| |
Mercado
––––––––
After Mercado left Cheers, he walked over to the Public Garden. He opened the envelope and took out a picture of a young woman and the sheet of paper with her name and address. Hannah Parks. She lived in a condo in Quincy near the Neponset River and Dorchester Bay.
Hannah would likely be working that night. Escorting some rich bastard to dinner, a cocktail party, or office event. She'd arrive home late after most everyone else in her building were asleep. Mercado was patient. He'd wait. Like a coiled up snake that quickly strikes.
Mercado put the photograph and sheet of paper back in the envelope, folded it over, and stuffed the envelope back in his jacket pocket. It was getting dark, and the temperature was dropping.
Mercado shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the Boston Common parking garage to retrieve his car. He got in his car and exited the garage, taking a right onto Charles Street. A nice stretch of road with the Boston Common on his right and Boston Public Garden on his left.
At Beacon Street, he took a left and then another left onto Arlington Street. Mercado continued onto Herald Street and merged onto I-93 toward Quincy. Mercado drove for twenty minutes and passed the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library on his left.
Mercado thought about how the nation's 39th president was assassinated. He wondered about taking the shot that killed JFK. Mercado figured he could have made the same shot easily. He had successfully pulled the trigger in far less favorable conditions.
But Mercado wouldn't have killed Kennedy. He liked what he read about him in history books and saw in documentaries. So why kill these young women? He had nothing against them personally. He didn't even know them.
Mercado had no good answer other than he was being paid to do a job. And his work was to kill people. He was an assassin for hire. It's what he did. It's who he was.
Mercado knew he was sick. He knew his head wasn't screwed on right.
He saw the sign for exit 12 toward Neponset/Quincy. Mercado exited and drove to Hannah Parks' address. He parked his car where he could watch the entrance to Hannah's condo without drawing any attention to himself.
Four hours passed. Then five. Then Hannah Parks came home. Mercado watched her as she opened the door to her condo and went in.
Mercado exited his car and walked across the parking lot, checking to make sure he was alone. When he was sure no one was around, Mercado quickly and quietly picked the lock on Hannah's door. He slowly opened the door and looked inside.
An LED nightlight provided the only light in the entry hallway. Mercado entered and closed the door behind him. He walked down the hallway. Kitchen to his left. Living room to his right. Another hallway led toward the bedrooms.
Mercado proceeded down the hallway. It was dark, but another LED nightlight helped him follow the hallway to Hannah's bedroom. Her bedroom door was open and the light on. Mercado could hear water running in the en-suite bathroom. The water was too loud to be the sink, but it wasn't the shower. Hannah was filling the tub for a bath.
Mercado entered the bedroom and crossed the room to the bathroom door. It was ajar. From his angle, Mercado could see Hannah in the large mirror over the sink. Her back turned toward the mirror.
Hannah was tall, thin, and curvy. Like a model. Her long strawberry blond hair hung over her shoulders.
She unzipped the evening dress she had been wearing, and it dropped to the floor. She stepped out of it. Hannah pulled down her panties and then undid her bra. Mercado couldn't help it, he was getting turned on.
But he had to stay focused. Doing anything other than the job he was hired to do came with a lot of risks. He could leave DNA behind. Staying a second longer than necessary could be the second someone might spot him leaving.
Besides, he was a hired killer. Not a rapist. Mercado made his own logic. His own sense of right and wrong. But any way you sliced it, Mercado knew he was twisted.
He focused on the task at hand as Hannah Parks leaned over and turned off the water. What a view, Mercado thought. Such a shame she had to die.
As Hannah stepped into the tub, Mercado pushed open the door and rushed into the bathroom. Before Hannah had a chance to react, Mercado grabbed her, covering her mouth.
She tried to scream, but it was no use.
She tried to break free of Mercado's grip, but he was much too strong.
He forced her into the bath and slammed her head against the side of the tub. Hannah's body went limp and Mercado let it slide motionless into the water.
Mercado snapped a quick picture with his cell phone, and then he quickly retraced his steps out of the apartment.
Mercado crossed the empty parking lot.
Not a creature was stirring. Especially not Hannah Parks.
The storm front from northern New England had arrived. As Mercado reached his car, the skies opened. A hard and cold rain poured down. Somehow it seemed appropriate, he thought.
Mercado got in his car and drove away, windshield wipers swiping the rain away.