Chapter two

Tracker crouched behind a chimney as she watched her target mingle with others on the dance floor of the huge Victorian mansion that towered above all the other houses in the neighborhood. Tracker had learned from some quick research that the reason this place was even built and still completely clean and new was because the head of the criminals, Judge Allen P. Hendrix, lived there. From the way her target was moving around the room and talking to different people she knew it would be a long night of watching.

Four hours later

Tracker was crouched in almost the exact same position, she had had to move on account that the full moon was shining brilliantly in the unclouded night sky. 'How many times can the same person tell the same joke to the same group of people and they always laugh? The answer is as long as you're a popular figure ALWAYS.' Tracker thought with a mental eye-roll as she kept track of her target's constant moving figure. Her eye's never leaving her target she took a sip of water through the side of her mouth. It had taken her the better part of a month to be able to drink like that and not spill a drop, but like everything else she was able to do it now and do it perfectly.

One hour and thirty-four minutes later

Finally the party started to wind down and some of the guest's were starting leaving including her target. Tracker moved quickly through the rooftop shadows, leaving no trace of there ever being there.
Her target's name was Samuel L. Kissinger he had just turned thirty-four two days ago on November 1st. His hobbies were cheating people out of their money, and kissing people up for more money, he wore a black hairpiece all the time to cover the bald spot in the center of his head that was rapidly spreading. Blue eyes that seemed to see you but not 'see you' a nose that was so straight you could use it as a ruler, followed by bushman eye-brows and the ridiculous expensive suits that he wore everywhere pretty much made him a bachelor. What really sealed his bachelor fate was that he was greasy; it honestly looked like he bathed in butter every single day.