Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
In the early evening Joubert sent Ash on his way home – alone. Was it dangerous? Yes, in a way it was, he was only fifteen after all and the warehouse was located in the Tenderloin.
But on the other hand his grandson was definitely a lot more capable of taking care of himself than most fifteen year olds.
Especially now that he had started wearing that combat knife his mother had carried attached to her ankle on the day of her death. Joubert wouldn't have noticed it, had Ash not shown it to him after finishing his glass of Scotch.
"Guerrero gave it to me", he had explained, slowly retrieving the knife and placing it on the table between them. "Don't know where he got it… I thought it had been seized by the police. But it's really mom's, I'm sure. Not just the same type… I recognize the hilt… it's hers…. One day he just came into my room and put it on my nightstand. You know how to use this… that's all he said."
Yeah, that definitely sounded like the Guerrero way of providing consolation for a grieving child.
"Who showed you how to conceal it like that?", Joubert had asked, taking in how well kept the knife was. Ash must spent hours polishing it.
Good, very good.
"Figured that out by myself", the boy had replied.
At that, the Old Man had allowed himself a huge satisfied smile. What he had been sowing for so long was finally showing fruits.
Nevertheless letting Ash go home alone was risky. But Joubert didn't want to make the boy feel like he was controlling him, just like everyone else. Ash was well aware of Guerrero's extensive monitoring measures. Over time this had turned into a cat and mouse game between the two – Guerrero for example installed some sort of hidden tracking device on Ash's cell and Ash did his best not simply to turn it off but to manipulate it so that Guerrero thought it was still working.
Fantastic training, in Joubert's eyes.
And Guerrero, most likely, thought along the same lines, although he'd never openly state it in the presence of Junior and he surely didn't have a career as a professional assassin in mind for Ash. He was simply realistic: Joubert was sure that just like himself Guerrero knew no matter what Junior dreamt of regarding his son's future, whatever university white collar career he had in mind for him, that boy was clearly made for the gritty side of things. He would never simply sit at a desk and pour over books, just like you would have needed shackles and a very solid chain to make his father sit down and do paperwork all day long. The Old Man had seen it in Ash's eyes very early onwards, even back when they had only just met – he loved the thrill, the physical and mental challenge, the danger of physical confrontation… the boy was an adrenaline junkie just like his father – born to fight.
Just for which side, that was the question.
For quite a while Joubert had been worried – Ash admired Junior, wanted to be like him and Junior was still deep into this "nobody deserves to die"-shit.
But then Philippa's unplanned demise had significantly played into his hands – especially since she had died so violently. A stranger killing his mother out of the blue, in cold blood, without blinking… what better way to evoke that burning flame of wrath and anger at the world in the boy that had once made Junior the best in the business? Ash wanted revenge, he wanted to lash out, he wanted to pay the world back for the pain he had suffered…
Not much longer and he was ready to be taught the final step towards vengeance.
Joubert decided to allow himself another drink although in addition to not wanting to give Ashley the impression of babying him, there was a more practical reason for letting him go back to the warehouse alone: A client was coming by a few minutes from now and the Old Man simply didn't have the time…
The security system alerted him to a visitor.
A brief glance at the monitor revealed the client, an old acquaintance who had come to him every now and again in the past twenty years. Joubert didn't have friends, but this client was one of the few who came pretty close to the definition. He was quite early today, though. Well, maybe he had another appointment later on or something like that.
They shook hands, Joubert led him into his office, offered him a drink and they sat down to talk business. Only when they were both seated, in the light of the Old Man's desk lamp, he noticed how pale his almost friend looked today. Pale and shaky. With beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Maybe he was sick? Some nasty flu bug? Just like himself his client was no spring chicken anymore.
"Tell me what I can do for you", Joubert prompted him.
At first glance the story was very similar to stuff he had heard from him before, some business partner stealing too much of the profit and becoming a problem… but it was the way his client spoke that was wrong, just wrong. He kept getting muddled in his sentences, stumbled over words, mixed up names and dates…
What he had to say came across like some badly rehearsed cover up story, and Joubert suspected this was exactly what it was.
Damn it, he shouldn't have allowed himself the additional drink. He didn't deal as well with alcohol as he used to, the Scotch must have significantly diminished his perception and ability to think clearly, otherwise he would have noticed the warning signs much earlier…
"What did you give me?", he asked the client.
"Contact poison", the man mumbled, barely able to form the words, so scared was he. "My palm is sealed with medical varnish, so it doesn't affect me – I transferred it when we shook hands." He got up and took a step back from the desk. "I'm sorry. I really am."
"Why?", Joubert, who was starting to feel the effects of the poison, croaked.
"Innokentij Krektovic has kidnapped my granddaughter. He said if I didn't kill you, he'd scatter her body parts all over the city. She's only nine."
"You know with that kind of knowledge Innokentij won't let you live?" Speaking was becoming difficult. The Old Man knew there was not much time left for him.
"I know. But for my granddaughter… Maybe he'll let her live."
The client exited the room. With his fading hearing Joubert noticed the main door opening and closing.
For my granddaughter… Joubert would have never thought that, come the day, he'd feel understanding, yes, even sympathy for his killer.
But he did.
With the last lucid thought his dissolving mind was capable of he realized that he would have done exactly the same.
He would have sacrificed himself for Ash. And for Junior.
Junior…