Maybe others would think it was a car backfiring, but he knew it was a gunshot. Then there was a second. He knew where from too. He cursed that he had no weapons on him, but guns and knives were from his other life. The life he tried to ignore and get away from and yet he was running, running towards the gunshots. Why hadn't he carried a gun. Stupid fool, the kind of stupidity that got a guy killed.
He turned a corner, running fast now, more gunshots. He pushed the reluctant thoughts away. This was his solution, and it was the right one. His mind was made up, and his body might have been out of special training for three years, but he was still just as fit. Most of all in that moment he felt so alive again. A faintly remembered feeling which felt great.
He turned a second corner and then in an instance was still, hidden by the darkness and able to observe the scene in front of him.
The car was big and black. A Bentley maybe or a Rolls Royce hard to tell. A man lay still on the ground, a pool of blood slowly spreading out. He guessed by the suit, and the cap laying on the floor this dead man was the car's driver. A second man with his back to him, stood calmly reloading his gun. A click click click and it was done. The gun's a Browning he thought, the killer a professional too like me. You could always tell.
Dammit, he cursed the gunman having to reload was my best chance, too late.
The gunman was calling out. "Mr Draco you may as well come out and face me. Don't you want to die like a man, standing up tall, looking me in the eye or shall I shoot you like a dog cowering in your car? Your bodyguard is dead. There is no help coming. We both know you are not one for guns and even if you were you would be no match for me."
Now, the car door was slowly opening and a man in his fifties got out. Suited and booted, smart suit, expensive. He looked pale in the glow from the street lights overhead. His hands were outstretched, shaking from fear.
The suited man called Draco began to plead. "Look he said what ever you are being paid I'll double it, triple it even. Just don't kill me."
"Now that would hardly be fair to my employer Mr Draco. I am a professional. I take a job, and I complete it. I have a reputation to uphold." The gunman replied. "By the way, before I kill you Mr Brownlow sends his regards."
Fearing he would be too late if he didn't act now, he improvised, throwing a large stone he had found into a nearby parked car's windscreen. The noise causing the gunman's attention to drift just for a second and so he was able covered the short distance to the gunman, and he leaped onto him.
The fight was not easy, but he had been well trained, better trained than the gunman and he had the element of surprise. So finally the gunman was suffocated by his vice like grip, and finally his hands felt the gunman's neck go crack and the man went limp.
It was then he realised Mr Draco had used the chaos of the fight to get into his car and get away from the scene.
"Bastard," said the man out loud. He was left alone to escape from this mess before the police arrived and started asking questions.
Then his training kicked in again and he calmly checked the area ensuring he had left no evidence. Luckily he had worn gloves and as the gunman was wearing a balaclava and so was covered from head to foot he was unlikely to leave much evidence. So as he had been taught he calmly left the scene the opposite way to the way he had come and went home. Always walk slowly and calmly away, never run, running attracts attention
As his breathing and heart rate returned to normal he was unsure if he was happy his brief adventure was over or if he wanted more.
It was two days later when a Mercedes glided up beside him, and a man got out and informed him briskly that Mr Draco wanted a word. The Mercedes driver opened the rear door and there was Mr Draco smiling and motioning for him to join him in the car. A different suit but again expensive he thought.
The man shrugged and got in.
"Major Thomas Breen, pleased to meet you, I am Mr Draco but you know that." Said Draco.
"How do you," started Breen
"How do I know who you are?" smiled Mr Draco interrupting. "It took a little while, but my people tracked you down; I have contacts."
"Ok so you know who I am, so what do you want?" asked Draco
"To thank you and to offer you a job." Replied Mr Draco.
"A job?" Replied Breen raising an eyebrow.
"Yes a job," continued Mr Draco. "I guess it is obvious that my people umm let me down shall we say the other night, and but for your timely invention I would be dead and that bastard Brownlow would be taking over my territory. So from what I saw and what I now know about you I want you to kill Brownlow."
Breen was tempted to deny what he was or used to be, but in the end with a voice in his head telling him that it was likely Draco knew more about him than he did he took a different tack.
"Look," Draco replied that's all behind me, "I don't kill people anymore. I was happy to help, but that's it. No thank you."
"You will be very well paid," commented Draco.
"No thank you," repeated Breen. "That's not what I do anymore."
"Didn't seem to stop you the other night," commented Draco drily. "Look," he said, "think about it, here is how you can reach me and here is a file on Brownlow. Call me in two days."
As Breen got out of the car he heard Draco say, "don't make me come, and find you again. I might get cross if you do. Call me in two days"
Breen's first reaction was to grab Draco by his scrawny neck and tell him where to go, but the menace in Draco's voice made him stop and think that maybe this was not a man to be messed with.
Breen phoned up some of his old friends and so found out that Draco was indeed a Mister Big. Drugs, prostitution, gambling all the usual underworld stuff. He had created his empire quickly and ruthlessly, but had of course made a lot of enemies along the way. His outfit seemed pretty professional and he had the reputation of being smart, a thug maybe, but a smart thug. He also had a reputation of being loyal to his employees, the smartness showing his friends had said. This meant the police had never gotten near to proving a thing and so he had built his empire and maybe got a little overconfident as the other night showed.
Breen then read the stuff on Brownlow, feeling himself getting more and more sucked in the more he read. Draco's age give or take from the picture, but smaller fry. A small timer maybe but still Brownlow's house was huge, fortunately on the outside of town. He had three security guards working around the clock. Looked impregnable, but he knew there would be weaknesses; he just needed time to find them.
So he made the call. Said he was interested, but that he wanted a few days to check out Brownlow properly. Draco made no argument just told him to do what he had to do. He liked that. Liked that he was left to do it his way and so he went back to work.
It was three days before he told Draco he was ready to move. Draco told him what he would pay. Breen agreed the amount immediately it was never about the money for him. The only thing he had insisted on was the money being paid to him straight away and in full. Secondly, he insisted on being given a house somewhere safe. Argentina was agreed as the right destination, this was where Draco had lots of business interests and contacts so made sense. Breen would come back to do contracts, but Draco would have to get him back to Argentina each time. He argued he needed the money for debts and argued he needed a safe base and finally Draco agreed with a calm warning about conning him and what would happen if he did.
"No con Mr Draco I will deliver for you if you do what I ask," Breen had said and so it was agreed between the two men.
Draco gave him a contact that would kit him out with what ever he wanted and the location of a boat mooring which would take him to Jersey where Draco's jet would take him to Europe and then a scheduled flight to Argentina. Draco had been surprised when Breen had insisted on two tickets for the scheduled flight but again had to agree.
So there he was, late at night outside Brownlow's house kitted out with everything he needed. The plan rehearsed over and over again in his head. There was the security guard, going out on his hourly walk around the grounds, a little late, but then the guards were pretty lax at what they did and that was helping him. A brighter employee would have checked up on his guards or changed arrangements.
The security guard disappeared around the corner, and taking a moment to enjoy the adrenaline rush he fired the abseil rope across the gap from the wall to the house. Quickly and smoothly he used the rope to land softly onto the front step of the house bypassing the alarms exactly as he had planned. Child's play he thought. The door as expected was unlocked, and so he could move seamlessly into the next stage of the plan, crossing the hall, calmly opening the door to the security room where the two security guards looked up surprised.
"Good evening gentleman." Breen said and then he tossed the gas grenade and closed the door again. He counted to ten, there was briefly noise from the room but quickly it died down and as he counted he put on his gas mask. He stopped and listened there had been no loud noises, but he checked anyway that he had caused no alarm in the house. As he listened he prepared the syringe.
He swiftly entered the room closing the door and moved the bodies into the corner; so he was ready for the third guard. Ten minutes later the third guard returned to the house. Breen heard him whistling happily as he came nearer to the door. As he entered the door Breen grabbed him from behind, jabbing the syringe into his neck and pushing the plunger so the drug entered his bloodstream. This quickly knocked him out and Breen quickly tied up all three guards so they would be no more trouble.
It had only been 12 minutes since he left the wall surrounding the house, and already the three guards were dealt with, the room was closed and he was ready to move onto the next stage. His old commander would be proud thought Breen although disgusted that he hadn't brought a gun. He knew he had 6 hours before the security guards would be relieved.
At Brownlow's door, he listened intently. Concluding that Brownlow from his yelling was in bed and that his wife was heading for the shower. Wife! A slight hiccup in the plan. He had been told that Brownlow's wife was away. He had wanted Brownlow in bed, easier to deal with him, but his wife was a different matter.
He had a strange morality about his killings. Brownlow was the target and so was dead the second he had agreed to take the job on. The security guards were in the way and so had to be dealt with. The wife was like the security guards they had to be subdued, but didn't need to be killed.
He heard the water of the shower running, and then it went quieter. He guessed that the wife had gone into the bathroom and shut the door. Fortunately she was singing in the shower.
