Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

~ Ryuu ~

"It happened twenty years ago. But still not a day goes by that I don't think about my son. He was only eight. Eight! We had bought him a new bike, told him he'd be able to ride it as soon as he'd be out of hospital… It's still stowed away in my garage… my husband didn't want it when he moved out…"

The woman's voice was constantly changing between hissing and sobbing, at the moment more leaning towards the sobbing part.

"Of course we knew it was a grave illness… but surgery went well. They actually managed to remove everything. We had hope! But then he developed this infection… First the fever… then the breathing problems…. His organs began to fail, one after another… The doctors were at a loss… all we could do was sit and pray… He died after three days. They felt like three years."

Tears were running down her face now, but her voice was taking on a raspier tone.

"My husband just wouldn't accept it. He couldn't even mourn. Like a madman he started pulling strings to get our son's files, he questioned nurses, doctors, hired a private detective… when he wanted an exhumation so that an autopsy could be performed, I couldn't take it anymore…."

She swallowed drily.

"But he was right. In the end it turned out he had been right from the very beginning. Some doctor had struck an under-the-table deal with a pharmaceutical company. They produced substandard antibiotics which he mixed with the high quality stuff. Lots of patients simply were sick a little longer… but in my son's case the infection took hold of his weakened body and wouldn't let go… In the course of the official investigation they found a dozen similar cases…"

In an oddly determined gesture she took out a handkerchief and blew her nose.

"The managers of the pharmaceutical company received lifelong sentences. But the doctor, the greedy bastard who had killed my son so he could buy himself a boat, a fancy car or whatever, he was released on bail and fled. My husband had warned them he would – he yelled at the judge not to let him out. For that he was put into custody for a night… contempt of court. He hung himself in the holding cell."

When she looked up to meet his eyes, they were tear free.

"I tried to move on. Went to therapy. Re-married twice. Bullshit. All those therapy sessions, travels to foreign countries, new jobs and new love interests have only shown me one thing, time and time again: My life ended the day my son died and I'm sick and tired trying to "work" on this fact. No more therapies. I want revenge."

"Well, Mrs. Watson, you've come to the right place." Joubert took the carafe and poured his new client a generous amount of Scotch, fighting the urge to smile.

This was perfect. Absolutely perfect. The ideal job for Junior. He'd eat it all up, hook, line and sinker. No complicated explanation why this guy deserved to die needed this time around – he definitely DID deserve to die, even by non-assassin standards.

"Consider it done", he told her.

Heaving a big sigh, the woman leaned back in the visitor's chair. For the first time that evening Joubert saw her smile.

… … …

Guerrero, however, was far from smiling when the Old Man informed him about his next job. His expression was usually devoid of any open displays of emotion. This time around, though, his slightly twitching lips clearly indicated annoyance.

Joubert always watched Guerrero meticulously. He was dangerous. A very valuable asset to the business, but damn dangerous. Keeping him in line was a challenge. On the one hand Guerrero needed to be aware of the fact that going against him or his business interests would inevitably mean death, on the other hand pushing Guerrero too hard could result in fierce retaliation, no matter what.

"Can't you send him alone? He's out of diapers, isn't he?", Guerrero grumbled.

So far the Old Man had always managed to make it very clear who was calling the shots. He wasn't going to change that now.

"Still pissed about the exploding truck thing?", Joubert grinned.

Guerrero knew the Old Man well enough not to mistake his light tone for actual relaxedness. Nevertheless he wasn't willing to be stuck with babysitting Joubert's pet project again.

"One day that adrenalin junkie mentality of his will get the wrong guy killed. Just want to make sure it's not me."

"I need a tracker to find that doctor. Twenty years is a long time."

Inwardly, Guerrero snorted. After twenty years most people became careless. They were actually easier to find the more time had passed since they pulled a disappearance act. But Joubert didn't necessarily need to know that.

"I track him down and you sent Junior alone. Cool with you?"

Joubert's eyes rested coldly on Guerrero. "I said you're going to accompany him. All the way."

Guerrero decided that he, in theory, had two options – openly refuse and thus risk the Old Man's wrath or play along and use his special methods to make sure Junior wouldn't pull anymore crazy stunts. De facto, however, Joubert did not take disobedience lightly and had far-reaching connections. Going against him was practically suicidal.

So a job with Junior it would be.

Great.

… … …

Junior read the collection of newspaper articles one more time. Although by now he knew what was waiting for him, the details were still hard to stomach. Twelve people had died because that doctor had lined his pockets… five of them children. And there was probably a much higher number of unknown cases, with victims still unavenged.

Well, he was going to see about that.

If only he didn't have to take Guerrero with him. Total psychopath, that man. Brilliant, yeah, but...

Junior despised people who enjoyed inflicting pain on others – and Guerrero's methods were manifold.