Hunter's Games (2 page)

I really should find somewhere to stay tonight. I need to be in top form for the job tomorrow, and getting drunk and not sleeping well isn’t the way forward. I take out my phone. I’ll call Josh and ask him to find me somewhere…

Actually, wait... No—he’ll shout at me for getting drunk without him.

No, I’ll sort it.

I finish my drink, pick up my bag and leave the bar, stepping outside and taking in a deep breath of the cool, night air. It’s dark but the streetlights are doing their job. I head left, which I’m hoping will lead me toward the main street in the district, where I’m more likely to find somewhere to stay.

I walk on for five minutes or so and start to notice the buildings seem to be getting smaller and more run down. Every other store seems to be a Chinese supermarket or a pawn shop…

Hmmm, maybe should’ve gone right out of the bar…

I approach a particular pawn shop and consider going inside to ask directions. There are two guys standing outside, whispering to each other conspicuously. I walk past and look through the window. There’s an old Chinese guy behind a counter, reading a newspaper. He’s wearing a vest that I imagine at one time in the distant past used to be white.

No, I can’t see him being all that helpful. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere soon.

I walk on, but one of the two guys at the door steps in front of me. He’s tall and thin, wearing a jacket three sizes too big for him. I see part of a tattoo crawling up the side of his neck that I guess covers part of his chest too. His baseball cap is on backward.

“Yo… help you?” he asks.

Assholes are assholes, wherever you may be…

“I’m good, thanks,” I say.

I’m not in the mood for a confrontation. I know, I know—that’s not like me at all. But I’m a little tired and a bit drunk and just want to find a bed for the night.

“You sure?” asks his friend, stepping out and standing just behind my left shoulder.

I glance back at him. He’s dressed in similarly over-sized clothes, but without a hat. He has a tattoo on the side of his shaved head that looks like a flame.

“Pretty sure,” I reply, nodding.

“You look lost, man…”

I shrug. “Is being lost the same as not knowing where you’re going?”

The two guys exchange slightly confused looks.

“Whatever, man,” continues the first guy. “What you got in that bag of yours?”

I sigh.

Well, we all know where
this
is going…

Fine, have it your way.

“What bag?” I reply.

“The one on your shoulder,” says the second guy.

I look back at him, taking a small side step to my right so the two of them are in front of me.

“What shoulder?” I say to him.

They look at each other again and puff their chests out. They frown and glare at me angrily, preparing for violence.

“Yo, are you stupid, old man?” asks the first guy.

I frown.

Me? Old?

“Since when is forty-two old, dickwad?” I ask, slightly offended.

The second guy taps his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s fuck him up, bro. I’m getting tired of this bullshit.”

“Fellas,” I say. “Trust me. You don’t want to do this.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that,
old man
?”

I drop my bag on the floor. As expected, they both momentarily glance at it. Which means, for a split second, they’re not looking at me.

Idiots…

I whip my right leg forward, kicking the guy on my left hard in the gut. As he doubles over, I spin around counter-clockwise, coming round and slamming my left elbow into his temple, aiming it perfectly and dropping him to the floor.

I come to a stop facing the first guy, who’s frozen to the spot with shock. With my left, I throw a stiff jab, hitting him flush on the nose. It doesn’t break, but it hurts him and makes his eyes water. As he clutches his face, I launch the same right kick to
his
gut as well. He sinks to his knees from the impact, wincing in pain and unsure where to put his hands. I step forward, slamming my right knee into his nose. This time, it breaks. He falls to the side, out cold.

I take a few deep breaths to compose myself and retrieve my bag. As I stand up, the door to the shop opens and the old Chinese guy comes out. He’s short, maybe five feet tall, if that. He’s bald on top with long gray hair on the sides. In addition to his vest, he has brown trousers on that are too short, finishing just above his ankles.

He looks at the two guys on the floor, then at me. He seems pissed.

“What the fuck you doing?” he yells. I can barely understand him.

I shrug. “They tried to rob me,” I say.

“You any idea who they work for?” he rants.

I shake my head.

“Oh, you fucking dead man!”

He turns and walks back into his shop, slamming the door behind him and leaving me standing on the street, a little unsure as to what just happened. I glance through the window and see him talking animatedly on the phone to someone.

Well,
that
was weird.

I set off walking to the end of the street. I look left and right, seeing the sign for a hotel a little further along, on the right.

Finally…

2.

September 23
^rd
, 2014

10:39

I’M SITTING ON the edge of the fountain in the center of Fulton Street, facing the Civic Center Plaza. It’s mid-morning, and the hustle and bustle of the rush hour crush is dying down. It’s another bright day, complimented by another cool breeze. I’ve been sitting here about quarter of an hour, composing myself before my meeting with Blake.

I look around, taking in the sights that the city has to offer. I’ve never actually been to San Francisco, so it’s nice to be a tourist as well as an assassin. To my left is the Public Library, on my right, the Asian Art Museum. Both are large, picturesque buildings that flank the street on both sides.

Directly ahead of me, across the Plaza, is City Hall—which is where I’m heading for my meeting. It’s a huge, lavish building made of brilliant white brick, which must be a pain to keep as clean as it is. It sports a decorative dome on the roof, which is a gray silver color with golden decorations all the way around and up to the top. Because it’s such a sunny day, the light is reflecting off the building making it all the more impressive to look at.

I set off walking, crossing over Polk Street, and stroll through the Plaza. Trees adorn either side, forming a walkway of sorts toward the front doors of City Hall. I've dressed for the part. I’m wearing beige trousers and a plain light-blue shirt, with brown shoes and a matching brown, leather laptop bag. To finish off the look of a career journalist, I’ve opted for an unfastened navy blue jacket.

Yes, I hate myself right now…

This is the part of the job I openly despise—the acting. Having to dress up and pretend I’m someone I’m not to work my way into a position where I can take out my target… It takes away from the job. I like things simple and straightforward. I’m not a deceptive person by nature, and I find this whole thing very comfortable. I’d much prefer to just walk up to people and shoot them in the face.

I tell you, if I was in charge...

I make my way up the steps and through the center of the three doors on the front of the building. The lobby is enormous. It’s a large, circular space with a distinctive dark marble floor and light marble pillars, which are there seemingly for effect rather than necessity. Around the edges are various doorways, leading off to all the different departments housed within these walls. There’s a huge, carpeted staircase leading to the first floor at the far end.

Just inside the main doors, a rope barrier directs me toward a security checkpoint off to the right. There’s a guard sitting behind a desk and another standing just in front of a metal detector. It’s a gateway scanner, like the kind you see in airports.

I watch the guards processing the people in front of me. They approach the desk and give their name. The first guard checks his list and, assuming they’re on it, sends them to the scanner. The second guard waves them through the machine. Presumably he’ll check them if the scanner beeps. Once through, a third guard issues them with a security badge, which is to be displayed at all times while on the premises.

There was no way into the building without going past these guards and through the scanner.

As I approach the front of the queue, I tick everything off in my head that I need to do, making sure I have things in my bag and that my story and credentials are fresh in my mind for when I’m inevitably asked to present them.

It’s like I’m an actor learning my words. Have I mentioned how much I hate this?

I reach the front of the line and step forward when I’m called over. I smile at the first guard.

“Good morning,” I say, in my most upbeat voice.

I actually asked Josh’s advice on how to sound happy. Is that bad?

“Brian Johnson, from Life and Times magazine,” I continue. “I've got an appointment to see Richard Blake at eleven.”

The guard scans down his list and I see him nod to himself as he finds my name on there.

“Mr. Johnson,” he confirms. “Thank you. Step forward to the metal detector please.”

He gestures with his right hand and I walk over.

The second security guard is standing on the other side of the scanner, pleasantly smiling at me. He’s a tall, slightly overweight man with a thick moustache. His hair is going gray at the sides and his body language tells me he’s probably been doing this job a long time. He moves like someone who has accepted their own monotony years before.

“Step through the scanner please, sir,” he says, waving me through.

I place my bag on the table at the side and step confidently through. It’s not like I have anything to hide, is it?

The machine beeps.

Uh-oh…

I’m just kidding—I expected it to happen. Don’t worry, I’m in complete control!

“Just step to the side please, sir,” he apologizes.

I do and he takes out one of those electronic wands from his back pocket and gives me the once over with it. It beeps when he moves it over my jacket pocket. He looks at me and smiles again, in that "this happens all the time, don’t worry" kind of way.

“Can you empty your pockets please?” he asks.

“Oh, of course—my apologies,” I say, showing I’m happy to comply.

I empty the contents out on the desk. My phone, billfold, and some loose change from my trousers. I reach inside my jacket and pull out a small, black, metallic case. The guard looks at me, then at the case, as I place it carefully on the desk.

“Can you open that up, too, please, sir?” he asks, in a tone now slightly more formal than before.

“No problem,” I say, as I unfasten it and lift the lid.

I turn it toward him, displaying the contents. There’s a sponge padding lining the inside of it, protecting a hypodermic needle, and two small vials of yellowish liquid.

The guard looks at me, and I can see the growing concern on his face.

“Oh, my God, I’m sorry,” I say, laughing and shaking my head as if something’s just occurred to me. “I have Type-1 diabetes. This is my insulin shot. I have to take it everywhere with me.”

The guard is visibly relieved, and smiles.

“That’s fine, sir, I apologize for the formalities. You can never be too careful.”

“Oh, I know,” I say, making small talk as I pack away my things. “Especially nowadays. It’s reassuring that people like you do these types of checks.”

He stands to his full height and sucks in his gut a bit, puffing out his chest and brimming with pride at the fine service he’s providing.

“Just doing my job,” he says. “Go and see my colleague to get your pass.”

“I will, thank you,” I say, walking over to the smaller desk on the other side. The third security guard hands me a temporary security pass attached to a lanyard, which I place around my neck.

“Could you tell me the way to Mr. Blake’s office, please?” I ask him.

“It’s just up the stairs and to the right. Follow the signs for Public Works and you’ll find his office down the corridor,” he replies.

“Many thanks.”

Following the directions he’s given me, I head over to the staircase, looking around me as I walk. It’s an impressive building inside, and the artwork hanging on the walls looks very expensive, and makes the place look more like an art gallery.

I climb the steps and head right along the corridor, following the signs for the Public Works department. I come out at the other end in a waiting room, of sorts. It’s a small, open plan area, with corridors stretching off to the left and right. A couple of nice looking chairs sit on either side as well, against the walls.