TRENT - "Back Road"

TRENT - "Back Road"

By Alan J. Porter

‘I can do better than this.’

The thought crossed my mind at the same instant that the knee of the man across the street exploded in a shower of bone, tendon, and blood.

Something hadn't seemed right with the set up. I didn't exactly see what the problem was, more felt it on an instinctive level, just as my finger started to squeeze on the trigger. The muscles in my left arm supporting the barrel of the Robinson Armament N96 rifle tensed, dropping the shot low. So instead of blowing his brains out, I kneecapped him.

I knew I'd made problems for myself, both with those who gave me my orders, and with the man now writhing on the rain slicked street below my rooftop vantage point.

But there wasn't time to think about it, my first priority was to disappear. While my shot had been muffled by a suppressor, his screams of agony weren't. Someone would respond, and quickly. Maybe a passerby or resident who heard the shouts, but more likely the backup team that I suspected was nearby. I'm sure he was wired, or at least carried a radio or cell phone with which to summon assistance.

***********

“You’re a godamn idiot!”

The accusation hung in the air between us like a bad smell that no-one wants to acknowledge. I wasn’t going to acknowledge this either. So I just let it hang.

Just because the tall suited figure standing on the other side of the desk sent people like me out to do his dirty work, didn’t mean he was right. I said nothing.

My passive resistance had the effect of raising his blood pressure a couple of notches closer to heart failure territory. He seemed ready to explode in another round of expletives, probably adding in a few doubts about my parentage and why I’d chosen this particular profession, when he slumped back down into his chair. The previously tense shoulders sagged.

“Just get out my sight.” The voice was still raised, but had lost its edge.

I spun on my heels and started for the door. The voice behind me was now calm, measured, the tone steady with no hint of anger. The volume little more than a whisper.

“Whatever it was, it better be good.”

I paid that remark the same notice I had with the previous ones. None. Without hesitating or breaking step, I continued into the outer office, slamming the connecting door behind me.

***********

It took three long weeks. And what a tedious three weeks they’d been. I’d basically spent them either at my condo in the hills, on my boat at the marina, or hopping between random bars and restaurants. I went ‘by the book,’ varying my routes and times, but I did throw in enough repeatable actions to establish a few habits that hopefully would attract attention.

The habit they picked was The Road.