Chapter Two:
Death of the Pauper
There really was no cure for jet-lag, no matter how many times he traveled, thought The Jackal to himself. His real name had once been Esteban Franco, but since he took his new job and was a marked man, he shed his name for security and took an alias. He couldn't help but feel relaxed. In other places, you had to be extra careful, because you didn't know who was going to go up to you and shoot you. Here, everyone was dressed their part. And no one seemed to mind carrying a big gun around. He turned to his two companions, Alexei and Tatiana. Tatiana was the lovely daughter of Dmitriy Gogol, his former mentor and teacher back in Russia. Alexei was her fiancée. Both were adorable, and pleasant companions, and also excellent in their profession. Alexei was a smuggler of fine tastes, and Tatiana was an art forger. Both had met, worked together, and eventually fell in love. They begged to come down here, as a break from the European winter, and since there wasn't any real business to be done, a vacation was in order for all three. Tragically, this was not meant to be. Bullets exploded out of a nearby stairway, missing The Jackal and striking Alexei just below the chin. The bullets kept on firing and Franco jumped, pushing Tatyana out of the way. "No….Alexis…" Franco The Jackal felt her body go limp. "No, not this again." He gently dropped the woman to the floor and picked up the Colt .45 that Alexei carried around. "Davisdanya, tovarisch." He muttered, and quickly took off in a low sprint. One of the assassins was bent forward near the escalator, reloading. Not fast enough, thought the Jackal as he brought up the gun and fired two shots. If the shots didn't kill him, the fall certainly did. Another bullet struck the plant several yards from Franco, and he turned and saw another assailant with an MP5 pointed in his direction. "These guys couldn't shoot the broad side of a barn on a good day." He took shelter behind an overturned desk and fired at the second assailant, and smiled as the colt's bullets hit him straight in the chest. Running carefully to the body of the first hitman, slung the MP5 over his shoulder, and ran off into the parking lot, where he spied three cars pulling up and several men poured out, taking different entrances. Hiding behind an information sign, Franco waited until two more men ran into the building, then stepped out and dropped them both with hits on the head. "There he is!" A bullet narrowly missed hitting his temple, and rather than face 20 men with guns, he decided to make a fast getaway. A man was just about to get on board a PCP 600, one of the fastest bikes available. Rushing to the man, he clubbed him behind the head and jumped on the bike. "Sorry." The Jackal said, half-dismissively as he took off, a pack of angry hitmen behind him.
"YOU LOST HIM?" Roared Jaime Martinez into his telephone at his office, where he had briefly enjoyed a good Cuban cigar. "Sorry, sir, he evaded all of us." "Body count?" "We lost four men, but the target is down." "Target? I asked for two of them, the girl and the guy!" "The girl disappeared sir, we saw her fall along with her boyfriend." A string of obscenities flew out of the officer's mouth. "S-s-sir, I have an idea." "Tell me." "He has no money or weapons other than the ones he took from us. He has to keep a low profile, and we would know if he went to our enemies. He has no friends in this town or even on this country, have someone go to him and offer him money in exchange of services, and promise to help him find the culprit. Right now, he's disheveled, he won't be thinking very straight, tomorrow morning someone should visit him." "Good thinking, Jesus. I'll send a car for you tomorrow." "What? I meant someone else!" "It's my ass if this doesn't get done, and you should be happy that I trust you." "Yes, sir." Click. It was hard to get a job anymore, but life was grand for Martinez. He owned a mansion that was near his place of work, and he had an endless choir of beautiful women at his disposal. He pressed a button on his telephone, an intercom to his secretary. "Annie, call up Sabrina. Tell her to come to my office as soon as possible." Martinez then put on a CD of soft music the ladies these days seemed to love and poured two glasses of champagne.
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