"I hate the rain", the hunter said to no one. It always starts like this. Jobs. Jobs always start out like this. Staking out quarry in all kinds of weather conditions. Picking the right moment. And then the strike. The moment is approaching. The hunter has been stalking this prey for five days. The chase has led to this gray official looking building, across the street.
"Lions don't complain about the weather." Isley said in the hunter's earphone. Isley is always listening. "They handle their business and then they go home."
The hunter is silent to this snide remark. It doesn't matter, anyway. This is the last job. Thirteen jobs and freedom. A smile crosses the hunter's face.
Standing on the roof across the street, the hunter sees a black sedan pull up to the building. Showtime? Two men get out of the car. One black, one white. The black man runs through the rain to the door of the building. The white man pops open an umbrella and opens the sedan door. The hunter feels the surge of adrenaline that always comes right before action.
An old man steps out of the car. He stands under the umbrella as the white man closes the car door. He appears to be well into his seventies. He wears a black suit and seems to carry his age well. He and the white man proceed to the door the black man is holding open.
"That's him". Isley yells into her earphone. Showtime!
In one fluid motion, the hunter leaps from the roof grabbing the drain pipe on the ledge of the building. Sliding down the pipe the hunter pulls a silenced USP Raider from its holster. Hitting the ground running, the hunter is across the street before the black man can close the door. Two shots and he crumples to the floor.
The white man, sensing that something is wrong, turns around. Hand in his jacket. Too slow. Too late. The man's head snaps back as the Black Talon round enters and exits his head. His body is cold before it hits the floor.
The old man turns to face the hunter. Standing straight, despite his old bones, he faces the hunter. First, panic in his face. Then shock. "A woman?" He can hardly believe this. But shock is replaced by fear as his eyes wander to the gun pointing at him. "Guards!"
Focus, stupid.The hunter thinks to herself for allowing her attention to lapse. Two heads peer over the railing on the landing above them . Several muffled voices fill the air. Then running footsteps. She turns her attention to the old man. He's shuffling of into one of the adjoing rooms. No you don't! She takes a step in his direction. The marble floor in front of her is peppered by automatic fire.
She turns to the stairs and fires at the first guard. The bullet entered his chest and threw him against the wall. She takes running steps after the old man. Two more shots whizz by her as she dives through an open door. A kick and the door slams shut in the guards faces.
"What are you doing?" Isley asks. "Is he dead yet?" Does he really think it's easy? She snatches the earphone out and throws it down. Silence assaults her as the sounds of gunfire just had. Then she hears a step outside the door.
Tim, the guard, is pretty sure he got her. At least wounded her. It's so quiet in there. He creeps slowly towards the door. Still no sounds. He looks to his partner, who shrugs. Tim readies himself and reaches for the doorknob. As he pushes the door open, he hears a soft beeping. He pushes the door all the way open and his partner rushes in.
Nothing. Well, nothing but a small backpack. Tim kneels beside the bag and the beeping stops. His partner is already running when the bomb explodes. Tim never knew what hit him.
The hunter walks calmly through the house stalking her prey. She sets more charges as she wanders through the house. I can smell your fear, old man. Then she sees him. Lifting a chair to break a window to facilitate his escape.
"Hi.", she says calmly. The old man turns and drops the chair. He's is frozen as the proverbial "deer in headlights". His mouth moves as if he was going to speak but no words came out. "So, you are the great 'Bloody Billins'." She stated matter of factly.
Jacob Billins aka Bloody Billins is the kind of man you compare to Hitler, Mousillini, Ghengis Khan and all the other mass murderers in history. This man has killed over one million people in guerilla warfare, drug wars, street turf wars and commercial wars. He has started more conflicts than the Catholic Church and has done so with impunity. He has a large collection of government and law enforcement officials. Unluckily for him The Tempest only needs government money, not its approval.
She thought of the crimes that this man has gotten away with. Drug trafficking, murder on a scale with war criminals, funding of revolutionary armies all over the world, women and children killed all in the name of profit. Yes. . . there's the anger! a voice says in her head. You can kill him now.
"Wait." he shouts. Dropping to his knees, he screams, "I'll double what they're paying. Plea . . ." His pleading was cut short by a deafening explosion. The entire building shook. Plaster dust fell on the shoulders of his black suit. His hands were clenched in a pleading gesture.
She looked at this once powerful man, begging for his life. She smiled at him. His expression softened as he rose to his feet. She raised the gun and squeezed the trigger. His head ruptured and his decrepid body slammed hard on the floor.
Jinx stood there and watched the smoke rise from the fractured remains of his skull for a moment. Smoke from the burning house began creeping under the door. As she begins to cough she returns to the now. She kneels down beside the body and removing a knife from her boot, cuts off his left pinky finger. Thirteen. I'm out She drops a small pouch on the floor and breaks the window. Climbing out, she hears the pouch begin to beep. She's halfway across the lawn when the bag explodes and levels what's left of the building.
The bell for dismissal could not have a come a moment sooner for Natalie Curtis. Being 13 is a lot harder for a girl than it was when her mother was one. But as lives go, her's couldn't be much better. She's a straight "A" student at the top of her class; her father is an idustrailist and her mom is one of the most well known socialist in the city.
