Living Memory
Chapter Two: Jack of All Trades
Dante got on a plane using false identification along with a fake passport to go to America to do his job. He was one of the best in the business. He really wasn't an assassin, not on the level most would think. Rather, he was a man who did various jobs for his clients. Some of them involved killing people, others involved stealing things. He was a Jack of All Trades.
He had two choices in his life. With no memory, he could spend his time looking for either information on himself, or doing his job. Most people reached him either by his cell phone or e-mail. The client's target was a college co-ed in New York City named Skye Jones. The girl was only nineteen years old. All his clients paid him via depositing money into his Swiss Bank account or by cash.
The stewardess in first class gave him flirtatious look until she spotted the gold band on his left ring finger. He smiled to himself. Despite, his appearance, women still found him handsome. Dante wasn't the type to be clean shaven, and he wasn't the type to tuck in his shirt or wear a tie. The women were attracted to his rugged looks. He looked like a model out of a Calvin Klein ad. He had a window seat, so that no one would trample over him to get to their seat.
"The flight bound for New York City, New York is now board. Please listen to all safety procedures," said the stewardess. Dante ignored everything she said and put on some headphones.
*
Hermione Weasley was having some difficulty with her very active son. He was running around too much, and she had to catch him so that she could go to work as a psychologist at the Ministry. She was a forensics psychologist for the Ministry of Magic, specifically for the Aurors. "Ty! Please come to me now," she ordered him.
He looked up at her and looked rather ashamed of himself. "Mummy. Sowie," said Tyler as he made his eyes tear up for good measure.
"You have to go to grandma's," announced Hermione. He smiled at her as she gathered up some of his things. They went through the fireplace back to the Burrow. Where his grandmother was already waiting for them.
"Hello, Molly," said Hermione. She couldn't bring herself to call her "Mum", but Molly Weasley insisted that her daughter-in-law not call her "Mrs. Weasley." Tyler ran for his grandmother who picked him up. "I have to go. I'm running late because I had to get him to stand still for a minute," she said.
"Don't worry about him. You just a great day at work," assured Mrs. Weasley. She watched as Hermione went through the fire again. She smiled at her smallest grandchild. He was so much like his father. He looked like him and acted like him as well.
Tyler Ronald Weasley was born one month premature. His mother was a wreck more or less, so Mrs. Weasley made sure that Tyler and Hermione stayed at the Burrow after they returned from the hospital. At first, Hermione was unresponsive to her son because he looked so much like his father. Poor little Tyler became the thing that snapped Hermione out of her depression. After staying at the Burrow for three months, they returned to their home in London. Hermione went back to work at the Aurors because that was where she and Ron worked at. They were two parts of a team that included Harry Potter. The three of them were the best Aurors in the world. Hermione chose to stay in the lab more after Ty was born, and Harry was Ty's godfather.
Mrs. Weasley looked at her grandson. He was so small, but he was going to grow up as big as his father. She wished that Ron at least knew that Hermione was expecting their baby. Ty wanted to get down and he let his grandmother know it. She put him down with a sigh as he ran for his little bag and pulled out a book. "I wanna hear a storwey, Grandmum. Pleasee," he pleaded.
"All right," agreed Mrs. Weasley as she took his little hand and they went to the living room.
*
New York City was cloudy. Dante didn't mind. He wasn't there for the weather. He had on his sunglasses that made him look like a predator. He swept through customs very easily and picked up his only suitcase from the luggage claim. Dante wasn't stupid enough to think he could get any weapons through the airport. Let alone an American one.
Besides as a professional, Dante knew better than to use the same weapons for each hit or job he did. Instead, he would get his weapons along with the first installment of his pay for each job at a pre-arranged location.
He had no trouble cutting through the crowds at the airport because for one thing he was taller than most men, and for another thing, people knew better than to run into him. He didn't look outwardly dangerous, but people instinctively knew he was. He took a cab to his hotel to find that a package was waiting for him.
He tipped the bellhop who showed him the way to his room and dropped off the suitcase for him. Dante opened the package and found a .35 caliber for the job, and a neat stack of bills. The girl was at school. And it was already late in the afternoon. Dante was used to living out of a suitcase. He unpacked what little he had and changed out of his clothes. He never slept in pajamas, just a pair of boxers.
Dante looked at the gun and took it apart. It was amazing. When he came out of the hospital, he had no idea how a gun worked. And now he could take one apart and put it back together with his eyes closed. He looked at the ample supply of bullets that were provide as well. He loaded the cartridges with them. The steel felt cold against his skin. He pressed the top barrel of his gun against his forehead. It was his ritual with his weapons. Not that he couldn't kill without them, he knew how to do that. However, the client gave him a weapon, so he had to use it. Very rarely did any of Dante's clients didn't provide him with weapons, and he swore that they all lacked imagination. Who was he to question them? They paid him, and he did as he was told. He never kept the weapons after the job. He cleaned them up and disposed of them properly. In fact, he loaded the bullets into the cartridges while wearing gloves. Dante liked revolvers better. He didn't know why perhaps it was because of their old fashion charm, but he supposed the automatics were just as good. Besides, there was nothing like a game of Russian roulette to make one feel alive.
Dante knew that he was never really all there because sometimes the things he saw seemed so new to him. The hardest things he had problems with were electronic devices. Yes, he had a laptop computer that made him look like a businessman, but he really do much on it other than e-mail and web surfing. Another thing that seemed really alien to him when he woke up was the currency, it didn't matter if it was British pounds or American dollars, he still had problems counting out cash.
He stood up after he was done with the gun and looked out the window as the sun sank into the skyline. Tomorrow the really work began, so without even getting something to eat, he decided to get rid of his jet lag instead.
*
Harry Potter was already at the office when Hermione showed up for work. "You're a little late this morning. My godson giving you a hard time?" asked Harry. Hermione gave him a nod. Her hair was tied back. It wasn't as bushy as it was when they were going to Hogwarts. She took the time to put stuff in it in the mornings, and if the mood suited her she would even straighten it. She put stuff in it that made the curls come together. Her figure wasn't skinny, but a curvy hourglass shape. It took her a few months to get her figure back after Tyler was born.
"No more than usual. Honestly, I swear, I don't think he's listening to me sometimes. Harry? Harry?" asked Hermione when she noticed that Harry wasn't paying attention to her either.
"Uh? I'm sorry I wasn't listening," joked Harry. Hermione punched his arm for good measure. He glanced at her desk. There was a wedding picture of her and Ron and a picture of Tyler a few days after he was born.
"I have some work to do in the labs," said Hermione. She studied crime scenes in the wizarding world. As a forensic psychologist, she would be labeled under American standards as a profiler.
Harry and Ron were field agents. Harry was Ron's partner when he was still with them. Ron was the only partner who was equal to Harry in skill. In the past two years, Harry had gone through no less than six partners. No one could be found who could keep up with him. He knew that Hermione was holding out for Ron's returned, but after so much time passed, Harry wasn't as optimistic.
*
The next morning, Dante rose out of bed early. He took a cab to the university that Skye Jones was attending. Dante had his gun in a holster that he packed in his suitcase. The cab driver came to the stop, and Dante paid him and got out of the cab.
He walked up to the university. According to the information he gathered about Skye Jones, she was coming out of her biology lecture. He looked at the room where she emerged from. He followed her all the way to a parking lot and came up from behind her. He pressed the gun to her back. "Hello, Skye Jones," he whispered to her from behind.
Her body tensed up as she kept her face forward. "Who are you?" she asked without fear in her voice. Dante smiled slightly. The girl was tough. He noticed that she had an English accent that was faded away slightly. "I think you know what I'm here for," he said simply. "Don't turn around."
He took the keys from her hand. He unlocked the car door and shoved her inside, and he walked to the passenger's side and let himself into the car. She had no idea what the man in the black suit with sky blue shirt with killer sunglasses really wanted from her. He got into to the car, and with a voice barely above a whisper he said, "Drive." She didn't ask to where. She turned on the ignition and drove. He told her where to turn and which streets to go down.
Finally they came to an empty parking lot that had nothing, but weeds in it. He ordered out of the car. She noticed that the sun caught his red hair, and he was handsome, but there was a coldness in his actions. "On your knees," he ordered her. His voice was louder, so she could an English accent.
"Please…don't do this. Who are you?" she pleaded with him as her eyes filled with tears. The man pressed gun to the back of her skull.
"My name is Dante," he said.
The tears went away for a moment because she was surprised. Why did he answer her? "Why are you doing this?" she asked.
"Because I do as I am told," he answered. His voice didn't sound cold nor angry. What scared her was the lack of emotion in his voice. It was so inhuman.
She closed her eyes waiting for the bullet. It seemed like an eternity had passed and then suddenly, a phone rang. He answered it without taking the gun off her skull. He said only said yes, and hung up. "Looks like you got a reprieve," he said. And the pressure from the barrel of his gun was gone from the back of her skull. Skye breathed deeply as if she were afraid to turn around. When she did, the man was gone. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air.
AN; Ah, a mystery. I've always wanted to write a good mystery. I'm a big fan of mystery novels. And I love action movies. One of the reviews said that I should go into detail about guns, clothes, and technique. I was planning on doing it anyway. Besides, I'm going for sort of a noir film feeling here. Why was Dante ordered to stop killing Skye Jones?
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. Me own this story.