Chapter 5 – The Contractor
Force always attracts men of low morality.
Albert Einstein
Loren gazed out the window for several minutes before it occurred to him that his intended outdoor view was totally obscured by window frost. He toyed with the thought that if he concentrated hard enough maybe he could melt a hole in the frost on the office window by pure will. Up until then, he had been perfectly satisfied with being catatonic.
Workaholic was not in Loren’s vocabulary. Even now his whole posture was one of a slackared. But he was the boss, and if he wanted to spend his day slouched in his office chair with his arms folded and his feet propped on the desk, who could or would stop him? His agents in the field worked to pay his bills. All he had to do in return was to shuffle paper meaningfully, delegate authority and act like he was somebody who mattered.
Today he was anticipating the arrival of a new recruit. Hopefully it would be a massive youth, oozing testosterone, one without scruples, and one who would efficiently execute legal termination orders without question or remorse. After all it wasn’t as if it were murder; it was more like hunting down a death row inmate.
The seismic clunk of elevator doors jarred Loren out of his self-induced vacuum. He dropped his down-at-the-heel wingtips to the floor and straightened up to his most officiating pose. Shuffling through a folder might add to the deception; at least it would cut the latent excitement he harbored for another warm body to feed his scanty coffers. A moment later the dry wooden floor squeaked with the arrival of his newest resource. A shadow paused outside the office door. The knob slowly turned and the door began a cautious apprehensive swing open. With the waddled stride of an overweight porker with bad ankles, in walked a short paunchy old guy in an ill-fitting suit. His briefcase seemed too old to exist. Their eyes met; a scruffy old ex-cop attempted to suck in ten years of self-indulgence. A crooked smile crossed his face.
“Hi, my name is Beauford Lempky. Most folks call me Buck. The agency sent me over. They said you might need some help.”
If Loren didn’t need help before he certainly needed it now. He scrambled for an appropriate reply. “Buck? I can work with that.” Why me? “I’m Loren Frost. Pleased to meet you, uh, Buck. Come on in and have a chair. Welcome to the organization. You’re three months behind in your work.”
“Pardon?”
“Sorry; inside joke; just trying to say that you’ve got plenty to keep you busy if you’re up to it. The sooner we get started, the sooner the money will start rolling in.” He knew that would set well with Buck. It always did with the pool of has-been contractors he drew from.
Loren had several regular contractors that he kept as busy as he could. Some of them were just naturals. They seemed short on social skills, excelled at short marriages, quick to engage their reptile instincts and hungry enough to ignore the scum factor that came with the job. The ‘Buck’ types were common in this line of work. They tended to be on the sloppy side. Loren preferred the detail oriented craftsman, although he wasn’t one himself, and rarely saw one darken his door.
“I like the sound of that.” Buck could feel the days of hunger gnawing at his under filled belly. “Is there some kind of an advance . . .?”
“Yah, I’ll be giving you an expense card as soon as we get you signed in and heading out on assignment.” Loren tried to reconcile the agency summary with the man sitting in front of him. “As I remember, your resume included something about Army Ranger training. Fill me in on that?” He tried not to let his tone reflect his disblief.
“Oh yeah, that. I had completed several months of training when they bumped me out; something about not meeting a profile of some sort. But I did complete a lot of training. I was real good at . . . “
“Yeah! That’s fine; just checking.”
Loren sat quietly for a moment. He looked up at his target in the frost. It was frozen solid, but the edges of the pane had started to thaw.
Buck started to shift in his chair. He hated having to justify himself. Let me at it? He thought. “I’m good” he mumbled.
“What?” Loren’s gaze returned to Buck, slumped in his chair with his hat dangling like a sticky cigarette from his fish limp hand.
“Nothing” Buck replied, embarrassed that his thought had escaped his lips. “I was just thinking how much I enjoy this work, when I get to do it.”
“Yah, well let’s get on with it. The sooner we get the routine ‘boiler plate’ out of the way the sooner we can get you on the road. I assume you are ready to travel?” Loren knew that he had Buck hooked. From this point on Buck would be a puppy.
“Oh sure, I do a lot of travelin’ ” Buck fibbed. He was not one to plan beyond the bottom of the glass. But as far as he was concerned, any other commitments were ‘down in the noise’. Nothing would get in the way of doing what he loved the most and did the best, he thought.
Loren skimmed the resume again. “Loyalty Oath and Security Check complete; passed your Regs Exam, and your Mark Acquisition test.” Loren eased back in his chair. “Let’s do it.” Loren handed Buck a sheaf of business forms and a pen. “You get busy filling these out and I’ll go get your standard issue hardware pack.
Buck looked at the forms. “Have you got a pencil?” he paused “With a good eraser?”
Loren cocked his head. “Okay, yeah, sure, in the top drawer of that desk” he pointed.
“Oh, and can I use my own heat on this assignment? I’m used to the feel of it and all.”
“Sure, if you’re comfortable with it but there are lots of different tricks in the company case. A nine millimeter with hollow points, delivery points, also some crystal doses, a garrote, lasers, GPS tags, Spearite Mighty and the like. There are even rubber gloves, bags and tags. You’re going to need some of it, right?”
“Oh yeah, I guess you’re right.” Buck liked the direct approach but maybe he could use more than just his trusty buddy, his 45 “blunder bust”. He liked the hole it made.
Loren headed down the hall, weighing the wisdom of sending an old fat guy with bad feet and the breath to match, with hopes that he could successfully execute such a delicate deletion. But, time was short. He was going to have to make do with what the headhunter sent.
Buck finished jockeying with the forms and leaned back in his chair. He felt good that he was able to finish before Loren returned. Doing form work in front of another human being was a potentially demoralizing activity for the old flat foot.
Loren set the case down next to Buck. “Here,s the key. Don’t loose it or you’ll have to chew your way into this thing.”
The leather case was truly a thing of beauty; burgundy leather, with polished brass scuff trims and latch hardware to match. Each latch had a combination as well as a keyhole. Next to the grip was a security lanyard clip. He was glad he hadn’t turned it down, but at the same time he was not sure if it would fit his style.
To be honest, Loren couldn’t imagine the case fitting Bucks’ style either, not at all. “The expense card is loose enough to cover some clothes. You’d be well served to get some clothes to help you fit in. Your age won’t be a problem but you’ll likely have to look a little more techie” Loren noticed Buck’s scraggly hair. “You will have to blend in with some high tech places where your mark works.”
Buck was beginning to have second thoughts. “So who’s my first mark and not just who, but where is he?”
“The file is in the case but the fact is, we don’t know who he is or exactly where he is. Our dossier on him is pretty flat. He showed up out of no where and moved about, but there’s no clear path. The system can only tell you where he may have been, two days ago or so. Where he is going is only a statistical guess. Since he doesn’t have an implant, we can’t track him directly. We’re looking for a shadow. What he looks like is also a guess. There are some group photos but we don’t know which one of the group he is. He worked as
a contractor with Rand-Sparling, in research, but we haven’t figured out exactly which section employed him. And how he got employed by one of our primes without the appropriate documentation is beyond belief. Obviously he knows how this game is played and he’s good at it. Check out his file and the leads. Pick one and give it your best shot; excuse the pun. There is an incentive bonus curve in there too. The sooner you get this guy the bigger the bonus. It’s going to be tough but that’s why you’re getting paid the big bucks. Go sic-him, Bucky.”
“Buck!” he quickly corrected. He was proud of his nickname but hated any bastardization.
Buck finished up his paper work and sat through the office communication protocol orientation. Loren loaded him down with a few more items of questionable importance and bid him good luck.
It was as if Loren had given Buck a new lease on life. Buck inserted himself into his overcoat with the grace of a dog sizing its bed. Next he reached for the shiny leather attaché and yanked on it only to find that it was about thirty pounds heavier then it looked. “Oh, shit!” he groaned looking back at Loren.
“Keep it close. You’ll never know when you’re going to need that case. You can leave some of it with your luggage.” Loren quipped. “Oh and your Public Weapons Transfer Exemption is in the case. Sign it and don’t loose it or you’ll have to whack your mark with a stick.”
“Damn straight.” With his own briefcase as a counterweight Buck shuffled out of the office and back to the elevator.
Buck was alive. In the elevator he leaned back against the rail and relished the moment. He knew this was going to be an easy job; it had his name written all over it. The dry spell was over. He hiked up his pants, tucked in his shirt and loosened his tie. That was nearly the last thing he remembered as he entered the nearest bar.
* * * * *
Chapter 6 – The Implant
A man should look for what is, and not for what he thinks should be.
Albert Einstein