Stefan Granger didn’t ascend the last set of stairs up to the small-time pimp’s own version of the Oval Office. Instead, he kicked into one of the rooms on the southern wall and headed toward a fire escape, which he had already scoped out earlier. Most buildings had changed over to inner stairwells rather than external fire escapes, but there were always a few preservation holdouts and those too poor to update.
Granger followed the metal stairs up to the penthouse, but he made sure to stay out of sight. With a quick glance through the window, he saw the pimp dressed in nothing but a pink bathrobe. Faraz held a scantily clad woman out in front of him, his arm tight around her neck, her eyes bulging. His other hand held a gold 9-mm Beretta.
He assumed the woman to be Samantha Campbell. She was needed alive. Granger took aim with the Mac 10, but there wasn’t enough separation between Faraz and Sammy. Even though he was accustomed to the weapon and could control the bursts, his instrument of choice for this assignment simply wasn’t designed for pinpoint accuracy.
The antiviral mask hindered his ability to spit, and so he growled instead. He knew a variety of different attacks, both physical and mental, but he didn’t have time for subterfuge. The police were already en route. Still, he saw no other open moves with his current resources.
Quickly analyzing the situation, Granger stepped behind the bricks beside the window. Then he reached down and knocked. As he had expected, the pimp whirled toward him and opened fire. The window shattered, but Granger was relatively protected behind the wall from a 9 mm. There was a slight chance of a bullet ricocheting off the metal framework of the fire escape. But random instances such as that were also why Stefan Granger had all his clothes lined with a carbon nanotube composite—a revolutionary new material that was pliable under normal conditions but hardened like steel with any impact.
After Faraz finished his tantrum, Granger leaned forward and said, “I’m just here to talk.”
“You seem to let your machine gun do the talking!”
“It was your guys who drew on me. I just needed a word. And they must’ve taken one look at me and decided to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“You lie!” Faraz yelled.
“Think about it. I could’ve killed you just now. I had the drop on you. I could’ve taken you down, but I didn’t. Instead, I knocked on the window to get your attention. I’m only here to talk. Now, can I come out without you trying to shoot me.”
“You go ahead and come in real slow, but if I don’t like any twitch, I take you down.”
“Fair enough,” Granger said as he climbed inside, the Mac 10 still in his hand but his arms raised up in surrender and the weapon’s barrel pointed at the ceiling.
Which was, in reality, an attack position.
With a flick of his wrist, he could direct his fire back to the pimp, but most people without a law enforcement or military background didn’t recognize such a threat.
Faraz said, “So talk. And part of what you want to talk about better give me good reason not to kill you.”
Sammy wailed and cried as Faraz loosened his grip enough to allow her to breathe. With the woman now facing him, Granger could see that she wore a crotch-less Wonder Woman costume. He said, “It’s okay, Ms. Campbell, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Her response was only more blubbering, but she did look up and make eye contact. In that moment, he saw confusion, and he realized his mistake.
The room was only lit by candle, but with the low-light glasses, Granger could plainly see that this woman was not Samantha Campbell.
With a roll of his eyes, he bent his wrist to reacquire his target and squeezed the trigger. The result was one dead entrepreneur and one dead employee on the floor. He had wasted precious seconds assuming this woman to be his target. They possessed the same blonde hair and same artificially enhanced forms. Still, he cursed himself. His father had always preached against assumptions.
His gaze swept the room, and he listened for any sounds. But the police were close, and the sirens made it impossible to listen for an individual’s breathing. He didn’t have time to play hide and seek, and so he stitched a line of bullets high into the walls all around the room.
Then he listened for the whimper.
When hunting, fear was often the most effective method to draw out one’s prey.
He aimed the machine pistol at the source of the small cry.
“Come out now, or I open fire,” he said, bluffing.
Samantha Campbell stepped into the light. She had been cowering on the opposite side of her employer’s bed. Sammy, as her sister had always called her, was naked in all the spots she should have been clothed, while black leather covered all the patches of skin that could have acceptably been exposed.
Through a zippered opening, she said, “Please don’t kill me. I didn’t see anything.”
“Remove the leather from your face.”
She pulled off the zipper-clad mask.
With positive visual confirmation on his target, Granger lowered his weapon and said, “Don’t worry, Ms. Campbell. I’m here to take you to see your sister.”
The young woman’s surprise exceeded her fear, and she asked, “You know my sister? Are you the one who took her?”
“Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine.” His eyes searched the room for her regular clothing, but not seeing anything else, he reached down and pulled the pink bathrobe from the dead man’s shoulders. He held it out to Sammy. “Put this on.”
“It’s covered in blood,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
Granger examined the garment and saw the spots where bullets had pierced the fabric and then penetrated the pimp’s flesh. Blood had rushed from the wounds and stained the robe. He said, “It just makes it look like pretty red flowers. Put on the robe, or I’ll give you a few blossoms of your own.”
Once Sammy had on the robe, he rushed her down the fire escape and away from the building, heading toward the Buick. He was unarmed now, having discarded the Mac 10 in Faraz’s penthouse. It was a street gun, no serial numbers. Perfect for a job like this. He half-carried the terrified woman as she stumbled and dragged her feet. Luckily, his own strength was more than adequate for the task.
When they reached the Buick, he turned to Samantha Campbell, and in his mind, he overlaid an internal diagram of a woman’s brain and spinal column onto the side of her face. Then he struck her in the temple with a blow designed make her head rotate, twisting the spine and disrupting function between the upper brainstem and the higher brain, causing unconsciousness. Once she was out, Stefan Granger popped the trunk and deposited Sammy inside. Then he slid in behind the wheel and headed for the compound, his assignment complete.