In Too Deep(141)

"So what do we do?"

I clenched my fists, the knuckles cracking as I thought of all I'd like to do to the man. However, he did have a wife, and I don't like killing people with families, if it can be avoided. I know how hypocritical that sounds, and I know I've killed men with wives and even children, but they were jobs I never enjoyed doing. "Let's go to the bell tower," I said, thinking. "I have an idea."

"You going to fill me in on the idea?" Sophie asked as she made the turn towards Mount Zion. "Please tell me it's painful and slow-acting."

"Slow-acting it isn't, but painful? You can say that for sure," I said, thinking of some of the alternative lessons I had gotten from some of my instructors over the years.

There's an old song from the Wu-Tang Clan member Redman that includes the line six million ways to die. The line is actually older than that, but he's probably the most famous user of the line. In any case, the truth is there are less than that, but the number is still pretty high. While I doubt there is anyone in the world who knows all of the different ways that the human body can be killed, the really creative methods are actually quite useful. Any idiot can pull a trigger, just look at the gun violence statistics. The same is almost true for bladed weapons as well. Even the most pacifistic person can be pushed to the point they'll bury a knife in someone's guts, especially if you don't give them a chance to think about it first.

But the creative methods are a sort of deadly art, or a deadly science, depending on your point of view. The martial arts are filled with methods of shattering bone, cutting off blood flow to the brain, and potentially stopping the heart with just your bare hands. When you add in hand held weapons, the possibilities increase. When you then add in the use of chemicals, electricity, and other means, well, you understand. You can go slow, you can go quick. You can be painless or mind-breakingly painful. You can affect any of a dozen systems in the body, if you want. Someone could study to a Ph.D. level and still not fully know every way to kill someone. In fact, I studied under a teacher who was called Doctor Death, and he willingly admitted he didn't know everything.

But there was another level underneath just death that was just as large, and sometimes even more useful, that was manipulation of the body. Truth serums, minor poisons, crippling agents, all of them were just the beginning. I had a better idea in mind.

"I learned a few combinations, some things that I keep in the bell tower," I said, running through the list of stuff in one of my cabinets. "He'll be alive, but he's going to be out of the seduction business for the rest of his life. His wife might not like how he ends up either, but at least he'll be alive."

"I can deal with that."





* * *



Mark





The night was colder than it had been in a long time, fall was coming on again. It wasn't cold enough to snow, we wouldn't get that until mid-winter, but it still was cool enough that I wore my lightweight tactical jacket. I had gone to one of our alternative bases, where I had a nondescript car. While I had been mixing up my little surprise for the Knave, Sophie had tried calling Tabby, using both our normal phones and her old personal phone, which we had reserved only for emergencies. Tabby hadn't picked up either, which told me she was probably either distracted or asleep. Either way, her apartment was the best place to start looking.

I had been waiting about twenty minutes outside Tabby's place when the door opened, and she came out with a man, five foot ten, who was wearing the same sort of polo shirt that Pressman had been wearing earlier that day. He looked a lot like Mike Pressman, but slightly bigger, more filled out. He was definitely Scott Pressman. The Knave of Hearts.

My emotions lurched as I saw the look on Tabby's face when she walked with him towards his Buick, which was pretty nice looking. The kiss she gave him when he went to get in his car told me everything I needed to know. She was so head over heels enamored with him that I wondered how the hell the paint on his car didn't blister from the heat.

He fired up his engine and drove off after the kiss, and I followed him, keeping a decent distance between us. I wanted to get him alone, and try to find a way to implement my plan.

Thankfully, he made a move that I hadn't expected. Instead of going home, he turned towards the industrial district and the Pressman Contractors office. I wondered what he was up to, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, I drove past, pulling around a building down the block and shutting off my engine. Getting out, the dome light gave away nothing, I'd turned it off long ago. From the back seat I took out my equipment and checked my load. I was ready.

I approached the Pressman building silently, doing my best to avoid any cameras or other surveillance equipment. I was wearing a skull cap and camouflage face paint, so I doubted I could be identified by image, but still I wanted to take as few chances as possible.

I didn't wear a full ski mask. I've done it before, and it does have its uses. If you are in an ambush, or in a long range sniping situation, they can be great for retaining body heat. However, there is one flaw in even the highest tech ski mask, and that is that it changes the way you hear, and the way you breathe. I didn't want either problem during a fluid, sensory driven stalk.

As I came around the side of the Pressman building, I heard the key rattle in the front door, and Scott Pressman came out. I flattened myself against one of the company trucks, close enough that I could hear him and even see when he moved. What he said was helpful.