Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
~ crowd control ~
When Winston arrived at the office, he was greeted by a sight he absolutely didn't like: A man in a rumpled suit with mismatching socks was waiting in the lobby. His hair was uncombed and the shadow on his face indicated that he hadn't had time to shave this morning.
The typical appearance of a client.
Oh no.
He made a beeline for Ilsa's office.
"We've got no time to take on another job!", Winston told Ilsa vehemently, barely managing to keep his voice down. "We've got to find Michele. Chance's idea that she might have obtained some sort of valuable information makes a lot of sense. We've got to follow that lead!"
Ilsa stifled a sigh. She felt terribly sorry for Winston and if she could have done something to make him feel better somehow, she would have, but as she had learned time and time again over the past few years, there were things money just couldn't buy. Michele's whereabouts, for example. Or peace of mind.
"We are already following that lead. Guerrero is once again going through all of her telephone calls, her credit card bills, the patients she had at the hospital. But this man out there in the lobby, he needs our help, too. Yesterday his dog was shot in his yard, this morning somebody manipulated the brakes of his car..."
"Why doesn't he go to the police? Shot dog, manipulated breaks, these are serious threats, they're legally bound to help him!" Now Winston was definitely not keeping his voice down anymore.
Chance came downstairs, alerted. Seeing his friend gesturing madly in Ilsa's office, he immediately knew what was going on.
"He's got his reasons not to want to involve the police. Couple of years back he evaded an investigation in a tax dodging case. If he goes to them now..."
"So we're helping a criminal?"
Chance gave him a pointed look that spoke volumes - innocence is a slippery thing.
"We're helping a human being that's scared to death, has no one else to turn to and needs us. Now."
At this very moment the new client stuck his head into Ilsa's office: "Excuse me, but how long do you usually keep your clients waiting? It's been half an hour now, there's not even a single newspaper in your waiting area to distract me and you haven't offered me coffee yet!"
While Ilsa with all polite coldness decades in board meetings had taught her explained to the client that he was hiring a crew to protect him, not to serve him, Chance aimed an apologetic shrug at Winston: That they're in mortal danger doesn't necessarily make them likeable.
... ... ...
Joubert always parked his car a bit away from the warehouse and always at a different spot. This was not so much about keeping Junior safe, he told himself, than about making sure Ash was well-protected.
The boy had so much potential. It would be a pity if anything happened to him, just because one of his old enemies followed him and decided to take revenge by harming his grandkid.
Not that whoever dared that would have much time to enjoy his triumph, but still... Joubert very much preferred Ash alive and well.
As he walked towards the warehouse, he quickly checked his Cayman bank account with his smartphone. The rest of the money had arrived, just as he and the client had agreed upon.
Very good.
He would have hated having to teach that particular client a lesson. He was a rich man with a lot more than just the one enemy Joubert had gotten rid of for him. This could turn into a long-lasting, very profitable business relationship. And since the client had like-minded sons, there even was the possibility to bequeath this relationship to Ash one day. No better foundation for a business than a long-standing client base.
Right before he went to enter the warehouse he threw the newspaper away he had bought a couple of blocks ago. It was practically unread, Joubert had only been interested in a small article somewhere in the middle: Industrial tycoon found dead in his pool after heart attack.
Succinylcholine. Really one of the best discoveries in the field of pharmacy ever made.
... ... ...
"The guy writes a tell-it-all blog about a paramilitary group and then he's surprised they're trying to kill him?" Winston just couldn't believe it.
"Nobody ever said our clients have to be smart", Chance replied, adding an extra spoon of sugar to Winston's coffee. Maybe that would somehow placate him.
"He's an arrogant asshole and he's stupid! What a goddamn waste of time this is!"
Slowly but surely Chance was getting a very good idea of how Winston and Guerrero had received their mutual defensive wounds the day they lost that contact at Pier 39. And why Ilsa had had to replace the kitchen table.
"So now we're only helping people with an average IQ of 110 or higher? Maybe we should make them pass a test first. I'm sure Ilsa could get the Foundation's HR department to design one especially for our needs."
Remembering that day at the Pier of course also reminded Chance of Baptiste's abrupt departure.
It was a good thing he was gone. One constant reminder of his past less. Chance unconsciously tugged at the wristwatch he had been wearing for the past few days. Only the Old Man left now, and since his argument with Ash he hadn't shown his face around the office anymore, so...
The security system bleeped, alerting them to a visitor. Chance glanced at the monitor...
Oh great, speak of the devil.
... ... ...
Truth to be told, Ash had missed his grandfather, and when he appeared at the office, telling him he could help with his rhythm problem, he was happy to see him again.
He didn't waste his time and energy on wondering how the hell Grandpa knew about his latest ice-skating trouble. In this family they always found everything out. He was not, however, willing to make up just like that. Ash felt he was entitled to at least a bit of teenage snappishness, after the Old Man's unfair accusations last time they had met.
"Don't take it personally, but Ames could surely teach me better", he told Joubert as his grandfather was choosing the right music on the portable CD player.
Joubert was actually a pretty good dancer. Over the years a surprising number of jobs had required him to shake a leg before the deed. People are usually less watchful when they dance, and hardly anyone notices a tiny prick with a needle from a specially designed signet ring, for example.
"Yeah, but I've got no boobs to distract you", he replied drily, recognizing Ash's slightly defiant tone as what it was, a subtle reminder of their disagreement a couple of weeks ago. Good. The boy wasn't willing to forgive just like that. That was something he could work with.
"That's what I meant...", Ash grinned.
"Your father talk to you about the bees and the flowers yet?" The Old Man had posed the question in a joking manner, but something about his face told Ash that this was an offer. Should he ever want to talk about ... stuff ... from his grandfather he wouldn't get a lecture on birth control and responsibility.
For now, however, there were more urgent problems at hand. He was curious, yes, but so far he hadn't met a girl he really wanted to satisfy this particular curiosity yet.
"I always seem to be slightly behind the beat", Ash explained what made his skating lessons hell lately.
"Then let's see what we can do about it." The Old Man turned on the music.