Free Luthecker by Keith Domingue

preferred traveling by night, the lack of human activity being much more peaceful to him, but when acting as a courier, he usually traveled by day. Security cameras and satellite observation networks actually had more difficulty tracking targets during the day, the large and constant movement of people creating an added needle-in-the-haystack level of difficulty. But whenever it was a local delivery in an economically depressed region, he felt safe enough moving in the night. He knew where the few recording cameras were, mostly at revenue generating traffic stops, and he easily avoided them. He also knew that right now, he was being followed.
    Although he was perceptive to strong intent, allowing him to sometimes read people moments before he actually saw them, there was nothing but basic human awareness and common sense at work here. He was in a gang neighborhood. It was nighttime. And the gangs provided formidable security for all the local businesses. He was being watched the second he stepped off the bus.
    This didn’t concern him at the moment, not just because of his ability to be one step ahead of his followers, or the pair of metal Kali sticks he had strapped to his back, but because couriers always had a “ghetto pass.” If confronted, a simple display of his weaponry, recognizable to all as handcrafted by Master Winn, would be all his would-be assailants needed to see. However he knew it would never come to that. Alex had walked these streets at night many times before, and the leaders of the security detail would know of him, and that tonight, he would be passing through to deliver a very important package.
    He eyed a young man shrouded in a thick coat, sitting on a bus stop bench, the concrete seat on the sidewalk noticeably decorated with seemingly indecipherable yet artistically crafted swirls of grey spray paint. The elaborate pattern tagged the bench as a property marker, and the man seated on it was a scout at his post. Face hidden by a hood, all Alex could see was the lit ember of a cigarette. That ember nodded slightly at Alex, and Alex returned the nod as he passed by, never breaking stride. The exchange informed him that he had just been cleared, and his route would be safe. The final destination, however, would potentially be a different story.
    A half hour walk later, he turned left at a street corner, and stood at the entrance to the Imperial Courts cul de sac.
    Alex hesitated before entering the neighborhood. If there were a time that he would be most vulnerable, it would be within the next fifteen minutes.
    Security tightened as he started down the street, to the building at the apex of the cul de sac. He noted the men watching him from doorways and rooftops, saw the small cluster of pigeons flying overhead, the trained flock of birds darting in the moonlight signaling his arrival.
    He tucked his chin and kept walking, careful to keep his pace brisk but controlled, and not to make eye contact with his many observers. He approached the long since broken security door of a crumbling five-story stucco building that lay just left of center of the street’s end.
    “Apartment 501” was where he had been told the package was to be delivered. He silently entered the structure, and made his way through the plaster-peeled hallway, silently bounded up stairs two at a time, until he reached the fifth floor. He entered the hallway and slowed.
    For the first time this evening, Alex was nervous.
    Standing in front of unit 501 were two large black men, both with AR-15 semi-automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. Alex nodded to the men and held up his free hand to show it was empty, the one hand holding the duffle bag. One of the men took the rifle from his shoulder and pointed it straight at Alex as the other nodded, signaling him to approach.
    Alex did as he was instructed, holding the bag out at arms length. He slowly set it down at their feet and stood perfectly still as one man frisked him and the