Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Walter Lewis couldn't remember when he had last slept peacefully. Granted, the ultra-thin hostel room walls, the heat, the humidity, the constant humming of the traffic outside and the exasperating sounds of the mosquitoes inside weren't exactly helpful.
The hostel neither had air conditioning nor a fan. It faced one of the main roads.
The mosquitoes bit through clothing. And of course they could transmit malaria.
Guayaquil was a transport hub for flights to the Galapagos Islands and buses to various beach resorts.
Nobody came here to stay.
The city had once been the starting point of Ecuador's famous railway on which it was possible to travel from Guayaquil to Quito. Nowadays that track was reduced to a fragment, from the Devil's Nose and Alausi to Riobamba.
Walter could relate to that. He felt like reduced to a fragment, too.
Ever since that goddamn bank job.
He should have known better than getting into business with B. Brax. Everyone knew, if things went wrong Brax was the type of person that shot first and asked questions later. The mere suspicion of treason had ended people's lives in cruel and gruesome ways. But the money… The money had been so good.
In hindsight that should have been a warning sign to him. Nobody offered that much payment for a simple robbery. But well, yeah, hindsight was always easier than foresight.
A subtle but sharp, sudden pain alerted him to one of the giant mosquitoes that were so common here. It had landed on his left arm and was having a stiff drink, not minding the insect repellent oil at all. Walter turned his eyes into slits in a sudden onrush of white hot anger. How DARE the damn beast suck his blood, abuse him, take from him without asking?
Its pair of long, many-segmented antennae happily bopped up and down. Every now and then it rubbed one of its three pairs of legs against each other or cautiously moved its almost transparent, rather large wings. Walter watched patiently, waiting till the insect's slender body was blown to its maximum size and the animal just about ready to fly away, happy and completely satisfied.
He squashed it with one well-aimed slap of his hand.
For a brief moment he felt happy and satisfied.
Then he realized it was six in the morning and he hadn't slept for more than two hours, at best. Maybe if he ate something?
Dining in Guayaquil was not exactly a five star experience despite the city's size, but the Malecón had a variety of eating opportunities. Small diners that offered takeaway snacks, a couple of fast food chains and scattered in between a decent restaurant here and there. Maybe he'd find one that served eggs and bacon. Or a burger.
The Malecón, the fenced in waterfront beside the River Guayas, with security guards at the gates, was probably the safest place in Guayaquil to wander… getting there, however, was a problem. The city was not as dangerous as it used to be in the 1990's but away from the center, at six am in the morning?
His financial means were limited, but a taxi was definitely the safer option. Of course it meant that he would most likely have to argue over the price. Guayaquil's taxi drivers rarely used the taximeter and were notorious for overcharging. The local accent was frustratingly difficult to decrypt – the people spoke very rapidly, cutting the "s" off the end of the words and meshing all the words of a sentence into one messy lump.
Walter decided he didn't feel up to it after all.
For heaven's sake, he was a bank robber and murderer who had cold-bloodedly killed a defenseless woman after aiming at her kid… with Guerrero, the Guerrero hot on his trail. And he was seriously afraid of a common mugging?
The morning air wasn't exactly refreshing, it was just too hot for that, but at least he could breathe a little better than in the hostel room. The streets were more or less deserted, if you didn't count the stray dogs, the homeless people and the numerous rats, rustling between the overflowing garbage cans that were cluttering the corners. Even this early in the morning the city stank. With the rising sun the stench would definitely grow worse during the day.
Walter walked for about ten minutes, trying to focus on the hearty breakfast he'd have in a couple of moments. Everything was better with a full stomach.
Then he heard it.
He froze and shrank into a shadow, listening intently.
Footsteps.
Approaching footsteps.
Walter pressed himself against the door of a table dance bar's back entrance. The area was still bathed in dark shadows… maybe whoever was walking behind him would simply pass him by? Walter halted his breath.
Maybe he was just paranoid, lots of people could be around, a hung over partygoer, a late shift worker on his way home, a beggar, an a. m. shift worker on his way to work…
It was a thin man of rather small built with a gaunt face, metal rimmed glasses, black leather jacket….
Guerrero.
If Walter hadn't already been holding his breath, he'd stopped any intake of air right now. It felt as if his blood was flash-freezing at this very minute.
Of course he was not unarmed. There was a combat knife attached to his ankle and he was carrying a .45 automatic… but judging from everything he had heard about Guerrero he could have just as well been naked as a jaybird.
Maybe if he didn't see him…? If he walked past him he could head off in the other direction, make a beeline for the bus depot, disappear in some beach resort…
If only he didn't see him…
Guerrero was walking very quietly. Like a ragged sort of prowling mountain lion. He was seemingly staring straight ahead, but Walter could tell from the position of his shoulders how watchful he was.
But the dark shadows provided good cover.
Walter almost didn't believe his eyes – Guerrero was walking past him!
He forced himself to wait… wait some more… till Guerrero's footsteps weren't echoing in the alley anymore and he could be sure he was really gone.
Releasing his breath, he quietly slipped away from his hiding place and headed off into the other direction, back to where he had been coming from. Keeping close to the walls he sneaked forward… only a few more steps… once he was on the main street he could…
The silhouette of a man suddenly appeared at the end of the street. A big man. With a gun in his hand.
Walter stopped.
Turned around.
Another man was blocking the street behind him. Blond. Broad shoulders. Gun in his hand.
Guerrero was not alone.