by JM Addison
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Enrique Limina was what you would call a “professional”. From his well-groomed appearance, he could pass as a young executive of any of the South American financial investment organizations - well tailored suits and cultured mannerisms. He worked hard to reduce his accent of Colombian dialogue to a level that some might consider ‘romantic’. In reality, he was no financial consultant, rather, he was a thug. Worse than a thug! He had a cold job for which he was paid very generously. Years spent as an enforcer for one of the largest illegal drug organizations in Columbia sharpened his skills of the trade.
Most of his clients were either of the executive or political variety. Perhaps someone who needed an opponent out of the way. Competition that was eating away too much of the market. Revenge perhaps for past perceived sins.. He could care less about any of his victims and even felt somewhat justified in knowing that in most cases his targets were deserving of their deaths.
He only dealt with his customers anonymously. He wanted no ‘face to face’ contact to later incriminate him as the ‘trigger man’ in someone else’s problems. His clients like it that way too. No way for an evidence trail to lead the authorities to the ultimate killers.
He was a bit more concerned about this new case though. From the photograph he was given, the target looked to be a young woman. Even kind of pretty. Too bad. He wondered what she could have done to deserve so much hatred from his customer. He had to negotiate a higher fee for this one because he didn’t normally do women and she didn’t seem like the deserving type. They must have been pretty serious about getting rid of her since they had no problem with the price.
True, he was expensive, but he produced results. In fact, he never asked for any money in advance, only after the ‘service’ was delivered. Of course, all of his clients knew better than to try to withhold payment once services were rendered.
Now he sat in the cheap room thumbing through the documents he was provided with his tanned, slender fingers. The tough part would be finding her. To assist him, he owned a credit reporting agency. There was no ‘documented’ ownership of the organization so there was no traceable tie back to him. It was simply a means to an end. He didn’t earn any money with the business itself but it did allow him computerized access to millions of financial transactions. The legitimacy of the business made contacts with other agencies that much easier. Hence, he could look into driving records, spending activity, legal history, insurance records and any criminal background detail. In the case of this specific individual, he was also using the resources and contacts of the client. He didn’t like to be this closely tied to one of his clients, but if he was going to find her, he would need access to any resource he could make use of.
Still, if a person did not want to be found, they could make the job that much more difficult. Doing the actual ‘service’ of getting her out of the way would be the easy part. He gazed thoughtfully at her photo again and reconsidered with a slight smile. No, not the easy part, the fun part.
