She entered the garage through the pedestrian entrance, and nodded to the tall man that waited at the elevator. He smiled slightly, nodded back, and then looked back towards the elevator. She noticed the call light wasn’t on. She reached over and punched the button.
“Silly me.” He said, as the bell rang and the door slid open. He gestured for her to enter ahead of him. She did, and punched the button for the third floor. He entered behind her, glanced at the panel, and then punched the button for the fourth floor. The door slid shut. “Hot today.” He said in a friendly tone. She nodded, but continued to stare at the digital floor indicator. It read two. The read-out switched to three, the bell rang, and the door slid open. She glanced at him, smiled slightly. He nodded, as she exited the elevator. She was several steps away when she heard the door slide shut. Suddenly his arm wrapped around her throat. Eyes wide, her scream was stifled in her throat.
“Shh.” He whispered into her ear. “Where is your car?” She continued to struggle, and his grip tightened and made it difficult for her to breathe. She relaxed her body a bit, and his grip eased off. As she felt his grip relax, she launched into the self defense moves she had learned from her daughter’s karate instructor. Her foot came down hard on his insole, her elbow slammed backwards into his rib cage. He released her. Then suddenly excruciating pain flooded her body, and she fell to the concrete floor. Her body shook in agony. Blue sparks emanated from the end of his phone, and then went dark. He picked up her keys from where she had dropped them, and pushed a button on the wireless remote. He heard a chirp nearby. He hit the button again, and saw the tail lights flash. He reached down and grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her over to the car. The trunk popped open, and he heaved her into the trunk. Her dress tore as her body sprawled inside.
She landed hard, and the back of the car bounced a little under the sudden weight. She was still out, but roused slightly. He bent down inside the trunk, and wrapped his hands around her throat. As he squeezed, suddenly she came fully awake, her eyes wide in terror and she began to fight him. He squeezed harder as her face bulged, and her struggles became less and less fierce. Her gaze shifted from terror to blankness, yet he continued to squeeze, until he was satisfied that she was dead. He raised up, straightened, and stretched his back. Just as a man in business suit walked around the corner, he slammed the trunk lid shut. The man ignored him as he passed.
He unlocked the car and entered the driver’s side, and cursed under his breath as he folded himself tightly into the seat. He immediately began to adjust the seat to accommodate his long legs. He then adjusted his mirrors, carefully buckled the seat belt, and started the car. The radio blared, and he casually turned it off. He adjusted the air conditioner to seventy two degrees, turned the fan on high, and then pulled the small plain envelope out of his coat pocket. A small a black card-like object fell into the palm of his gloved hand from the envelope. He inserted it into the slot on the side of his phone and activated the menu. After a few taps on the screen, it asked for a password. He entered the first set of coordinates, and it asked for a second password. He entered the second set of coordinates, and it again asked for another password. He entered his professional name, ‘Mr. Smith’. The screen turned blank for a second, before listing page after page of information. There was a list of names, all with the same last name, along with hobbies, habits, areas they were known to frequent, and most importantly their address, including GPS coordinates. He tapped on the first name, and the face of a middle-aged man dressed in a business suit appeared. He tapped the image again, and it zoomed in. He tapped again, and the man’s eyes filled the screen. His target was defined.
He returned to the original list, and quickly scanned through it and memorized the important parts. He dismissed those that would not be needed. He scrolled through and glanced briefly at each individual’s picture briefly, then he closed the application, and ejected the card. He rolled the window down, as he toggled a barely noticeable red switch on the corner of the tiny black card, and then dropped it out of the window. He backed out of the parking space and drove off towards the exit. The card lay there for a few seconds, and suddenly began to smolder and catch fire. Seconds passed as smoke began to pour from the small black card, and then just as suddenly, it stopped. The last remnants of smoke drifted upwards, and the charred, melted, black card lay quietly on the ground. A blackened mound of useless plastic.
Smith paid with three one dollar bills when he left the parking garage, and drove slowly back to the hotel. He pulled into the parking lot, and drove up to the fourth floor, before he found a sufficiently secluded spot to park. He got out and stepped to the back of the car. From his pocket he pulled a small roll of black tape, and in a matter of seconds had modified three of the seven digits on the license plate.
Once he had returned to his room, he removed all of his clothes and entered the bathroom. As he reached into a small black bag on the vanity and withdrew a pair of tweezers, he inspected his featureless smooth face. He bent forward, looked into the mirror, and began to pluck the few whisps of eyebrows that had grown back since his last job. Hair after hair he pulled, and never winced. Satisfied with that, slowly and methodically he began to shave his entire body. He first lathered, then shaved his legs, arms, and chest. He shaved his already plucked eyebrows, his entire face, and even his hands. He took special care to remove the hair from his knuckles. Finally he was completely shaven. As he admired his smooth shaven head in the mirror, he started the shower. From the open bag on the vanity, he removed a scouring pad and scrub brush. With these he entered the shower and began his ritual cleansing that would ensure that no DNA evidence could ever be found after he had completed a job. As the hot scouring water beat down on his tortured skin, he scrubbed harder and harder. Rubbing off any loose dying skin cells, as they washed down the drain. Though he disliked this part of his chosen profession, it was a necessity, and he approached it with a careful cool professionalism. Surgeons rarely spent the time and effort that he did on cleansing their own hands. Hospital operating rooms would rarely be as clean as he would be after this preparation.
As he scrubbed, his skin began to take on a definite pink hue. His chest, devoid of any masculine hair, looked raw and tender, yet he continued to scrub. He scrubbed his hands and fingers much like a carpenter would sand a rough cut board. And soon, satisfied that the job was thorough enough, he rinsed, and let the hot scalding water run over him in waves, as though it was purifying his very soul. Gradually he began to decrease the temperature of the water, to soothe his now sensitive skin, until finally only cold water poured from the shower nozzle. Slowly the pinkish hue began to subside, and shortly thereafter he turned off the water. He stepped out of the shower, patted his body down, careful not to rub his tender skin, and once dry began to rub a soothing ointment over his entire body. He inspected his handiwork in the mirror, as he checked to ensure he had not missed any spots. He plucked here and there with tweezers at hairs that had been missed by his razor. Once satisfied that he was finished, he walked into the room itself, nude and uninhibited even though the curtains were open.
He lifted his suitcase onto the bed, and opened it. He withdrew a pair of long legged thermal underpants, and stepped into them. Next a pair of knee high socks, which he put on so that overlapped the legs of the underpants. Then he put on a long sleeved thermal top, careful to ensure that it to over lapped the pants. He produced a roll of gray duck tape from his suitcase, and began to carefully tape the overlapping edges that he had just created. He knew that no DNA evidence could ever be found when he left a job. The same set of rituals had served him faithfully for ten years, and each time he was as careful as the last. But consciously, he thought of none of these practices, as they had already become second nature. Even as he pulled on his gloves, and taped the joints between them and the sleeves of the thermal top, his mind was already on the job ahead. Soon it would be time.
Later, after his ri
tual had been completed, he had gone back to the parking garage, outwardly dressed much as before. As he drove out of the garage he had adjusted the air conditioning down to sixty, and slowly drove towards his destination, careful to obey all traffic laws. Clouds had rolled in over the city while he had prepared himself for the job, and a mist of rain had begun to fall on the windshield, as the car crept to a stop in front of the apartment complex. Nothing was unusual about this building. It looked much like the others that lined both sides of the street. Smith glanced at his phone, and closed the GPS application. He had arrived at his destination. As he turned off the ignition, he reached for the bottle of spring water in the cup holder, opened the top and took a long slow drink. He returned the plastic bottle to its holder, checked his holster for his gun, and straightened his jacket. He was ready. He got out of the car and walked up the steps to the door, and glanced across the list of names on the buzzer panel. He reached for a button, punched it and waited for someone to answer.
“Yeah?” The young female voice asked from the speaker above the panel.
“Pizza delivery.” He said.
“I didn’t order pizza.”
“Oh I’m sorry, I hit the wrong button.” He reached back towards the panel and pressed another button.
“Hello?” A gruff mail voice called.
“Pizza delivery.” He said.
“What? I ain’t ordered no damn pizza.”
“Sorry. I must have hit the wrong button.” Again he reached to the panel and punched a button.
“Yes?” The frail voice of an older woman asked.
“Mrs. Burnette?” He asked as he read the name from the buzzer panel. “This is father Mahoney.” The tall man said with a sudden thick Irish accent. “From Our Mother of Reverence? We spoke last month, I believe. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop in and check on you.”
“Father Mahoney?”
“Yes. Father Mahoney with Our Mother of Reverence?”
“I don’t recall speaking with you.”
“You told me then that you were having a little trouble remembering things. But no matter, I just wanted to make sure that you were feeling well.” He paused for a second, as he gave her a moment to try her best to remember the nonexistent conversation. “Could you buzz me in please, and I’ll come up for a nice little chat.” Silence followed.
“I suppose. Just a second.” The woman said as a smile spread across Smith’s face.
“The third time is always the charm.” He whispered to himself. Suddenly an aggravating buzzing sound began to come from the front door, and he opened it and entered the apartment building. The foyer of the apartment building led to double elevators, and as he pushed the button, one door opened. He entered the empty elevator and punched the button for the third floor, then patiently waited as the elevator began to climb. When it stopped on the third floor, he peered out of the elevator, ensured that the hallway was empty, and then walked directly to the apartment that he was looking for. He rang the doorbell, and waited for a response. He heard voices inside, the TV going, and a stereo in the background, possibly in another room. Soon he heard footsteps as they approached the door, and the door opened. The middle-aged man from the photo on his phone stood in the doorway.
“Can I help you?” He asked, as he sized up Smith.
"Hi. You must be Johnny’s dad. I’m Ralph Mahoney. From your son’s school? I’m with the PTA, and if I could, I need to speak to your wife, Brenda." The man hesitated slightly as he eyed him. Smith stood there and smiled, his hands in his pockets. The man turned his back to the door and stepped back inside.
“Brenda! It’s for you!” He said as the Smith stepped inside behind him and quietly closed the door. He removed his phone from his pocket, and as he slid the switch on the battery compartment, a smile came to his face.
Chapter 10
BackTrek Page 9
