Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The wheels are already set in motion.
What did that mean? What the hell did that mean?
The mansion was located at the outskirts of the city, yes, but in the middle of a park, with huge walls all around. It was impossible to get even as much as a glimpse of it from one of the roads passing by the premises. Granted, a couple of the neighbors had helicopters, but it was a grayish day, not exactly ideal flying weather and Joubert and Baptiste had made sure the house looked deserted.
The realtor in charge of selling the mansion was busy on the other side of the continent, where a tiny problem with airport security in Miami, Florida, was requiring all of his attention. The heirs were off to various locations in other states, too – parties, fashion weeks, business appointments…
Getting it all covered had amounted to a ton of work, the logistics had been a nightmare, but again, Ash was worth it. Joubert was still not quite sure when he would let the boy know that his father himself had agreed with the execution of everyone involved in Philippa's death, but he couldn't wait to see the result: Disappointment, yes, anger, definitely, but most of all a permanent damage to the belief in his father's values. Ash would never ever give credence to Junior's dogma of "Nobody deserves to die" again once the fate of his mother's murderers was revealed to him.
Junior had so played into his hands with this move, it was fantastic. Not in his wildest dreams would Joubert have imagined such an enormous opportunity.
He would not miss out on it.
Guerrero had helped them organizing the details of the trap for the assassin. So had Ilsa Pucci, especially with luring that realtor down to Florida to make sure he wouldn't accept any spontaneous appointments with potential buyers to view the mansion in the sensitive time window while they were conducting business at the place. Joubert and Baptiste still weren't sure how much she knew about Guerrero's list and their own part in dealing with it. Somehow they had the feeling she wasn't fully aware of the dimensions of Guerrero's activities.
Ah well, should she ever find out it was definitely Guerrero's problem, not theirs.
All their precautions left them plenty of time to dispose of the body without ruffle or excitement. Or at least they had thought so. The assassin's warning brought a pressure to the situation they had not foreseen.
The wheels are already set in motion.
"Could be a slow poison…" Joubert mused as they hoisted the dead woman's corpse into the huge tub of the mansion's master bathroom. "Fluphenazine decanoate for example? Maybe she was aiming for Neuroleptic malignant syndrome…"
"Sometimes you're so old-fashioned", Baptiste chuckled. "Your first thought is "poison" because you think of it as the female murder weapon of choice, don't you? How often have we poisoned someone? You, Junior, me… we're all guys but our first approach when it had to be done quietly was always poison… even that last go around with Katherine… Junior was planning to poison her."
For a moment none of them said a word, both thinking of that last go around, when everything had gone down the drain. Nothing had ever been the same after Junior had jumped ship. Thanks to Greta Baptiste had somewhat come to terms with his friend's decision by now, but had the Old Man?
Baptiste glanced at him as he perforated the assassin's body with a scalpel and then started performing CPR on it. Messy, but definitely the fastest way to get rid of the fluids; later on it would make cutting it into pieces so much easier.
It had been years since he had seen Joubert this determined and focused. Ever since he had taken on the task of getting rid of Brax he was pretty much back to his old self, back the way he had been before Junior had left.
Was it just the prospect of killing? Baptiste seriously doubted it. Just like all of his employees he had never known the Old Man enjoying the actual act. They were not serial killers, getting off on playing God. Killing was their job, they were in it for the money, the opportunities it offered… not for any kind of sick thrill. Junior had liked the adrenaline that came with a challenging target, yes, but that was it. There was no fun in death itself.
So what had brought this change in Joubert about? Where was this newly found vigor coming from that he hadn't shown in years? Baptiste wished he could say it was because they were working together again, but he was realist enough to accept that this couldn't be it, either.
They had plugged the tub so that they could mix plenty of bleach into the fluids that were by now sloshing around in it. With enough water added, getting that stuff down the drain shouldn't pose too much of a problem.
Baptiste couldn't shake the feeling that Ash somehow was at the root of all of this. Joubert treated the boy like he had treated them when he had first taken them in, just minus the "it's okay to kill somebody as long as the money's right"-lesson. For all Baptiste could tell, he really did see him as his grandson.
So did he simply want to protect him by killing Brax and thus diminishing the chances that Ash would engage on a retaliation campaign of his own… or did he have another, ulterior motive?
The Old Man, done with letting the body fluid-bleach-water mixture run down the drain, suddenly locked eyes with Baptiste and Baptiste just knew he knew what he was thinking.
They did know each other well.
"Don't remember Guerrero ever using poison", he said in continuation of their earlier debate, using the tub's shower head to wash away the last remnants of bleach and blood.
For a brief moment Baptiste wondered if he should push the matter, if he should ask him what all this was about, what plans he had for the future, for Ash….
But it would have destroyed, for lack of a better word, the peaceful mood between them. When had they last worked together like this? Baptiste had yearned too long for this kind of companionship with the Old Man… too many months in the prison in Siberia and while he had been on the run from the authorities. He was not going to risk it.
"Yeah, he's even more old-fashioned than you are", Baptiste grinned. "I bet she hid another bomb somewhere…"
Together they set out to deconstruct the body when suddenly Baptiste's cell phone signaled.
Baptiste glanced at the display and raised his eyebrows. "Speak of the devil…", he said and took the call. "Hey dude…"