The Job

The Job

I was surprised when the airport cop with five stars on his collar blurted out an old name at me as I walked past him. My cover was probably blown but it was best not to bolt, best to see where this goes. Because he was a cop I stopped in my tracks.

“You talking to me officer?” I was surprised I noticed he had five gold stars on his collar, he must have been the chief.

“Yes sir I was, I’m sorry if I’ve mistaken you for someone else.”

“Sorry, it’s not me.” I smiled and shook my head. After he smiled back I continued toward the terminal. As a matter of fact, at one time I was called Hamster, and I hated it. And this was Leroy Brown, the guy who’d called me that. Back then, he loved being called Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown. Now, I just hoped this encounter didn’t blow my cover.

***

Thirty years ago.

“Brewster! . . .Brewster, are you here? Are you alive boy?” The drill instructor, a huge black guy with a State Trooper style hat and a sleeve full of stripes called my name one more time. “BREWSTER? . . .Answer me boy!”

My mind was, as it frequently was, in LaLa land and I was riding the subway with Barbara, and we were on our way to the museum. “Here sir!” I shouted.

From the farthest corner of my eye I saw his hulk approaching, in a split second my field of vision was completely filled with camo fabric, chocolaty skin, shiny white teeth and thick lips adorned with a black pencil-thin mustache.

“Where were you boy?”

“Right here sir.”

“I mean your brain boy. Where was it?”

“Pardon me sir?”

“Didn’t you hear me call your name?”

“I thought you said Barbara sir.”

“BARBARA?” he grinned broadly. “Look around boy. You see any women here?”

“No sir.”

“You got a first name boy?”

“Yes sir, it’s Hamilton.” The stress of this encounter made me congested so I scrunched up my face to clear my nostrils and aid my breathing.

“What’s with the face boy?”

“Sorry sir, it’s my allergies.”

The lips and the pencil thin mustache in front of me molded into a sneer. “My, my, you got allergies? How’d you get in this outfit boy? Did you bribe someone?

“No sir.”

“Know what you remind me of when who wrinkle up your nose like that?”

“No sir.”

“You remind me of a hamster, that’s what. Matter of fact, that’s what I’m gonna call you, hamster. You got that?

“Yes sir.”

“You better, ‘cause if you don’t, I’m gonna give you a field day.” He was referring to me running laps around the perimeter of the drill field.

***

I avoided running the laps and my life went on, I eventually completed the program, and started working in the field. I progressed through a successful government career, all of which is secret. I did learn, while stationed abroad, how easy it was to kill someone. Now a contractor, I sometimes work for the government, sometimes others.

The nice thing about being a contractor is I get to decide on each case, and if I’d be working for the good guys or the bad guys. Yup, even the USA is sometimes the bad guy. Not much of a decision on this job though, eliminating a Mexican drug and sex cartel leader operating three states from his headquarters in eastern Tennessee would mean I was working for the good guys, no matter who was paying the bills.

As usual, the most critical part of my mission was staying invisible, and the hardest part of that was transportation. Getting from point A to point B usually involved lots of witnesses and a data trail. I partly solved that through a connection on the dark web. Forty-five thousand dollars in bitcoin netted me a tiny key taped to the back of the water supply pipe on the third urinal from the door in the men’s room off the terminal baggage area. A tiny stick-on label on the key held the characters C 1 2 , the location of a spot in the short term parking lot.

I had no luggage because that would provide a data trail. Everything I’d need for this job I would buy locally with cash. I have allergies and without a prescription and valid ID I couldn’t get my meds at a drugstore so my good friend Sharona, a research chemist at a small drug company, had thoughtfully concentrated all of them on a gas station receipt which I kept in my wallet. If my allergies or asthma kicked in, I just had to tear off a piece of the receipt and let it dissolve under my tongue.

I walked out of the terminal with my dark blue Tampa Bay Rays jacket zipped up, my Rays cap pulled low, and my glasses switched to the darkest lens. The key fit the car in spot C12. It was gray as I’d requested but not the Toyota or Honda I asked for. Instead, it was a Subaru, my contact had convinced me that east Tennessee was Subaru country and it wouldn’t be noticed. It was about five years old and looked like it hadn’t been washed in four of those years. I felt conspicuous because it wasn’t a Toyota or Honda but it would work, it had to.

The parking lot was designed for those paying with cards. There were four lanes, and only one took cash. I smiled at the attendant and took my receipt which I rolled up in a little ball that I could pitch when I got to the interstate.

When I got to Johnson City the first thing I did was take a drive past the target’s house. It was a large two story, set back from the road in an area of similar exclusive homes with an electric gate controlling access to the driveway. The lot was nicely landscaped but not overgrown so the house could easily be accessed from any direction. There were woods about a quarter mile behind the house so if I was forced to plan B, use of a long gun, there’d be plenty of cover. And the four-wheel drive in the Subaru might come in handy.

Being satisfied with the geography I headed to the first thrift shop on my list. For about thirty bucks I got a Nascar jacket, a golf shirt with a Ford logo, a pair of cargo pants, and a pair of brown golf shoes. Then I went to the second thrift store and acquired the second of each, all in different brands and colors. At the second thrift shop I also bought a tan bucket hat and two ball caps, one Cincinnati Reds, and one Green Bay Packers.

My research showed a few public restrooms that I thought might be low on security devices so I headed to one and changed clothes. My next stop was Walmart, where I bought enough food to hold me over for a few days, a box of plastic baggies, and a box of 22 caliber long rifle bullets, two laser pointers, and two boxes of Legos.

Across the street from Walmart was O’Reilly’s Auto Parts where I picked up four feet of steel brake line. Down the street from O’Reilly’s was Harbor Freight and I spent about fifty dollars there. My purchases included super glue, picture hanging wire, bungie cords, and some hand tools. I now had everything I needed for my plan A weapon of choice.

I headed to the two-star motel I’d selected avoiding the three-star motels believing their security procedures and systems would be too diligent. I also avoided one-star motels because most of them were regular scenes of shootings and drug deals which attracted lots of cops.

***

Back at the airport Chief Leroy Brown was still thinking about the brief encounter with the guy he called Hamster. He thought he was right, that Hamster was one of his cadets, and they’d got off to a pretty rough start. He couldn’t remember any details but he was pretty sure Hamster’s real name was something ending in S T E R. He walked over to his data clerk, a woman young enough to be his daughter but could find just about anything anywhere. In fact, she was his daughter but he convinced himself that nepotism was not involved.

“Honey, got time to run a search for me?”

“Sure boss, what ya need?”

“Anybody in government service with a last name that ending in S T E R, and was at the academy when I was.”

“OK, anything else?”

“Yeah, run that list against anybody with an AKA of Hamster.”

“Hamster, like the rodent?”

“Yes, exactly like the rodent.”

*PART 2*

On the way to the motel, I stopped at a mom and pop C-store and picked up a cheap prepaid phone, no ID required or questions asked. I told myself this was now an international mission, Mexican target, American shooter, and a Chinese phone purchased from an Indian shopkeeper.

I had concluded a few years ago that it was not a good idea to be using any kind of weapon manufactured in a factory anywhere in the world. Too many data trails attached to these weapons. I taught myself to print 3D weapons but then realized that the software and hardware used in that process were just as heavily tracked as the weapons factories. That’s when I decided to go the Lego route. After building the weapons I bore sighted them to be accurate at 6 feet. This meant looking through the barrel I had to line up the bullet’s path with the tiny red dot emitted by the laser pointer.

The Lego guns are single use weapons and require some skill to use, and there are no second shots available if the shooter misses. That’s why I always build two, sometimes three.

Buy the toy, build the weapon, do the job, and completely disassemble the weapon afterwards. The pieces, except for the steel brake line, were small enough to flush down the toilet. I usually pitched the brake line pieces on the ground near an auto repair shop.

I powered up the new phone, disabled all the apps that could provide data about my location or activity and called the shop. After three rings the shop line answered and a synthesized female voice said one word, “three.” Different codes meant different SITSTATs, situation status. Code 3 meant proceed as planned. I needed to check in with the shop several times a day until the mission was complete.

***

Data clerk Mary Brown loved when things got mysterious. Most of her online time was spent running license plates for other departments. In just a few minutes she had a list of a couple of dozen names of people with names ending in S T E R who attended the academy when her dad worked there. She printed the names and abbreviated bios on all of them. She also came up with a couple of AKAs Hamster. They were both marginally insane guys who were hyperactive and could never sit still. One was on the list for burglary, one for molesting minors. She printed summaries on them also. 

Mary took the printouts to the chief, “here yah go.”

Leroy looked up at her, he was proud of her, “Thanks Honey.” He scanned the list, the name, Hamilton Brewster jumped out at him. “That’s him.” he declared, surprised he had recognized him after thirty years. He looked at his daughter “Why’s the bio so short?”

“That’s all there is. He left the academy, went to San Diego, and disappeared.”

“Did you look any deeper?”

“As far as I could with our clearance level.”

“You check the obits?”

“Yup, if he’s dead, he’s anonymously dead.”

“OK, thanks Honey.” He looked away and Mary left the office.

Chief Leroy Brown spun his chair around and looked out at the runways and the mountains beyond, remembering his path to east Tennessee wondering how it all would end.

Wasn’t a day in his life he didn’t question something he’d done in the past. Now, he wished he hadn’t burned so many bridges, and wished he’d made more contacts. He hoped no one would ever show up asking questions. He had no backup.

***

I stuck the weapons in my pants, ate a couple granola bars, then headed to the target’s neighborhood again just to look things over. This was a quiet neighborhood. These neighborhoods bothered me, strangers were more easily noticed.

As I approached the target’s house I saw the electric gates were opening. Maybe this would get interesting, I thought. I drove past the drive as far up the road as I could and still see the gates in my mirror. Hoping that the target turned my way, and not the other.

I watched a Ferrari leave the drive without closing the gate turned toward me and drove past. There was a single person in the two-seat car.

I pulled out my phone and texted code 17 to the shop. Code 17 meant the target had left his residence and would possibly be immediately available sooner that planned. In a few minutes I received a texted 3. Great, I looked forward to getting this job over and going home and playing with the dogs.

***

Mary went into the chief’s office. “You wanna come over tonight, Dad? We’re having tacos.”

Chief Brown spun his chair around, “Thanks honey. I’ve got a meeting tonight. He smiled at her.”

Mary looked at her father, still strikingly good looking at his age. Looked like a black Clark Gable. She hoped she had whatever gene helped him age so gracefully. “OK, see you tomorrow.”

“Love ya.” the chief said and turned around again, staring at the runway, still considering his present dilemma.

***

After the Ferrari passed I moved my Subaru back down the street and parked it so it completely blocked the target’s driveway. I knew I had the advantage of surprise. I knew what would happen next, and he didn’t.

I got out, opened the hood on the Subaru, and propped it up. Now was the critical time. I was super excited but also very worried a cop would come by, notice the hood being up and stop to offer help. Another possibility would be that a neighbor would offer help, but in this neighborhood, that seemed unlikely. I tried to keep track of Escalades, Navigators and Land Rovers, but I lost count.

About 7 PM I could tell by the approaching headlights that the Ferrari or whatever, was returning. I tore off a small piece of the gas receipt and slipped it under my tongue. I was now ready as I could be.

The car stopped in the road abreast of mine and the driver leaned on the horn.

I bent over the engine, trying to look puzzled. “It died,” I called.

I patted my pockets, knowing everything was ready.

The passenger door opened, and a big guy, pried himself out of the car. In the subdued reflection from the dirty paint on the Subaru I could see that he was black and had a pencil thin mustache. It was Brown.

I was sure he didn’t recognize me in my Nascar jacket and other thrift store clothes with my ball cap pulled low on my forehead. He smiled revealing his shiny white teeth.

“Let me check it” he said as he leaned over the engine.

When he leaned over I pulled out my weapon, lined up the red dot with the top of his head and dispatched him from this world.

He didn’t fall to the ground, instead he just leaned in over the engine. I thought to myself that Chief Brown was now Dead Dead Leroy Brown.

I took out the second weapon and quickly walked around the back of the Subaru and up to the driver’s side window on the Ferrari. I guessed the target didn’t hear the shot because he was fiddling around with his phone when I walked up.

I tapped on the window and when he turned to look his face registered sheer terror. That’s what I wanted to see, I lined up the red dot with his left eye and pulled the trigger. Juan Jose Pedro was no longer among the living.

***

Cleanup was more work than usual with two bodies, but I managed.

Back at the motel I disassembled and flushed the weapons, then took all my thrift store clothes and the tools to a 24 hour Goodwill drop off. All my leftover food and toiletries I dropped off at a homeless camp near the railroad tracks.

Early in the morning I parked the Subaru in the long term lot at the airport, and headed to the ticket counter where I convinced the agent to move my return flight up two days without tacking on a surcharge.

On the way to the gate I saw a TV with a news scroll: Johnson City Police Find Airport Chief and Unknown Mexican in Burning Sports Car. At the gate I tossed the key into a container of pocketknives, nailfiles, and other contraband passengers had deposited to get through security.

As the plane rose and turned over the lake below, I thought this looked like someplace I might like to visit again.

***

Back at my hometown airport I drove my truck over the cell phone a few times turning it into electronic detritus. The job was finished.

***

I don’t know if Leroy Brown was collateral damage or if he worked for the cartel. I didn’t ask, and nobody told.