The Killing League

40.

Family Man

Brent Tucker was dressed in a neat but worn blue suit with a white shirt and conservative red tie. He carried his leather briefcase in his right hand, and a leather folder carrying a legal size notepad and two pens in his left hand.

His wallet, with his driver’s license and credit cards was in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. A thick packet of family pictures was in the breast pocket of his shirt. It bulged because the pictures of his wife and children were plentiful.

He’d been to these types of conferences before. Not a lot of them but enough to know that frequently businessmen showed off pictures of their families back home to convince everyone what good family men they all were. And to maybe fool people into believing they weren’t going to go out that night, get drunk and find a hooker or a strip club.

A good, loving family is such a wonderful disguise. Everyone knew that.

Tucker walked into the lobby of the Holiday Inn, bypassed the front desk and walked directly to the conference room behind the KL placard.

Without hesitation, he walked to the row of chairs in front of the television screen and sat down. He paid no attention to the others. He was here to find out his assignment, and perform whatever damage control he would need.

Tucker put his briefcase on the floor between his legs, and opened his leather memo pad. He took out one pen, clicked it, and wrote at the top of the first sheet “KL meeting.”

He adjusted his tie and waited, staring straight ahead. He still didn’t even so much as glance at the other people in the room. This was going to be just like all of the computer product information he was so adroit at reformatting and consolidating into one logical flow.

He would take in the necessary information, analyze it, reroute it, and then take the necessary steps to make it a smooth, logical plan.

He would then execute that plan without varying one iota from his strategy. It would be thorough, flawless and a smashing success.

And then he would kill the person who had disturbed his carefully constructed life.

In the process, he would collect a trophy or two as well.