Hitman Half-Life

Dust Off

     Panther pulled over into a dank and dirty alley. He got out of the Impala, withdrawing the licence plates from the glove box along with a pneumatic drill. He switched the licence plates and threw the stolen ones in the garbage nearby. That job done, he got back in and drove back into the road.
     Panther started to recall the events of the hit. He expected the bodyguards to react in a more slower and disorderly manner. Instead, they moved quickly to secure the exits and other egress routes. Furthermore, although he hadn't seen them he was sure there were "sweeper teams" filed through the crowd looking for the shooter or shooters. Luckily for him he managed to extricate himself quickly and those pieces of gum were there.
     His heart was still fluttering and the rich blood it was pumping was still diluted with adrenaline. No matter how many times he hunted a man, no women yet, it never ceased to give him its unholy salvation. Panther let his mind get back to driving. He needed to get back to his hotel and get some much needed rest, and contact his secretary, Leslie.

* * *
     Panther drove to the entrance of the Fontainebleau Hilton Resort. He got out of the car and handed it over to valet along with a wad of cash. Panther stopped and took time to examine the hotel. It was a huge building with many floors to count. During the day, whitewashed building glowed like a pearl. There was a small garden full of green shrubbery that separated the driveway from the main coastal highway which hugged the crisp white sands of Miami Beach. The footpath and that paralleled the entrance was covered by a glass roof supported by white metal beams. The entrance itself had clear glass doors that twinkled with the little reflections of the lights inside. The revving down of a Mercedes ELK broke his admiration. He turned his head to examine the car. A middle aged couple stepped out from the front, and a voluptuous blonde from the back. She eyed him, giving a flirtatious smile. Her blood red lipstick, contrasted with her pearl white wall of teeth. Panther acknowledged her with a polite smile and walked into the entrance. Spoiled daddy's girl, he thought. Good for one thing only.
     "Good evening, Mr Benau. Is there anything I can get for you?" said a cute brunette behind the Reception Desk.
     "Yes there is. Can I get a bottle of Absolut Vodka delivered to my room please," Panther replied.
     "Yes Mr Benau that won't be a problem".
     "Thank you very much...", Panther read her name tag "...Lindsay".
     "Your welcome Mr Benau". Lindsay had worked in the hotel business for 8 years. Though a short time she never had a guest like Francis Benau. She had doubts that was his real name, especially since he had Mediterranean looks. But she didn't care. Not many guests of the Tower Suites were so polite, and went to the trouble of calling the staff by name. Not only that he was good looking, and had killer body. She also noticed that he only ever wore a black suit. Ralph Lauren, she guessed. Tonight, she noticed as he walked away, he wore a large collared white shirt with no tie. Lindsay snapped her mind back to her work. She picked up the phone and called Panther's personal concierge. One of the perks of staying at the Tower Suites, she thought.

     Panther flopped down onto the plush couch. His bottle of vodka was already there. He poured himself a straight drink on ice. He went outside onto the terrace, with it's beach view. It was past midnight but the highway was still streaming with cars their headlights dotting the dark highway. The daylight blue transparent sparkle was replaced by a dark secretive blanket. Then a beep broke the sound of the cars and the waves lapping against the shore. It was his laptop.
     He sat down an opened it. It was Leslie, he personal assistant. "Good evening sir. Rather good morning" she said. A few seconds later he video feed came on screen.
     "Morning, Leslie" Panther replied.
     "I've got another job for you".
     "Go on...". There was a short silence.
     "It's in Sydney, Australia. Your target is this man here". A picture opened showing a man in his thirties. "His name is Leupold Brandle".
     "What's he do?" Panther interrupted.
     "He's an industrial spy for a chemical company in Germany, Bayern Industries". The company logo appeared on screen. "You have to eliminate him," she continued, "I'm uploading the files you need".
     'Thankyou, Leslie. See you soon". He terminated the link. He decide to look through the details tomorrow. He took a shower, and finished his bottle of vodka, which knocked him to sleep.

     "Mornin, Sarge," the young officer said as he pulled up the police line.
     "Mornin, kid" Sergeant Mike Sanchez, Miami Police Department replied.
     "Mike! Over here," a voice called. It was Sergeant Dave Johnston. Sanchez followed the voice, "So what we got so far?".
     "A little bit. Looks like a professional hit," Johnston recounted the details," One male took three bullets to the head. Another one was knocked out cold with tranquilizers, we're questioning him now. Three guys suffered second degree burns. Five more took a number of bullets to the torso". Sanchez took some time to take in the information and look around. There were chalk outlines of where the bodies had fallen, and black body bags being carried away. "Where's Mary?" Sanchez asked. Johnston pointed to the entrance. Sanchez walked inside examining the jet black burn marks that stained the red carpet and walls.      "Mike...here," Mary Bannister the Medical Examiner called.
     "So..." Mike started.
     "From the preliminary examination, the main target was one Miguel Rodriguez. He looks like he took a three round burst from a 9x19mm automatic weapon to the left side of the head. They punched through the cranium and traveled forward, hitting his brain stem judging from the angle. Looks like they stayed there. No exit wounds. Instant death", she explained. Mike pondered for a moment. Mary had been on ME duties for four years, and she'd seen more than her fair share of murders, so Mike trusted her on her preliminary opinion. He looked around. The guy got in and got out pretty quickly. He got his mark, as the term was in this business, and only took down those after him or were blocking his exit. Very little mess.

* * *
     Panther woke up to a splitting headache, a symptom of last night's vodka. He groggily pulled himself out of bed and dragged himself to the shower. The ice cold water shocked him awake. After he cleaned himself up, he picked up the phone and called his personal concierge. "Good morning, Mr Benau. How can I be of service?" a friendly male voice asked.
     "I'm checking out this morning. Can I get someone to get my bags," Panther answered.
     "Certainly, sir. Is there anything else I can do?" came the reply.
     "No thank you," Panther politely answered. If I wanted something else I would have fucking asked, he almost said. Hotel staff were polite enough but sometimes it got to Panther.
     He got dressed and then a knock resounded from the door. "Good morning Mr Benau. I'll get your bags?" the teenage bellboy replied. Panther pointed to four large suitcases. He'd brought along that many so that his tourist cover would be more convincing. He only really used one. He remembered his FAMAS Shorty being in one of them. He got rid of the weapons that he head acquired last night by dumping them in a dumpster. It'd be days or weeks before the police found them and if then they did. He'd field stripped them both and by now were so dirty that no microscopic evidence could be found. The bellboy by now had disappeared.
     When Panther made his way to the entrance he found his bags were packed in his car which was parked outside the entrance with a valet patiently waiting. He checked out and paid in cash, always in cash. Electronic funds were too easy to trace. That done, he got in the Impala and drove off heading towards Miami International Airport. On the way he detoured to downtown area and picked up a light breakfast.
     On arrival at the airport he was greeted by the roar and thunder of jets. He checked in his Impala, which was hired. He picked up his bags and placed them on a trolley and walked to the Corporate Terminal. On the way he opened one of this bags and pulled out the sports bag containing the FAMAS. He then checked his bags through customs. Security had been upped since 9/11 so the customs officers were more vigilant. His bags were X-rayed, and thoroughly searched. Afterward two men came and loaded his bags onto a Gulfstream V. Panther meanwhile went back outside and was picked up by a fuel truck belonging to the same company that flew the G-V. Panther got in and opened up the seat and tucked the bag under. The driver didn't even blink at the sight. With that he drove around to the corporate hangers access gate.
     When they arrived, the airport security stopped them. One man looked inside. One drive in overalls and a man in a suit. What the? A man in a suit?!, he thought. He'd better ask some questions, and the answers better be good. "Can I see some ID," the husky voice said. Both men pulled out their wallets, and handed over their ID. "Fuel, all your carrying?" he asked.
     "Ya", the driver responded.
     The officer looked at Panther. "Mr Arturo. I'm guessing you don't do fuel?"
     "No," Panther began "I actually own Arcus Air. I'm here getting in the trenches with my employees to see how things go on and see how I can improve the status quo".
     "I see," the officer responded. He looked at the logo on the side of the truck. The story was plausible enough. He waved them through. The driver accelerated and drove to the Arcus Air hangar. Arcus Air was a moderately successful air charter company that operate five G-Vs. Panther used it as a good cover for his activities, but it wasn't his main source of income. There was the G-V and a jeep which drove the bags up. Panther hopped out of truck, withdrawing the sports bag. He stepped inside the G-V and sat down in his custom interior, and waited for the plane to leave.