Please read Ch1 for disclaimers…
The Hunter stretched his legs out on the bed. The memo was short and the explanation brief. An additional target might be necessary. Complex leg work was now requested to discover the necessity of termination. This would mean possibly months at this location. The decision was his. It always was.
His game, his rules.
He reread the words again, dissecting them into layers and inferences. A change.
The human mind resists change. Change equaled risk and survival instincts were engrained into the psyche. The hunter knew this. He had defeated this. Flexibility and mental agility were paramount in what he did. He firmly believed he was above the restrictions of a casual existence by training and design. So despite the human mind's resistance to change professionalism and experience allowed him to overcome this natural inclination to stasis.
He sat up on the bed for a moment, considering options and opportunity against risk.
Nodding slowly he came to a decision. He was unwavering in his certainty that his adaptability set him apart from those who lived around him.
However facts were facts and in his world, change inherently represented a high degree of risk and his instincts made him restless. It would be easy to walk away.
But his pride prickled sharply at the thought and as he walked to the sink and set the paper on fire, he was already mentally adjusting to the possibilities. The financial reward was generous and the complexity intriguing.
By the time the flecks of ash were washing down the motel sink he had decided to begin work and evaluate the possibilities.
He opened the motel door to the full morning sun as it glinted off the last of the winter snow. As he walked he considered the area around him making note of the bus stop a few blocks down. The foot traffic was moderate and the vehicle traffic heavy. Rush hour in the city was drawing to a brief pause before the noon rush.
One more block up was an abandoned gas station that had a small used car sales lot on it. Nodding to himself he noted the general make and models available along with the price in the window. If he continued this job the first adjustment would be mobility beyond the public transit system.
Six more blocks and he was on the one street he would get to know every inch of. Sidewalks bulged in places where tree roots pushed up through asphalt. Parked cars were minimal indicating people held a day job of some sort.
Most houses had fences, but here and there were those that provided swift passage to the next street. Those were the important houses to make note of. He could evaluate their security systems later.
This area suited his purposes. An unexpected bonus. Perhaps a sign he should continue the job. It was not upscale. but not derelict, caught someplace between redevelopment and blue collar roots. The people he did pass by were life weary. These were the type of people who wouldn't have the energy to remember him the next day.
Two blocks up at the corner a well maintained bungalow caught his eye. It was wedged between two large Victorians sporting a series of rusted mailboxes indicating their conversion to apartment units years ago. An old woman wrapped in a thick jacket over a house coat was studiously picking stray trash off the bungalow's miniscule front lawn. For a moment he was startled when she looked directly at him and it made him pause as she analyzed him. He shoved his hands quickly in his pockets and rushed by.
There was always one in every situation.
He passed three more houses before he glanced at the one matching the address etched in his memory. It was clean, the paint fresh and the driveway sealed. A single family Victorian era New Englander with a fenced in back yard and a cement block garage. A quick glance across the way showed a shabby 1950's cape with a for sale sign in the yard and an empty driveway. He took a picture of the real estate number on the sign with his phone. He could always arrange a tour of the property.
On his way back to the motel a gas station with a help wanted sign caught his attention. He bought a burrito and tossed it into the microwave and as the machine ran he quickly glanced around noting camera placements. The security system in here was current. He would not be visiting here often.
He ate on a bench at the bus stop, partially obscured by the plastic and metal shelter. He loved these little shelters. Inside of one he was camouflaged. Security cameras could not penetrate and pedestrians never noticed those loitering. Even bus drivers would come and go and never really see him.
As he ate he considered the older woman at the bungalow. He knew her type. Older, lonely, often forgotten by the world surrounding them, they were the ones that noticed everything. Too often people like her found their involvement in the world reduced to observation. He needed a reason to walk the street frequently. Something that would alter the way she observed him.
By the time he had finished eating, he'd selected a solution from the scenarios working through his thoughts. He pulled out his mobile phone and called up a web browser. With 10 moments of scanning Craigslist he had three possible candidates. The map system on his phone showed two nearby and another clear across the city. He examined the photo again. Distance was good. He placed the call and was pleased to have an immediate invite. The woman on the other end seemed disjointed and distracted.
The bus ride was long, but that was expected. He counted the various stops until the doors opened at one that was within feet of the Park Street MBTA line. The subway system had always been his preference for losing himself in the city. He would use it until each stop and its exits were ingrained in his memory.
Underground the train rattled along the tracks, the windows black as he was hurtled along the tunnels. Finally getting off with a stream of passengers, he paid careful attention to where each possible exit placed him in the city, walking the block until he found where each option put him.
Partially satisfied he followed directions until he was at a neatly kept brownstone. His phone call was immediately answered and the woman's voice was just as harried as the first call. The baby was still wailing in the background.
Perfect. Her recall would be questionable.
Moments later he was in a small, well kept apartment with baby toys spread out. The older chocolate Labrador Retriever had a generous dosing of white over his face and when the dog looked into his eyes there was a defeated acceptance there. Almost as if the old dog knew his time in his home was over.
He ignored the drawn out explanations and excuses pouring out of the woman's mouth. Accepted the bag of food and the leash with a nod of forced sympathy. She told him he was free to take the dog now. She didn't seem the least bit motivated to find out if his story was true. She was simply ready to be done with the responsibility of the dog who had been her companion for the last 8 years.
There was a sense of sadness for his new pet. Loyalty was fickle but an animal couldn't comprehend that concept. Instead the old dog was used and now, when his senior years were creeping up on him, he was discarded without much thought of a goodbye.
It wasn't fair but that was life.
On his way out of the lobby he held the door open for a tall woman with wild dark hair and serious eyes. The old dog greeted her and the small terrier at her side twisted enthusiastically.
He noticed her observe the bag in his hand with a soft sigh. "So Connie was serious the other night. I take it you must be Charlie's new home?"
At his confirmation she raised her hand up to run her fingers through the dark waves, pulling her jacket up with the motion and revealing the shield at her belt. Law enforcement of some kind. She crouched down next to Charlie and ran her hands over his ears in a farewell.
"I would have taken him if I wasn't allergic. I shouldn't even have Jo Friday." The little golden terrier was bouncing at the woman's knee and licking at Charlie's face. "All right Charlie. I have to go make dinner, be good okay?"
He had to pull the leash a bit to hustle the dog along, speaking softly as they made their way up the street and back to the train. The car was almost empty as it hurtled him along the tracks. The rhythmic click and clack of the old train car under the streets of Boston soothed him and he felt the dog staring at him. He returned the look steadily and offered his hand. The animal sniffed it before turning away and lying down at his feet. He sat back and gave the animal his space. It was the least he could do.
This time when he passed the used car lot he took a closer look at the offerings. The Honda Civic in the back appeared well used but a nice nondescript, if somewhat faded, black. Unremarkable and exactly what he wanted. By the time he was opening the door to his room again and letting Charlie check out his new home, he had made up his mind. All the elements pointed to success.
The job was his.
A/N – To those of you who have decided to brave the waters and click follow on this story or left a review I think I need come up with a name for you...you guys made me feel all warm inside so I wanted to call you "my squishy" but Disney buttoned that one up. I have ideas...
But seriously it takes a lot of trust to come along for the ride after I pretty much put a red label warning on this story. So thank you.
It will be a winding journey but I promise to do my best not to let you down.
To those who are going to read it complete... I look forward to seeing you on the other side ;)