“We are lunatics. You know that don’t you?”
“We’re deadly ones though, and I can’t wait for the road trip to Washington. I want that ‘Seattle Ripper’ guy. I have some ideas for his doubtful longevity. He will be going out in style with El Muerto’s tag on him. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about our Isis compound problem either. All in good time, Payaso. All in good time.”
*
After parking his car in the short term parking at SFO International Airport, Nick exited in his three piece dark gray suit with dark tan long coat, lapels up, and pinch front gray fedora hat. His leather briefcase held Nick’s .22 caliber automatic and noise suppressor under a layer of reinforced leather at the bottom. He also carried a syringe kit, laptop, foldable black windbreaker with hood, and a black scarf. He had studied the layout of the security system within Wargul’s building until he knew where and what triggered the moveable security cams.
The exit Nick decided on for his escape from the Wargul building was a first floor fire exit he needed to be certain would not be locked. The building also had a break room with every conceivable vending machine, along with tables and chairs. Nick planned to spend the day there writing in a corner, out of security cam sight.
Leaving on the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) train out of the terminal inside the airport, Nick arrived in San Francisco’s downtown Market Street BART station by shortly after 9 am. He checked in with Gus and John before walking the mile to Wargul’s business location, testing communications, and cam signal.
“It’s all good, Payaso. I’ll text you from the break room inside the building. It will be in your hands after that to let me know when Wargul plays around with the office help. I’ll proceed directly to his office the moment I get the all clear sign from you.”
“I’ll send you the video from all cam’s perspective at the moment you enter the building. I’ll work on erasing you while you move from one station to the next. We should have plenty of time while you’re in the break room to go over what we have to keep or change. John wants to know if you’re going to check the make of the office door lock. Once in there, you won’t be able to simply pick up and leave.”
“Tell him I have that covered. I’ve picked countless locks like this office has. After all, they don’t have a nuclear weapon in there, Kabong.”
“We’ll get off the line then, and attend to our business here, stalking the ‘Seattle Ripper’,” John joked. “Gus explained the intricacies of finding out a few starting threads ‘in the Ripper’s life. By the time you get back home, maybe we’ll know who the ‘Ripper’ is in reality.”
“Fine by me,” Nick replied. “We’ll simply confirm it when we get to Washington, and then lay in wait for an opportunity to catch him red handed. One thing at a time though. We have a Wargul to teach his last lesson to, followed by the infamous Sadun. How’s our after-hours lady doing today?
“She’s hot, Muerto. Our little Heather Durst dressed to the nines for Brook. Short black skirt, and a red silk shoulder-less blouse. She’s working it too. Ms. Durst and our buddy Brook really have the office erotic romance going for them. I’m sure Heather plans to walk on the wild side again after work.”
“I’m depending on you guys to make sure I come in at that wonderful moment of release, when our Brook will be enjoying those flowing endorphins of happiness. It will then be a special moment for his lady friend adulteress, Heather. Let’s concentrate on making it memorable for all of us. Get busy, and keep me informed. We don’t want to disappoint our lovely couple.”
“He’s a sick man, John,” Gus stated. “Admit it.”
“Sorry, Muerto, but you are a sick man.”
“Taking pride in what you do, and doing it well, should not be a target for critics who do nothing but bitch and moan, Payaso. I’m very disappointed in you, Kabong. This insidious mutiny within the ranks of the Unholy Trio will not be forgotten by El Muerto.”
“We have to go, John. When he starts talking in third person, my teeth start aching.”
John chuckled. “We’ll be working it, Muerto. Good luck.”
“Good luck? That’s blasphemy, John,” Nick replied, maintaining his outrage.