Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Harry.
A completely easy job, like shooting fish in a barrel.
Harry AND a completely easy job, like shooting fish in a barrel.
Need I say more?
It ended with Guerrero having to undress, put on skin tight shorts and oiling up to crawl through a 30 inches ventilation shaft, the only entry to the upper half of the building that housed a popular night club on the second floor. Nobody would have guessed that from the fourth floor onwards everything was secured like Fort Knox – state of the art security system, trigger happy guards with military black ops background, no sense of humor at all.
Trust Harry to manage to get kidnapped and held in custody right at the center of it.
"I'm going to KILL him for that", Guerrero snarled as he covered himself in the slippery substance.
"I might offer a hand", Winston grumbled. "This is definitely a new low in this job. Worse than Bangkok! FAR worse!"
"Dude! It's not my fault I needed help with oiling up my back!"
"Seriously, Winston, if you have a problem with two consenting males in a van in a back alley, shed clothes, a bit of oil and skin contact, San Francisco might not be the right city for you…"
"SHUT UP, Chance!", two voices at the same time hissed at him via earpiece.
"What?" Chance, hanging out by the back entry of the club, unsuccessfully tried to stifle his chuckle. "I would have done it, but 30 inches, no way… Next time we hire someone, okay? Some little thief… a cat burglar… would be a good addition to the crew anyway, wouldn't it? Some female element…"
"HELL NO! When women enter the picture, things ALWAYS get messy!" Winston was not in the mood to mince words. He was still trying to get rid of the oil again, but it kept sticking to his hands.
"That's what you get when you buy the cheapest oil possible, dude."
"This goddamn job is already pro bono, shall we throw even more money out the window for that extra virgin crap?"
"Okay, next time Winston will take Guerrero's pores into consideration and Guerrero promises to bring a sponge with a handle. There's movement behind the windows, looks like Harry's silhouette, you think we can put the gastronomic discussions aside for a moment and rescue him?"
"Only because I want a shower more than seeing him dead", Guerrero growled.
... … …
About an hour later Harry was safe and sound again, although a tiny bit hypoglycemic. Guerrero was on his way to the nearest shower, Winston had mumbled something about drinking with his cop buddies "to get rid of the images".
Chance was thinking about grabbing some Chinese on his way back to the office, then figured he could just as well eat something at the night club. Hard to believe that down here people had continued clubbing, dancing, having fun while upstairs bullets had been exchanged… at least till they had managed to explain Harry's unfortunate role in a mean plot of the main thug's second cousin. He was heading for a family reunion of the special kind now and Harry was off the hook.
The club had a comfy looking dining section with a promising menu. Chance's stomach growled in anticipation as he imagined something in the direction of a well done T-bone steak – a growl that turned into a disappointed snarl when Chance discovered the section was closed for the night thanks to some speed dating event.
Grrrrr… the participants all had plates with rather delicious looking heaps of finger food on the table between them. Granted, nothing like a T-bone steak, but for starters… Ah, no… Chinese take away was just as well and he could watch TV while…
Hang on a second.
A familiar face.
The dog expert!
The woman from the park who had lectured him about training Carmine.
Chance's eyes began to sparkle with mischief. Food and the opportunity to get back at her? This was way too good to miss out on.
Pretending to be one of the speed dating participants and ending up on her table posed no problem at all. The look on her face alone was worth the trouble.
"You should close your mouth. At events like these you wanna play it cool." Chance wolfed down a small sandwich. Damn, this stuff was tiny but delicious. Guerrero would have had fun here.
"Come to think of if you should also sit up a bit straighter. Bad for your spine, you know, sitting hunched like that all the time. Luckily lots of bad habits can be corrected with a bit of training and consistency. I suggest joining the local Y. They've got great back therapy training courses." Chance polished off a small pastry filled with really good meat. So good, he immediately grabbed another one.
The woman's eyes turned into slits and she made a sound that reminded him a tiny bit of Carmine when he heard the mailman come.
"You think you're so funny."
"What are you doing here?" Chance tried his hands at three-layered savory muffin. Not bad, too.
"Speed dating", she hissed.
"No", Chance munched, "you're not. Your clothes are way too frumpy, your haircut is at least two weeks old, your make-up looks like you applied it at the last minute and you haven't done your nails. Women who participate in speed dating leave nothing to chance. They finally want to find their Mr. Right. You're either in desperate need of a dating coach or somebody dragged you here. A friend? A colleague?"
Her mouth fell open again and he knew he had hit the mark.
A bell rang to signal the end of the five minute period the participants had with each other before the partners had to change again. Chance grabbed one last pastry, winked at her and left as quickly as he had appeared.
Later that night, after the speed dating event had eventually come to its long-yearned-for end and Jamie had just made it over her doorstep, her telephone rang. A Wisconsin number.
"And…?", Cassandra asked, amusement not even barely hidden in her voice.
"Nothing but idiots", Jamie replied, grabbing the box with the fish food and heading over to her fish tank.
"Look, I know, you want to try new things, and I do understand, but you're terribly bad at it… you don't even remotely…"
A loud "Ugh" from Jamie interrupted Cassandra.
"Jamie?"
"I think my fish have died."
"May God give rest to their poor souls." Cassandra took a deep breath and turned serious. "Look, why don't you take this as a sign from above telling you to pack up and…"
"No. I'm not going home. These are just stupid dead fish. The only thing they're telling me is that fishkeeping is not my thing."
"I suggest trying cactus growing next."