But the creative methods are a sort of deadly art, or a deadly science, depending on your point of view. The martial arts are filled with methods of shattering bone, cutting off blood flow to the brain, and potentially stopping the heart with just your bare hands. When you add in hand held weapons, the possibilities increase. When you then add in the use of chemicals, electricity, and other means, well, you understand. You can go slow, you can go quick. You can be painless or mind-breakingly painful. You can affect any of a dozen systems in the body, if you want. Someone could study to a Ph.D. level and still not fully know every way to kill someone. In fact, I studied under a teacher who was called Doctor Death, and he willingly admitted he didn't know everything.
But there was another level underneath just death that was just as large, and sometimes even more useful, that was manipulation of the body. Truth serums, minor poisons, crippling agents, all of them were just the beginning. I had a better idea in mind.
"I learned a few combinations, some things that I keep in the bell tower," I said, running through the list of stuff in one of my cabinets. "He'll be alive, but he's going to be out of the seduction business for the rest of his life. His wife might not like how he ends up either, but at least he'll be alive."
"I can deal with that."
* * *
Mark
The night was colder than it had been in a long time, fall was coming on again. It wasn't cold enough to snow, we wouldn't get that until mid-winter, but it still was cool enough that I wore my lightweight tactical jacket. I had gone to one of our alternative bases, where I had a nondescript car. While I had been mixing up my little surprise for the Knave, Sophie had tried calling Tabby, using both our normal phones and her old personal phone, which we had reserved only for emergencies. Tabby hadn't picked up either, which told me she was probably either distracted or asleep. Either way, her apartment was the best place to start looking.
I had been waiting about twenty minutes outside Tabby's place when the door opened, and she came out with a man, five foot ten, who was wearing the same sort of polo shirt that Pressman had been wearing earlier that day. He looked a lot like Mike Pressman, but slightly bigger, more filled out. He was definitely Scott Pressman. The Knave of Hearts.
My emotions lurched as I saw the look on Tabby's face when she walked with him towards his Buick, which was pretty nice looking. The kiss she gave him when he went to get in his car told me everything I needed to know. She was so head over heels enamored with him that I wondered how the hell the paint on his car didn't blister from the heat.
He fired up his engine and drove off after the kiss, and I followed him, keeping a decent distance between us. I wanted to get him alone, and try to find a way to implement my plan.
Thankfully, he made a move that I hadn't expected. Instead of going home, he turned towards the industrial district and the Pressman Contractors office. I wondered what he was up to, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, I drove past, pulling around a building down the block and shutting off my engine. Getting out, the dome light gave away nothing, I'd turned it off long ago. From the back seat I took out my equipment and checked my load. I was ready.
I approached the Pressman building silently, doing my best to avoid any cameras or other surveillance equipment. I was wearing a skull cap and camouflage face paint, so I doubted I could be identified by image, but still I wanted to take as few chances as possible.
I didn't wear a full ski mask. I've done it before, and it does have its uses. If you are in an ambush, or in a long range sniping situation, they can be great for retaining body heat. However, there is one flaw in even the highest tech ski mask, and that is that it changes the way you hear, and the way you breathe. I didn't want either problem during a fluid, sensory driven stalk.
As I came around the side of the Pressman building, I heard the key rattle in the front door, and Scott Pressman came out. I flattened myself against one of the company trucks, close enough that I could hear him and even see when he moved. What he said was helpful.
"Yeah, it's me baby," he said, obviously talking into a cell phone. "Who, the redhead? Yeah, she's going to be ripe for the picking soon. I've got her so hopped up on my act that she'll give us anything we want. Info on Smiley, his bank account numbers, anything we want. Sure, it wasn't as good as taking out that girl with him, Warbird, but still, getting his main financial advisor is a good in."
He paused, listening to whatever the person on the other side said. "No, you'd of had fun with her too if you'd tried. She seems to have had a thing for women, she'd have been putty in your hands. Ha, maybe sometime later, if we could figure out the angle to play it. No, she was pretty good, a lot better than a lot of the marks I hit. No baby, she was nowhere near as good as you of course. Hey, I'll be home soon, I'm going to check in with a buddy on some computer cracking gear, I hear that Smiley's a real bear when it comes to cyber security. The redhead might get us in the door, but I doubt she's got Smiley's passwords. I love you too, baby. Bye."