Free Kill Code by Joseph Collins Page A

There had been too many bodies over the
years and too many years filled with nightmares to get back into
the killing game.
    “Like how many?” she asked.
    “They offered me a third of what I had been getting.
Based on that and the money missing, whoever is pulling the strings
could kill at least a hundred people.”
    “Are we talking individual hits or like a mass
murder?”
    “I'm figuring singles. Multiple killings are another
way of thinking and doing altogether.”
    “How many hit men would it take to do this?”
    He maneuvered around a car broken down on the side
of the road. It was an early model Ford Escort, also known by
people who had ever owned one as “Metal Roadkill.” The hood was up
and no one was around.
    Considering what she had asked, “I don't know. Any
large organization would show up on someone's radar, somewhere.
Heck, even getting into contact with the right people would be
difficult.”
    “How'd they get in touch with you?”
    “Most recently, one on one. But that isn't practical
for the numbers we are talking about. It might work if you are only
dealing with a few extremely high-value, high-risk targets. But,
with those kinds of targets, the best practice is to have as little
contact with the assassin as possible. If something goes bad, the
cops and feds will then be able to justify the lone-nut-job
scenario.”
    She seemed to consider this and then said, “You said
most recently, how about when you did it however many years
ago?”
    “The US mail. When the job was completed, you
received a wire transfer of funds to the bank account of your
choice. It was done so anonymously that I'm not even sure of the
name of the place I was working for. It might have been for the
government as far as I know—and given my reading, it probably was.
But, then again, they might have been subcontractors. Or another
organization with a mandate to enact political change. Who the heck
knows.”
    Jackie was quiet for several minutes.
    This was fine with Leo. He probably already said way
too much. It was something completely outside his realm of
experience to have someone to confide in. Even more unsettling was
that the person he was talking to was female—and attractive.
    The people that he dealt with on a regular basis
were overwhelmingly male, and could only get a date if they paid
good money for it. Yes, there were exceptions to the rule. Leo was
probably worth almost a million dollars in hard, tangible
assets—gold, silver, precious coins and outright cash. But he
didn't care for a flashy lifestyle and lived as simply as he could.
His true passion was shooting. Everything else in life was merely
something to get him to that point. Yes, he did have an interest in
coins, but how many 1912 S Mercury dimes in MS-65+ could anyone
have? And who the hell would care, anyway? Yes, there were some
coins that were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars and he had
even owned some of them, but did it matter to the coin? The coins
themselves had seen history, some since man had started forming
precious metals into easily tradeable forms. But they didn't speak
to Leo any more—their stories, past and future, no longer had much
interest to him. They were reduced to simple commodities, not the
treasures that had transported him to different times and places.
As Rob Gates once said, “At some point, it's just
stuff.”
    This change in his life may
have been sad, but he didn't have time to mourn that passing—he was
in the fight for his life.
    ###
    Patrick Lackey held the key to his car in his hand,
juggling a bag of groceries in his other, loaded with comfort
food—a thick and juicy Porterhouse steak, a decent Chianti, a
pre-made salad and some red potatoes. It had been a long and
difficult day. But he felt a great satisfaction like he hadn't in a
while and felt he deserved his well-earned treats.
    He had a good idea where the assets of the company
disappeared to. It had been tricky and complex to figure it out,
and in