Post by Blake Sterling Jr. on Jul 10, 2015 3:23:17 GMT -8
I don't know where I'm going
But, I sure know where I've been
Hanging on the promises
In songs of yesterday
An' I've made up my mind,
I ain't wasting no more time
But, here I go again
Here I go again
In the harsh sunlight of summer in Seattle a tattooed man talks to himself inside a beaten down van.
“Feet on the dashboard, good music blarin’ through them speakers, and a dog eared trade paperback in mah hand, I tell you whut mah life is pretty damn sweet. Yah know whut dey say about talkin’ ta yerself… Well as long as we don’t answer should be jus’ fine. Ah Cassidy yer such a scamp.”
Tho' I keep searching for an answer,
I never seem to find what I'm looking for
Oh Lord, I pray
You give me strength to carry on,
'Cause I know what it means
To walk along the lonely street of dreams
A sharp tone comes from the back of the van. The man places a bookmark in the book and mutters “Damn, time tah it tah work.” He spins the passenger seat to the side and moves through the heavy curtain to the back of the van.
The inside of the back of the van is lit with soft light from the ceiling. At one time ten people could be almost comfortable standing back here, with the amount of mounted gear it’s now a trick to have three. One side has a scared work bench with a mounted bullet press, drill press, and even a small upright band saw. Other side has more electronics than a radio shack.
The man gracefully sits into the chair and reviews the contract.
AM,
Roland Desmond
2351 45th st NE
Threat level: low
Pay: Standard
Time: 12 hours or less
B
“Well ain’t that sweet.”
An' here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known,
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone
An' I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time
The van is parked just out of sight but easy enough to see the targets house in the reflection of a neighbors bay window. In the back of the van a video screen showing that window is easily seen while the man cleans his guns and installs new baffles on the sound suppressors.
From the corner of his eye a pair of red tail lights flash and park in the driveway. Two people get out of the car and head into the house. The man finishes getting suited up, tucking the guns in the correct locations. When he is finished he stops by a small statue of a long faced man in a western outfit. “Saint ol’ Killers, watch ova me as ah work in yer name.” The door closes and the security system comes online.
I'm just another heart in need of rescue,
Waiting on love's sweet charity
An' I'm gonna hold on
For the rest of my days,
'Cause I know what it means
To walk along the lonely street of dreams
The night was warm and as always during the summer time the man disliked the amount of clothing his job required. Thoughts were a background noise in his head while all senses were sharp and on task. A quick patrol around the house showed there to be three people in the house two male and one female.
Unlocking the back door was easy, the security system was also offline. In the kitchen the man could hear conversation through a doorway. Two voices. Quietly pulling out both silenced Glocks he quietly moved to the next room.
An' here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known,
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone
An' I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time
The man comes around the corner and see’s the two people sitting watching TV. Both look fit and attractive, almost like models. Without saying a word he puts a subsonic hollow point round in both of their chests and then head. Their hands only twitched towards the guns they had under their arms.
The man thinks while looking for his final target “Desert Eagle, .50 Caliber. Well dey ain’t professionals, more like wanna-be’s who watched one too many action flicks…” A voice calls from a back room as a man walks out of the back room. He is so attractive he looks like just walked out of a high end fashion magazine “Where are you two fucks? Are you even getting ready? I want to hit that club and look for recruits for… Shit.” He dives back into the room.
I'm just another heart in need of rescue,
Waiting on love's sweet charity
An' I'm gonna hold on
For the rest of my days,
'Cause I know what it means
To walk along the lonely street of dreams
The clear sound of a gun slide clicking into place can be heard.
“Look man, we don’t want any trouble. I’ve got some important friends and they would be really upset if I get shot tonight.”
Moving low and quick the man heads for the doorway. He throws himself on the floor and slides on the carpet stopping just long enough to get a clear shot of the targets chest. Four shots from two guns make a very tight grouping just slightly off from center mass. The target caught unaware doesn’t even fire off a round as he slumps to the ground.
An' here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known,
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone
An' I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time
Guns, wallets, jewelry all go into a small black bag. checks ID’s of bodies, Roland Desmond was the man in the room. Body pat downs are quick and thorough, scores a thick roll of hundreds for the trouble. The man does a quick sweep of the house. Furnished rental, not used often. In the fridge is a six pack of import beer with some German name on the bottles, the man grabs two.
Back to the van, disengage security system, drops off bag, and grabs “clean up kit.” Drags Desmond’s body laying it between the others on the couch. He opens valve and douses the bodies with gasoline and lights the fuse on the “clean up kit” as the flames quickly ignite the gasoline soaked rag and move to the pooling gasoline. He is already in the van driving away when the kit sets fire to the couch, burning the bodies.
But, here I go again,
Here I go again,
Here I go again,
Here I go...
An' I've made up my mind,
I ain't wasting no more time
He takes two hours to make sure he hasn’t been tailed. Another night, another successful job. Takes an inventory of the spoils. Around ten thousand in bills, credit cards, three burner phones, one fancy palm pilot, three desert eagles (never fired), standard issue rounds and a spare clip for each gun. Should be a fair amount of credit after it gets processed. He turns on the monitor and enters the passcode to unlock the computer. He replies to the sender of the email
B
Target plus two.
Clean and clear.
Will use drop box A2V.
AM
Taking out a medium sized metal canister, the man unscrews one end and places all confiscated items inside. Using the money as padding he then replaces the screw top and sets it on the passenger seat as he drives to drop location A2V.
An' here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known,
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone
'Cause I know what it means
To walk along the lonely street of dreams
He pulls his van to the west side of the Here and There Burger and with canister tucked under his arm after monitoring the area for a half hour heads to the metal plate just a little ways down from the men’s room. Sliding the plate to the side he fits the canister into the impression and waits for the sensor to read the lid. A small beep and the canister gets sucked inside.
A small grumble comes from the man’s stomach and he smiles heading to stand in line for service. “Ah ya, howdy. I would like two of yer double cheese and meat and two of yer vaniller shakes. Na I don’t wanna mega-size it. Uh-huh here ya go, keep dah change. You have ah nice night too.” The man reclines the plush passenger seat pulls out the side arm lap top tray and pulls one of the German beers out of the mini fridge. "Yup, tonight was ah good night."
An' here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known,
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone
An' I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time...
But, here I go again,
Here I go again,
Here I go again,
Here I go,
Here I go again...
