Assassin by D.A.Sanford - HTML preview

My new life

Having that woman as my mentor, my boss, has many perks and also many tasks. After I graduated, I was now a full adult. I even looked a man of late twenties even though I am just twenty.

I have a home in the rural community. It is not quite a city but not like the backwoods. Paved roads, stores and such. In other words we are not crowded in so tight that we share a roll of toilet paper at an elbow’s reach between two houses.

The street has been given the memory of me being here for many years. They know that I do have to travel so they all will watch my house as I do when they go out. What they do not know is that this neighborhood is under the protection of that woman.

The way I live, you would not know it. I normally am a delightful person but I don’t tolerate bigots. I have been known to debate up a storm but only with people that do not take it to a personal level. Do that and it is over. Never try to talk to me again. You will get a cold shoulder.

I am that guy that will wheel my barbeque out to the side walk pull the cooler out and just cook up a storm. By now, the whole street knows to come on over and enjoy good eats. Most of them will bring something over for all. It usually happens after I return from my travels.

They all know that my skill is needed all over and I do a thorough investigation of the circumstances the render a fair decision. Always just based on the facts. No decision of mine has ever been overturned. As far as my neighbors know, I am in demand and I am paid well.

That pay is not rubbed in their noses either. I have been known to come to the aid when one of my neighbors are in trouble. Sickness and such, I have been known to monetarily help out with only “pay it forward” as a requirement.

Yes, they do not know that major reason I go out but that is not the reason I do what I do. I do what I do so I can live on this street with good neighbors and live in peace.

Once I get an assignment, I have a group that I trust to take care of the things at home because I go out on business and do not know exactly how long I am gone. Mail needs to be daily collected, lawns and bushes to be watched after and such. All my bills are paid by my accountant. Those bills go directly to them.

Now I have my next assignment. Everyone is notified.

The drag strip

There is a father son team that has been preying on unsuspecting people. They run a back water drag strip. They have found ways of stealing the dragsters from the owners. They then either strip them down and sell them as parts or completely strip the shell to bare and primer it. Then sell it as a whole car.

They have killed when necessary. Most of the time, they just bully by intimidation. They have crossed the line and have been deemed unsalvageable. Time to ask the neighbors to watch my home.

As per my ritual, I must know all about every aspect of drag racing and the terms for each piece. The only way I can do that for this job is to build one myself. It must be something that they see as profitable and I must look the part of someone that can be easily bullied but can put up a poor bluff.

I went to a different drag strip and saw a yellow VW bug that had been modified. All the necessary safety features were already in it. The owner was actually one of the targets. It was the son. I went into my act and now was a person who wanted to get into drag racing but on the low end.

He started to go over the features and I deliberately misnamed a few parts but with the confidence of a person faking it. The son went along with it and then we agreed on a price, trailer included. Now came what I really wanted.

“I don’t feel comfortable learning how to drive this at a big track like this one. Would you happen to know of a lesser known strip that I can do some runs to get to know this car?”

He bit on my hook. “My father and I own a small strip in Klivis. Only the locals but I invite you to come. Since I sold it to you, I invite you to come and spend the day. Free runs all day.” He hands me a complimentary business card stating just that.

“Give this to the pit gate. I look forward to having you there.”

We shake and he helps me hook the trailer to my pickup. I drive away and I am now in my personal warehouse. I need to go over every aspect of the car. I need to see the true condition of the car. Fortunately, I take great precautions to protect myself. The pick up has a tracking devise canceller.

I do not trust anyone or anything involved with an assignment. Even the people I do work for.

There was what I expected. A tracking devise that was within the homemade fuel cell. That cell was removed and I drove it to a few towns away and threw it in a parts store dumpster. I had shown the store the one I brought and told them that I wanted a professionally manufactured one. They had one and I bought it. I asked them if I could throw the handmade one in their dumpster. They said it was okay.

Now if they tried to steal the car, all they would find is the cell in the dumpster of a parts store. It would be something that they should expect from someone that bought the VW. homemade verses professional. I never present myself as a make due person. More like a naive spoiled rich man.

I go through every part of that car and trailer. I did not find any other trackers but I did find some built in sabotage items that a normal person would not look for or normally find. The biggest one is the electronic ignition. There was a cleverly disguised component that would cause a break in the electrical system. I left it in but now I know the sequence of their manipulating me actions.

There needed to be some externally visible changes. A few new decals. An almost too tall rear spoiler and the classic large circle number on the doors. It was this side of tacky. I am satisfied and now must study every inch of their drag strip.

My profession is basically described as obsession. I never am ready until I have every bit of information. To that end, I have access to the best information systems. I watch a few days if their operation. Not just the race days but those days that they are just operating normally.

Satellites are wonderful. Especially those that the government does not want you to know about. I can see the dirty label of their undershirt. When they are not racing, they operate that hot part sales out of that long barn.

Race day, they had a pattern. Tow the trailer to another area and when that owner came to the pits, there would be an exchange of words, then the son and the owner would go and retrieve the trailer. While they were doing that, the car would be taken into the barn. Then the father would sit in front of the door and just smile.

The one thing that I saw was that it looks like everyone there, with the exception of the mark, are employed by the father son team. The spectators, racers and crews, all were there on days other than race day.

There are no innocent ones there. I do not need to worry about innocents. I never see any women or children there. For a local track, this would not be a question. Now I am ready. Show time I drive in with my car in tow. I am warmly greeted by the son. There was a group in the pit area that wanted to see what I had. I know that they were looking to see if their little surprises were still in place. I would bet that they had retrieved the fuel cell from that dumpster. .

Now I was in the staging area. I made a fair run and made a show of making a few tweaks. Always with the crew observing me. They did not know that I had rigged their distributor to show me in the driver’s seat that they gave the signal. When I get the signal I work the gas pedal to make it look like their item was working.

After the first two runs, I suspected that the next one or two run, they would trigger the remote. I made sure that I never went back to the pit after that first time. That gives them time to tow the trailer away. Now for what I practiced in the warehouse.

I take the line and get my green. The light goes on. Flashing and I flutter the gas in tune to the light. I come back to the staging line. Look at the system and when asked, I tell them that I need another run to see if it is a true problem. They agree.

The next run, the light comes on and stays on. I kill the engine and coast until I see the light go out. I am still rolling so I jump start and head for the pits. As expected, my trailer is gone.

“Where the hell is my trailer?” I yell. The son comes over and tells me that there was some irritating noise coming from it.

“We did not want to disturb the pits so we towed it away. Let’s walk and I’ll show you what it is doing. “

We walk a far piece and there it was, still hooked to a tractor parked by a plow setup. There is no noise and he looks puzzled. “I guess that the battery must have worn down.” He said and then motioned me to ride the trailer back to the pits.

Wonder of wonders, the VW is gone and the fat fuck of a father is sitting on his lawn chair in front of their barn doors. The son sits next to him. I ask them where is my car? I am told to just get in my truck and leave.

“Never come back. Never get anyone else involved or you will just disappear in the pig sty.”

All laugh at me. Now for my obvious bluff. “If that VW is not on the trailer in one minute, you will regret it.” I pull out a remote. It purposely is a garage door opener. “I have a pound of C4 that will destroy that barn.

Guns are out and again the instructions are given. I shrug and get in the truck and drive as they all laugh. All of them are with the two. Right where they need to be. I am now on the road and stop. They cannot see me stopped. I hit the button and the explosion was magnificent. I lied. There were three pounds. I do not do anything just enough.

We are in the very description of remote. I drive back and the destruction is complete. They all must have stuck around because all that were there are dead. Just a mangled vestige of what used to be people. There was not a building left.

Time to drive away. Job complete.

When I make it back to the warehouse, the internet was alive with the news that an illegal chop shop was completely destroyed in what must have been a vapor buildup. All that were in there were killed. That was the requirement of the contract. I never tell them how but tell them that they need to be able to immediately come up with a natural explanation of the incident’

Whenever possible, they always look like an accident.

I get home and, as usual, I throw a party to thank the neighborhood for watching my home. They do love me as a good neighbor. I have bought a few adjoining vacant lots on the block and have them made into a small park with swings for the children.

I am a very good, respectful neighbor with a job that needs me to travel.