Lovelle arrived in Atlanta hoping to stalk his target for a day or two, waiting for an opportune moment to open fire and remove the man from the current life. What he found was that the man was gone. Whether he was on vacation or a business trip Lovelle couldn’t know. All he knew for sure was that the killer would return within two weeks, in time to murder a young girl. The man might not return until the day before, or even the day of the abduction. He might find himself with no time to set up his shot.
Improvising, the first thing he did was locate the victim. Part of his records always included the names of the victims. This was not only because he used them to follow up and ensure he had removed the right target, but, also because you simply couldn’t rule out needing the info. And you could not recover it once lost. In this case, if, for some reason, the killer didn’t show up at home before the final day then Lovelle would stop watching the apartment and start following the girl. And that’s exactly what he ended up doing.
On that final night, Lovelle sat peering over the low wall on the roof of an office building. His position overlooked the window of the killer’s apartment across the street. As always when he found himself peering over a parapet he couldn’t help thinking of the hours he’d spent watching Osama Bin Laden’s compound from another rooftop, in Sudan. On that occasion time was on his side. He could and would have watched for weeks if necessary. But now he was working against a hard deadline. If he missed the bastard then the girl would be gone by tomorrow and dead within days.
Shortly before day break he made his way over to the killer’s apartment. He had to make completely sure he hadn’t somehow missed his target. In a matter of moments he had picked the lock and was silently sweeping through the four rooms. Satisfied he hadn’t missed a trick, he traveled the two miles to the victim’s house and started his vigil there.
Lovelle knew that at some point during this gloomy Saturday, 12 year-old Marsha would go out to the store on an errand for her mother. Without his intervention, she would never make it to the store, being abducted somewhere along the way. This time, she was going to have a shadow wherever she went.
Shortly after breakfast the girl emerged from her house and walked down the street to visit with some friends. She spent a couple of hours popping in and out of her friend’s house, blissfully unaware of the presence of her guardian angel parked a few doors down. Lovelle watched her through darkly tinted Windows in the back of a van he’d picked up for the occasion. When lunch time rolled around she made her way back home and remained there through most of the afternoon. The girl having never left her own block, Lovelle had never moved the van at all. Unless they were watching closely, no one in the neighborhood would have any idea that the vehicle was occupied. Lovelle had long ago mastered the art of surveillance from the back of a cargo van.
It was a technique he had first adopted back in life number two. He had been looking for the September 11 terrorist Mohammed Atta, and he had learned several lessons the hard way. On that occasion he had wound up in the hands of the BKP, Germany’s rough equivalent of the FBI. Now, whenever he rented one of these vehicles he supplied them with window tint, a generous amount of food and beverages, and a portable chemical toilet for emergencies. The latter he left unfilled, except for those emergencies, to save himself from the trouble of disposal. For urination alone he kept empty two liter soda bottles.
He had eaten and done his own business when it became clear that Marsha had gone in for her afternoon meal. So, he was ready when she finally came back out. This time she headed off in the direction of the store, strolling past his van on the opposite side of the street. He was prepared to let her get to the street corner where she would have to turn if she were in fact out on her fatal errand. If she did so, he would follow. She didn’t get that far. The beige sedan of his target rolled past him on his left. The man pulled even with his intended victim and stopped in the middle of the road. Lovelle watched as an arm extended out the window and gestured for the girl. Naively Marsha trotted over. In a matter seconds Lovelle decided he didn’t want to risk getting into a car chase. Although he knew where she would eventually be killed, he did not know what trauma might befall her before he might affect a rescue. He could easily take the man with a rifle shot right here. But that too was a trauma he hoped to spare her. Besides, he had been parked on-this street all day. The chance of being identified was too great. So he decided to get up close and personal with the predator.
Lovelle swung into action. He rushed to the back of the van and popped open the back door, where he would be out of the sightline of the target’s rear view mirror. There was a little bit of mud and gravel against the curb and he jammed his hands into it. He smeared the mess onto his face and clothes and then mussed his hair with his dirty hands. He moved to the sidewalk and then started toward the car in a sort of staggering half run, shouting in the tone of a drunken stupor, “Yo! Jack! Is that you?”
Marsha disengaged from her conversation with her would be adductor and looked at the disheveled Lovelle. A moment later Lovelle arrived at the car and tapped loudly on the passenger window as he peered in. “Hey, Jack. I knew that was your car.” Lovelle drawled. “Gimme a ride, man!” He pulled open the passenger door and flopped into the seat.
At that, Marsha muttered “Whatever” and walked away.
His first objective being accomplished, Lovelle smiled, dropping the drunken affectation. The predator was yelling at him, “What the hell are you doing? Get out of my car you drunken…” The man stopped when he realized his new passenger was far from inebriated. He recognized instantly the threat and reached for something in his jacket pocket. But, he was too slow on the draw as Lovelle drew his Colt 1911 from the shoulder holster under his own jacket.
“Better not.” Lovelle calmly informed him. “Let’s just leave that right where it is for the moment?”’
“What do you want?” The would-be killer asked nervously.
“Right now I want you to put both hands up on the top of your steering wheel.” The man complied, realizing his great disadvantage. Lovelle kept his .45 caliber leveled as he used his left hand to liberate a stun gun from the man’s jacket. “Tsk, Tsk. Tell me, if she didn’t get in on her own, were you going to shock her and drag her in?”
“What… Hey... I wasn’t gonna…”
“Don’t bother,” Lovelle snapped, cutting him off. “Just drive,” He ordered.
“Where am I going?” The man questioned.
“How about 213 Wichita?” Lovelle rattled off the man’s home address. His jaw dropped open and he started to say something but Lovelle continued, “No, wait. How about the abandoned house on Brown Road? That’s where you were going anyhow.”
The predator started, “How do you...?” but stopped himself realizing he was about to confess. “Who are you?”
“You can call me Nostradamus. Now drive!” Lovelle barked. “Take me to the house on Brown before I have to use this thing on you.” He threatened, brandishing the stun gun. The predator finally put the car in gear and accelerated away.
Along the way the predator started to snivel. He didn't actually say anything, but the sound was grating on Lovelle's nerves. "What are you crying for? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? I know what kind of sadistic bastard you are. I know what you had in mind for that girl. I know what you'll do if I don't stop you."
"What are you going to do to me?" the man managed between sobs.
"I'm going to put you on ice until I can prove what you were up to. It would be easy to catch you in the act, but, I can't exactly let you hurt some innocent girl now can I?"
"Who are you? How do you know about me?" The man was no longer bothering to deny who he was. He was too curious about how someone could know what he was up to when he had never given in to, nor spoke aloud of, his deviant inclinations before.
"I told you, I'm Nostradamus. I know the future. Now shut up. Talking to you just makes me sick to my stomach."
After a few minutes the pair
arrived at the abandoned house and Lovelle followed the killer inside. Without hesitation, or a single word, he used the stun gun on the man as soon as they were fully out of view of the street. The killer fell to the ground writhing in pain and Lovelle continued to shock him for good measure. He had never tortured any of his targets and wasn't intending to do so now. But, he had never had to interact with one so closely before, and he was angry. He had always been able to remain detached, not allowing his natural revulsion at the monsters to interfere with the job at hand. But his loathing for this target was hard to tamp down, and he was happy to see the man in pain. So he decided he’d better get it over with quickly.
Out of his jacket pocket he withdrew a homemade single use silencer. The silencer was made from a sports drink bottle and copper scouring pads. It didn't actually silence the shot, but, fitted to the .22 caliber revolver he had in his ankle holster, it suppressed it enough to keep anyone in the vicinity from realizing there had been gunshots. Lovelle attached the bottle and unceremoniously put two rounds through the predator's temple.
***
Lovelle was comfortably back in Laughlin when, several weeks later, the predator's body was discovered. He had taken the car back to the man's apartment complex and cleaned up his own tracks. Local police found nothing to point them in his direction. But, the murder did not go unnoticed by the 7/17 club. A day after the discovery, Baker called Hardy.
"Our vigilante is active again. One of their victims was just found in Atlanta."
"Do tell?" Hardy replied sounding particularly British. "I was really beginning to wonder if something had happened to him." Hardy lied.
"This is our killer alright. They’ve targeted this individual at least twice before. It was a big change in modus operandi though. The vigilante didn't take him out at long range this time. This target was taken up close and personal. Two rounds in the head with a .22. My source says they found evidence of a home made silencer in the wounds."
"That's interesting. I wonder what the impetus of that was." Hardy pondered truthfully. Although he was sure he knew who the vigilante was, he was honestly curious as to what would cause Lovelle to shift methods that way.
"Do you think maybe they took this one personally for some reason?"
"I doubt that. Have you ever seen any evidence that he was anything other than completely dispassionate? I can't imagine someone with our level of experience on this earth suddenly becoming emotionally involved in work he had previously carried out in such a cold blooded manner. Not at this late date."
"I imagine you're right about that. But, I wanna know what could have happened to cause such a change? Something new happened and we didn't have anything to do with it.” Baker paused a moment, thinking, “And why the heck did they hide the body? The killer hasn't bothered to cover up a murder since we nearly caught ‘em. Why do they suddenly care if the police know they killed someone else?"
"He hid the body?" Hardy’s curiosity was really peaked. "Where was the body found?"
“It was in an abandoned house. By the time the police found it the man had been missing for five weeks. He had been on vacation for two weeks before that, so we can’t even make an educated guess as to the date of the murder. I don’t suppose that time frame helps you to eliminate a suspect?” Baker asked hopefully. Hardy took a moment to reply, making it seem as if he were considering his whereabouts at the time.
“No, I’m afraid not. I was in transit during that time.” Hardy lied. He had been in Europe on a mission of his own. “Unless the police can narrow it down further, it will be of little use to my investigation.”
“Of course. Sometimes I think our vigilante has a four leaf clover in their pocket and a lucky horseshoe up their you-know-what.”
“He does seem to have more than his fair share of luck.”
There was a long moment of silence before Baker continued. “I notice you keep referring to the killer as a he. Have you narrowed the list down to just men?”
Hardy bit down on his lip, angry at his faux pas. “No, that’s just a habit. I always seem to think of the vigilante as a male. I suppose it’s just my chauvinistic tendencies, but, I have hard time imagining a woman as the killer.”
“I know what you mean.” Baker concurred. “You’re not letting that cloud your investigation though, are you?”
Hardy snapped, “Of course not. I know better than to make assumptions about my subjects.”
“I’m sorry my friend.” Baker soothed. “I know better than to question your professional skills. I guess I’m just anxious about the whole affair. I had hoped to have put the matter to rest by now.”
“Believe me, I share your frustration. I’ve spent far too long trying to catch the killer. But, it can’t be helped. He, or she, has been very careful not to misstep. In a case like this, one either has to be lucky, or very patient. And, as you’ve said, luck has been on their side.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. I was thinking there might be a way I could help you hurry things along a bit. I’m sure you have a prime suspect or two. I have some good people I trust. We could put your best candidates under 24 hour watch until the next murder. With any luck we could have our killer the next time he strikes.”
“Or, we could tip him off and drive him further under ground. Maybe get some more people killed.” Hardy answered sarcastically. “No offense to your other operatives, but, none of them has half the experience of the vigilante. Hell, I worry that I’m going to get caught, let alone sending some mortal that has no idea what they’re up against. We could set ourselves back another lifetime.”
“How about we put people on your least likely suspects? We could thin the ranks and let you spend your time where it’s more valuable.” Baker persisted.
“Look, Cedric, I appreciate your offer but, I don’t think it’s time for that. Even if I wanted to have a gaggle of operatives mucking about in our business, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to dedicate all of my time to one or two suspects. I’d end up being too conspicuous myself. If I spend too much time on our killer he or she is likely to spot me before I know who it is. Let’s not forget who we’re dealing with.”
“All right friend. I’ll leave it to your judgment,” Baker relented and Hardy ended the call with reassurance that he would call on Baker’s assistance when the time was right for it. The conversation changed Hardy’s timetable completely. Baker was getting too impatient, and what he was proposing could expose Hardy’s own treachery. And his plan was treacherous. Necessary, but, treacherous. Baker was neither a fool, nor a weakling. Hardy could string him along for a while, but, Baker would eventually realize that there was a problem with either Hardy’s judgment, or his motives. And then Baker would set his operatives to work on his own, and Hardy wouldn’t know it until it was too late. He would be found out and his mission would face its first real resistance ever. And although he was confident he could manage it, he didn’t take risks unnecessarily. Like Lovelle, he didn’t do his work to achieve some thrill. He did it because it had to be done.
He could no longer wait for concrete proof that Lovelle was the vigilante. He would have to live with the circumstantial evidence. He was 99 percent sure, and that would have to be good enough. Baker was moving from the asset column to the liability one. His value in tracking the vigilante was now outweighed by the threat that he might discover what Hardy was up to. And, with Maria already in the country, he was clear to do what he had to do. The next phase of Hardy’s American mission would have to start now.
Chapter 16
Maria was none too happy after Lovelle told her about his last mission. Too many jobs like that and he was sure to get nabbed. But, with still no indication that Baker was going to turn him over to the authorities, Lovelle didn’t expect to have to cut any more missions so close. He was on schedule again and could go back to stalking and being the sniper. In his confusion about being identified by the club, he wondered if it might be time for Maria to make contact. “W
hat do you think about giving Caroline a call?”
“I don’t know.” Maria was pensive. “I had thought I was done with the club. Do you think it’s safe?”
“I don’t want you to go to see anyone. I just thought you could make contact. Get a sense of where things stand. You know her pretty well. She’s smart, but, pretty guileless. I think you’d know right away if she even suspected you. Heck, if it turns out I was just being paranoid, we might need you to get back in the club somewhere down the line.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to call. I can pretend I just got out of Cuba. If she knows better, I think I’ll be able to tell.”
***
Maria called Caroline at a number she’d used for the last 5 lives. Her old friend seemed genuinely happy to hear from her.
“Maria, it’s been so long. I was beginning to wonder if that man of yours had you tied up some where. Of course, that would only account for the last few years before the time change. I assume you’ve been busy getting yourself out of Cuba this time. So you decided to risk taking a different boat then?”
“Yes.” Maria answered, happy that her friend seemed to have no idea she'd arrived several years ago. “I had a little difficulty coming over this time. I nearly got caught. But I just couldn’t stand to wait this time. You know, now that I have someone to come for.”
Time Skip (Book 2): The Time Skippers Page 13
