoken, nor had they ever met. When the message came through to the specially created online email account, the subject line of the email would be the location where he would be able to find the target information. Once the job was completed, he’d receive another message with the location of the account number and pass code of the offshore account where his payment had been deposited. It was safe, secure, and little other involvement if any was ever needed.
In the last week, he had completed another job for this client. He had carefully and meticulously tied up a few loose ends, as directed. Payment had been on time as always, which was why he so patiently awaited his next contact. A local commercial for honest used cars began to parade across the small screen that sat on top of the hotel dresser, when the phone suddenly chimed. Slowly, deliberately he glanced over at the phone on the table beside him. He reached for it, triggered the unlock sequence and read the message. A set of numbers appeared across the screen. He immediately recognized them as Global Positioning Satellite coordinates. He activated the navigation application, fed in the coordinates, and clicked find. Instantly a map appeared. It zoomed to a closeup view of the city, then as he toggled the zoom bar, the detail became clearer frame by frame until finally it reached street level. The coordinates indicated an intersection downtown, one that he was familiar with as he had been there many times. He knew that the coordinates would lead him into the bus station, and more specifically into the men’s restroom at the north end. In this drop location, he knew that in one of the stalls, he would find a key taped under the tank of the toilet. A key to a locker in the bus station. His client seemed to like this method of assigning his targets, but to him, it mattered little. This was just another job. He put on his coat, pocketed the phone, and headed for the door.
In the elevator, he removed his gun from its holster. He checked the clip, and snapped it back into place. He pulled the slide back, as he checked the chamber, then let it pop back into place. He engaged the safety, and then double checked that the silencer was firmly attached to front of the barrel. Satisfied, he slid the weapon back into the specially designed shoulder holster. His jacket slid back into place just as the elevator door slid open. He stepped into the lobby, nodded at the concierge who had looked up as the door had opened, then exited the lobby onto the busy street outside. Horns honked and cabbies yelled at the intersection, as he crossed the street in the tide of pedestrians at the crosswalk. It was only a few blocks to his destination, and he knew in this sea of humanity that he would appear to be just another citizen making his way to his destination. Even though his appearance might be considered unorthodox, in a city as large as this, he wouldn’t be considered unusual or even noteworthy.
As he approached the bus station, he activated the GPS application, and glanced at the coordinates. He entered the building and headed straight for the north restroom, and smiled ever so slightly as the numbers began to get closer and closer to the coordinates that he sought. Here, occasionally a passerby would look at him, put aside by his height, his slim build wrapped in the long dark coat that he wore, his smooth shaven head as it glistened in the light, or the fact that he had no eyebrows. He paid them no mind. It was the bus station after all, he couldn’t possibly look that out of place. He reached the door to the restroom and glanced around. A small boy glared intently at him from behind a bench on the opposite side of the corridor. The boy was frozen in his stare, like a frightened animal in oncoming headlights. He looked back at the boy harshly, but after a moment, his expression turned warm and an ever so slight smile crept across his face. The boy continued to stare back in fear.
He entered the restroom just as another man exited. A quick glance revealed only one other man bent over at the bank of sinks. The young man at the sink had a nervous look about him, and glanced quickly at and then away from him. He dismissed the young man at the sink and walked up to the first urinal, and began to relieve himself. The sounds of the running water in the sink echoed throughout the room. He felt relief as the steady stream of urine spattered in the urinal. Suddenly with a flash of steel, a knife was at his throat.
“Give me your damn money, motherfucker!” The young punk yelled. The tall man continued to relieve himself. “I said give me your damn money, or I’m gonna slit your fucking throat!” He pressed the blade deeper into the tall mans throat, but still received no response. “What are you, deaf? I said give me your fucking money!” The tall man finished, and carefully zipped his pants. He had still not acknowledged the young punk who nervously continued to push the knife deeper against his throat. He reached up to push the button that would flush the urinal. “What are you deaf and dumb. I’m gonna cut your fucking throat you lousy-” In one swift lightning quick move, the tall man spun around, faced the man, and slammed his hand upward into the mans face. Bones broke as the punk’s nose was driven back into his face and erupted with a sudden flood of blood. As the punk flew backwards across the room, and slammed into the far wall, his knife clattered harmlessly onto the tile floor. The tall man approached slowly as the younger man lay in a heap. He was unconscious and slumped against the wall where he had landed. He stopped and picked up the knife which seconds ago had been at his throat.
“Will they never learn?” He said to himself as he approached the crumpled figure against the wall. He grabbed the young man by his hair, and deftly dragged him with one hand to a large waste container that sat near the row of sinks. He let the young man fall back to the floor as he removed the top of the container, then grabbed him by his hair again and lifted his unconscious body upright.
“I believe you dropped this, sir.” He said as he plunged the knife into the punk’s throat. As blood began to ooze from the newly created wound, he shoved him head first into the container, folding the body slightly. He gently replaced the top to the container. He shook his head slightly in contempt of the young man’s actions, and thereby demise, and walked to the sink and began to wash the blood from his hands. As he finished, another man walked into the restroom, nodded at him and disappeared into the first stall. The tall man dried his hands, and then looked back at his phone. As he walked past the first stall, the numbers became closer to those that he was looking for, and finally lined up on the third stall. Inside, taped under the tank of the toilet he found the key. As he removed the tape, he heard the other man flush and exit the stall. A few seconds passed before he heard the water began to run in the sink. He slid the key into his pocket, dropped the wad of tape into the toilet bowl and flushed it. He exited the stall as the other man turned off the water and reached for the towel dispenser to dry his hands. As he reached the exit door he looked back as the other man attempted to put his used towels into the waste container which contained the punk’s body. He tried several times to push the flaps at the top inward, but they banged on the contents inside. Finally exasperated, the man laid his crumpled towels on top of the container and he too headed for the door.
As the tall man exited the restroom, he once again caught the eye of the small boy that still hid behind the bench. He smiled softly at the young boy, but his focus had shifted now. He was on a job. He headed for the locker area, adjacent to the restrooms. In seconds he had located the correct locker, and opened it carefully, using the lockers themselves to shield his body. He had lost associates through the years due to booby trapped drop
sites, but usually when payment was overdue, rarely when the target was being assigned. Still he was too careful to allow any mistakes. After all he had been in this business for well over ten years, and expected to continue for some time to come. As the locker opened, it appeared empty, except for a single small white envelope that lay at the bottom to the rear. He carefully picked up the envelope, shoved into his coat pocket, closed the locker and left.
He nonchalantly exited the bus station, and headed down the side walk towards the parking garage a block down the road. As he walked he removed the antibacterial gel from his pants pocket, squirted a small amount into his hand, and rubbed them together vigorously. He hated the idea of someone’s blood on his hands. You never knew what diseases they might have, he thought, as he squirted more of the gel into his hand and repeated the process. Soon he entered the pedestrian entrance to the garage, and reached out with his elbow to activate the elevator call button. The door in front of him opened immediately. He watched as it slid open and revealed the empty elevator. He stepped back and watched as the door hesitated, and then slid back shut. He reached into his jacket, and removed his phone, and activated a small slide switch on the battery compartment. His thumb pressed a concealed button on the other side and an arc of blue sparks shot across the front edge of the phone. The smell of ozone entered his nostrils. He smiled. He waited.
Chapter 6
BackTrek Page 5
