Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Guerrero reached for the doorknob, flinched, took a step back and froze.
"What you're experiencing right now are the first symptoms of a poisoning with pseudaconitine, a rather deadly alkaloid that's obtained from a plant called Wolfsbane", an ominous female voice behind him whispered. "At first there'll be some burning and tingling, that's the funny sensation in your hand and arm bothering you right now. It'll soon be followed by sudden, uncontrollable weakness of the extremities. As the substance spreads, your body temperature will drop, making you think that icy water is running through your veins. It'll also affect your breathing: At first it'll be rapid, then slow, and finally... " She let the sentence trail off. "A spectacular-looking dark red ring will develop around the puncture site. When it has reached the size of a dollar coin and turned black, it'll be too late for the antidote." She paused again. "In some cases it's a matter of ten minutes."
"Who are you?", Guerrero asked, swaying slightly.
"The person you screwed out of her hard-earned payment", she hissed angrily, side-stepped him and replaced the manipulated doorknob with the real one. "Don't even think of attacking me. This here..." she held up a small glass bottle "…is the antidote. Very hard to get. You try anything, I'll crack the vial - goodbye Guerrero."
"Effective way to control a target." He was visibly trying to slow down his breathing. "And no need for a gun."
"I don't like guns. They're inelegant and crude. Any fool can use a gun." She pushed the cheap motel room's door open. "Move."
As Guerrero stumbled into the room, he saw his attacker properly for the first time. She was surprisingly young. Pretty, in an unconventional way – slim and tiny, deceivingly fragile. A bit pale, maybe, but eyes like dark lakes. No wonder she had used theatrical tricks in her little entrance speech. Most people probably didn't take her seriously. But from what Guerrero had heard, usually only once.
"Apparently, recently passed away industrial tycoon Mr. Reginald Stevenson had more than one enemy. If I figured this out correctly, you and I were both hired to kill him, but by different clients. I got to him first, finished the job in my usual gracious, hard-to-trace way and then you came in with your plump men's toy of a 45er, discovered that he had already bitten the dust and decided to tell your client it was your work. Unfortunately my client got wind of that and refused to pay me." More out of habit than any real interest she patted him down.
Guerrero's legs threatened to give way. He fought it, managed to stay upright for another moment but in the end had no other choice than dropping to his knees. "It's not my problem if you can't enforce your claims", he coughed.
"I want my money. I sacrificed Mildred for that job, I'm not going to get screwed out of what is rightfully mine."
"Mildred?"
"The spider that bit Stevenson. He squashed her in his death throes."
"You're giving your murder weapons names?", he wheezed. His breathing sounded like an old-fashioned locomotive.
"See that laptop over there? I want you to transfer the sum you owe me onto one of my accounts. Now."
"Otherwise?" Guerrero was clutching himself now, shivering all over.
"From the rapidity of your digression, I'd say five more minutes."
Hunched over, shaking violently from side to side, Guerrero slowly opened the palm of his hand and stared into it. "Oh my God…"
The woman rolled her eyes. Somehow she had expected the famous Guerrero to be less … dramatic.
He turned his palm towards her.
It took her a second to understand that the inner side of his hand was clean. No black circle.
A second too long.
With one fluent, incredibly fast movement Guerrero was on his feet, sent her crashing to the ground with a fierce kick and drew his hidden gun. The vial she had been holding flew out of her hand and landed unharmed on the floor.
Smirking, Guerrero stepped on it. The glass cracked and the opaque substance trickled into the carped. "Maybe you should rethink your aversion to guns", he told her.
"You didn't really touch the doorknob", she groaned, wrapping her arms around her ribcage.
"An unknown potential client sets up a meeting in a run-down motel and you think I'm gonna fall for it? Tsk, tsk…." He pointed the gun straight at her head. "Thanks for informing me about all the symptoms. Made fooling you all the easier."
Now it was her turn to draw ragged breathes, and hers weren't faked. "Okay, so I've tried to get the better of you, didn't work, what comes next?"
"Usually people try to run from me. "Try" being the operative word here. But I fear you're past that point." He took out handcuffs and duct tape. Time to make a statement. Although, he had to admit, it was a pity. On the other hand… he had a reputation to protect.
He tilted his gun to indicate that she should roll into prone position. And roll she did…
With a surprisingly swift motion, considering that she had been cradling her ribcage only seconds earlier, she rolled over, jumped to her feet and at the same moment threw something at him that immediately clawed itself into his right jacket sleeve .
A black scorpion.
"You're carrying a live black scorpion around in your shirt?"
"Developing a closer relationship with your murder weapons does have its benefits", she hissed, quickly collecting the laptop and backing out of the room.
Gone she was.
The scorpion on his sleeve still just sat there, but its tail was erect the impressive sting surely wasn't just for show.
"Not bad…", Guerrero mused, studying his new opponent carefully. "Not bad at all…"