Hour Of Darkness

CH 18 - "The Perfect Shot"

18...The Perfect Shot...

The 1964 Shelby Cobra sat silently in the heavy shadows of the thick evergreens. Hunter watched with narrowed eyes as his target paced back and forth along the gravel walk in front of the guide station. He didn't approach him or make his presence known. His objective was to merely observe and follow until the target let him to Lancaster and the woman. Orlando wanted the woman dead, she was of no consequence to him, but he wanted Lancaster neutralized and retrieved alive.

Hunter reached beneath the seat and withdrew a Beretta 9mm. He held the handgun lightly and rested it on his thigh. As with all his other possessions, the Beretta was unique in that it was gold plated and intricately engraved. It had been designed to honor fallen soldiers and law officers by being shot in the 21-gun salute. He'd purchased it for a pretty penny but found it well worth its price.

He thought about his female target. He preferred it when his targets were men, but when the job called for it, he'd put down women as quickly and efficiently as he had the men. He tried to picture the female target's face, imagine what she looked like. Not that it mattered. It would have no hearing on his ability to take her out. It wasn't easier for him to eliminate an unattractive woman than a beautiful woman. It was all the same to him. A target was a target.

Charlie's face rose unbidden when he tried again to picture what the woman target looked like. He tried to force away Charlie's image but it lingered relentlessly. His eyes remained on the target as he continued to pace back and forth, but his mind began to wander. Which wasn't custom for him at all. His mind was always focused one hundred percent on the job at hand. Except now, it did wander. Back to the motel. Was Charlie still there, perhaps still laying naked on the bed, hoping he would change his mind and return?

The sudden throbbing in his crotch snapped him back to attention. His moment with Charlie had been mind blowing, but it was over. Even as he sat there, she was already a part of his past. Fate hadn't meant her to be anything more. A mere interlude in the theater of life. He straightened in his seat and forced himself to focus on what was before him, rather than on what he'd left behind.

The target stopped pacing, stood motionless for a moment then walked to one of the trucks parked in the parking lot. It was an old red Ford pickup with a gun rack in the rear window. He punched his fist through the driver door window, unlocked the door and pulled it open. Once inside, he hot wired the truck and backed out of the parking lot.

Hunter was moderately impressed. He wasn't just a mindless lab rat. He knew how to think. Hunter wasn't sure if that was a good thing, all things considered, but a thinking killer was much more efficient at his job than one who killed irrationally. He should know.

When the Ford pickup pulled out on the two lane road and headed further up the mountain, Hunter started the Cobra and followed.

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The late afternoon sun was slowly dropping behind the treetops. A heavy, biting chill crept onto the air the moment the sunlight began to fade. The shadows beneath the trees darkened and seemed to creep forward with the stealth of a deadly predator. Clarice shuddered beneath her thick jacket as Jonathon stood at the bottom of the back porch steps and loaded his arms with firewood.

“What is it?” He asked.

She flinched and looked away from the darkening trees. “Nothing.” He eyed her doubtfully then packed on a couple more logs. She watched him weigh down his arms. “I could carry an armload too.”