Chapter One

“…and da horssse you rode in on!”

Avery heard the tail end of the loud exchange as he rested his back against the exterior wall of the first floor motel room. Unless Jocko was talking to himself, there would be at least two inside--most likely armed to the teeth. Avery had watched the room since Jocko entered two hours ago gripping bottles of Absolute by their necks. He held them with the grace of a gunslinger carrying drawn pistols. Nestled between his left arm pit and elbow, Jocko balanced a bucket full of ice that he retrieved from the motels convenience area. When he was passing A-4, the room to the right of his own, he had hesitated as though listening to something. He’d paused for only a moment before continuing to his room. That was at approximately twelve a.m. In that time no one else had entered. Either the second person had already been inside waiting or came from the adjoining room.

Shutting his eyes Avery threw his head back in frustration. He’d been shadowing Jocko for the past six days waiting for an opportunity to seize him. Tonight was the only night Jocko had been alone or so Avery thought. His options were limited to either, waiting for the other person to exit or go in hot and heavy with guns blazing. The assumption that only one additional person was in the room was foolish. For all he’d known there could be six heavily armed thugs inside. No. He would wait. But first he needed to get a headcount of those in room A-3. One way or another, Avery intended to grab Jocko tonight.

Clad entirely in a black tactical uniform and bullet proof vest, Avery was for the most part invisible in the moonless dark. Jocko wasn’t exactly hiding out in an upper class neighborhood, so he wasn’t worried about the stamp from the heels of his leather boots or the rustle of his clothing alerting those inside. It would be drowned out by busy noises common at two a.m. in most major cities; police sirens blaring, people arguing, passing vehicles in search of parties and the howls of stray dogs.

Avery hurried to the hummer and accessed the passenger door. Right where he left it, lying on the floor was the case that contained the Ageman 210 Thermovision Imager. Watching over the device was General with the thoroughness of Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades. A huge black cat, General only became visible when the red glow of the interior lights switched on.

The camera emitted a low hum as it powered up. Shooing the cat aside, Avery hopped inside, closed the door, sending the Hummer back into darkness. General crawled into his master’s lap making himself comfortable.

“Don’t claw me,” he whispered. General replied with a purr that always seemed to calm Avery. “Good boy.”

Fully powered, he brought the device to his eyes, pointing it toward Jocko’s room. The thermo imaging camera he had borrowed from his closest friend Bugsy could scan through outside surfaces. It detected emitted heat inside the apartment that transmitted outside the external surface. Avery wouldn’t be able to tell one person from another but what he would gauge was just how many were inside.

Since inanimate objects like chairs and beds did not discharge heat, what he saw was oddly disturbing. One person floated in the air on his back. All that was missing was the magician’s beautiful assistant to guide a ring across the hovering body to show the audience there were no strings keeping him afloat. The other person was in a sitting position, he too levitated in midair.

Avery had an exact body count and the positions of both men. Still, he hadn’t known whether the second person posed a threat or not. If he went in guns blazing, he may erroneously injure or kill an innocent person. On the other hand, from everything he learned about Jocko through police reports, he wasn’t the type to hang out with someone who hadn’t shared in his line of work, which was contract killing.

Jocko was wanted dead or alive. The bounty was high enough that made tracking him all those days worth the trouble and the risk. Neither men were moving and the television had not registered on the camera which probably meant it was off. Jocko had entered two hours ago with several bottles of liquor. Could they have drank themselves to an inebriated stupor? Are they asleep?

Avery recalled what he overheard, one of the men say, “…and da horssse you rode in on!” The person’s words were definitely slurred but that could be his natural way of speaking for all he knew. He watched the room for another half hour. There was some shuffling but nothing out of the ordinary for slumbering.

Not entirely confident about going inside but feeling there was little other choice, he decided he couldn’t wait any longer. A man like Jocko got most of his calls during non-business hours, in the middle of the night, where being overheard would be unlikely. He had the types of conversations meant for no ones ears but his own.

He thought about the second man. Not as he first had, as an innocent bystander, worried about hurting him. Avery accepted that this person was as dubious as Jocko. You don’t drink yourself drunk making yourself vulnerable with a person you don’t know. Not when you’re in the business of killing. If you weren’t in the business, you weren’t worth trusting. What Avery thought about was how the man had gain access to the room.

Pointing the camera to A-4 the room to the right of Jocko’s, the ghostly image of a couple making passionate love materialized. The woman was on top, her head arched back, mouth open mid-scream, full breast pointed skyward. Her arms were propped behind clutching her lover’s knees for balance.

Avery quickly swiveled his view away feeling like a peeping tom. The night at the Motel 8 more than six months ago, where he and Mary shared more than a room flashed in his mind. The memory brought a smile to his lips. But it quickly faded, changing to a deep disgusted scowl. Sheriff Mary Jamison had bled to death in his arms, shot by a murderous, dirty police detective. It was Avery’s fault that she was put in danger--his fault that she had died.

General’s claws stabbed into the meat of Avery’s leg. “Ow! Hey!”

The cat looked up at him with his ‘What did I do?’ stare. His green eyes glowed like two fiery beacons under the scrutiny of the camera.

He couldn’t bring himself to be mad at General. They were both strays who needed one another for support; the cat, for food and shelter, Avery’s companionship. The feline brought him out of the past and back to the present. He’d toggled his gaze to A-2 the room to the left of Jocko’s. The television gave a heat signature but nothing else. It appeared no one was in the room.

A broad smile grew. “I think I found my way inside.”

Avery had not tried to immediately enter. Using the camera, he scanned through the door into room adjacent to Jocko’s verifying that it was in fact empty. It was. Picking the flimsy door lock took only moments. He entered noiselessly. The single room had little amenities; a television airing an episode of Stargate SG-1; a full-sized made bed, beside it sat an end-table with a digital clock displaying the wrong time; a small dresser and an uncomfortable looking chair, finished the room. There were four doors, the entrance which Avery entered, a small closet where a large suitcase sat, an empty bathroom and more importantly, the door leading to the next room, A-3.

He felt something crawling across the top of his boot. The television provided just enough ambient light for him to see what it was. A large cockroach about the size of a bullet that belonged in an M-16 rifle stopped midway, stared up at Avery and dared him to do something about his being there.

What the hell is Jocko doing in a dump like this?

The hit man was one of the best in the world, his commissions hefty. The fact that Avery was even able to get a line on him over a week ago was only by sheer circumstance. Jocko purchased some of his equipment from Bugsy, who had known Avery was strapped for cash. Bugsy told him about the killer. Avery immediately jumped at the opportunity--an opportunity that law enforcement agencies had not been able to obtain for more than a decade.

Misgivings about entering the room crept in the back of his mind. The cheap motel, the second man inside the room, and their getting drunk together was all wrong. It was stupid in fact. Jocko had avoided capture for years because he was smart. No. Something else was going on. Avery had been so focused on the big payoff for the past week; he’d missed all the small signs that things weren’t quite right.

The cockroach restarted its crawl heading toward the other foot. Slowly lifting his boot, Avery hung it over the creeping insect that dared him to do something moments ago. The crunch of the cockroach’s exoskeleton was loud enough that he heard it even with the low sound coming from the television.

Why would a hit man or hit men who could afford better be staying here? He let the question linger for a moment before he craned his head toward the closet where the large suitcase waited. The old adage, better safe than sorry, reverberated in his head.

He scanned Jocko’s room once more with the camera. The two men remained in their sleeping positions. Retrieving the suitcase he laid it on the bed, taking note of how heavy it was. He examined the locks. Using a lock pick he forced its latch and looked at the content inside. The suitcase was in fact a tactical kit. On the right side a dissembled M40A3 Sniper Rifle, a single five round magazine, and a telescopic sight. Standard issued weapon for an U.S. Marine sniper. On the left side of the case, an empty compartment designed for a bulletproof vest.

Obviously, these fellas are here on business but why leave the rifle abandoned? It was possible that the two killers weren’t working and just blowing off steam before an upcoming job. Then again, maybe the rifle wasn’t needed. Why wouldn’t it be needed?

He recalled Jocko pausing outside room A-4 when he brought back the liquor and ice, as though he were listening for something or someone inside. Then there was the slurred conversation Jocko had with his partner. He was loud… Too loud. Jocko wanted to be heard--wanted someone to know he was in the room, drunk.

The only ones that were near enough to hear would have been… Avery closed the weapon’s case, relocked it, wiped his prints away and put it back in the closet. He moved quickly but silently out of the room. In the parking lot, midway between the Hummer and the motel, he stopped, aimed the camera toward the room with the couple that was love making. The occupants were still, laying flat on the bed. Redirecting the camera to Jocko’s room, he watched the two men rise to their feet. Things were about to turn ugly for the couple in A-4.

At a sprint, Avery returned to the Hummer, tossing the camera inside. Even though he had worn two guns already; a 9mm Berretta holstered on his chest, a Glock 10 on his right hip; he reached behind the seat where he kept a shotgun for added firepower.

General’s head craned sideways, his large expressive green eyes filled with a knowing worry. Avery wondered if the cat could sense his mounting tension. He rubbed the fur behind General’s left ear.

“Don’t worry boy, this will be over soon.” He hoped.

Avery dialed 9-1-1 informing the local authorities that a shootout was about to take place. This was to gain backup for himself and to cover his ass from police reprimands. Bounty hunters were required to inform local law enforcement of their intentions before retrieval of a fugitive. Taking a deep breath, he ran toward the door of the couple. Keeping an eye on Jocko’s room, he banged on the door.

A man’s voice shouted from inside. “Who the fuc—”

“Shut the hell up! I think you’re in danger! Open up!”

The door swung open. The barrel of a .357 magnum revolver was shoved from the dark shadows of the room.

“Just who the fuck, are you?” The gun bearer questioned with an unmistakable Jersey accent. There was a nervous edge to his speech. The steel in his hand shook.

Avery kept his cool trying hard to ignore the weapon that was inches from his face. “My name is Hudson…” He thought about mentioning he was a bounty hunter but let that notion quickly slip away. A man that could shove a gun so easily at someone--who possibly had a contract on his life—the last thing he wanted to hear was that a bounty hunter was pounding at his door at two in the morning, “There are two men in the next room that want you or your lady friend dead.”

Not daring to make any sudden moves, Avery shifted his eyes slightly indicating Jocko’s room. The man poked his head from the darkness. He looked to be in his early forties, his gaunt face was pale from long periods of being out of the sun’s rays. His mangy blonde hair was long and sweaty. He smelled of sex. His blue eyes darted to the next room and then snapped back to Avery’s.

“And I’m supposed to believe you, why? You just come tracing to my room armed for war, expecting me jump because you say so? The only people in there are a couple of drunks. I know because I heard them arguing earlier.” He pressed the .357 against Avery’s cheek. “Maybe it’s you who wants me and my girl dead. Now drop the hardware!”

Noticing that the safety had yet to be unlocked on the powerful handgun, Avery’s alarm receded. “I’m trying to save your life.”

“I’m going to fucking end yours if you don’t do what I say,” the man countered.

Jocko’s door flew open. Out he came, followed closely by the second man. Both carried large guns. Both aimed at Avery and the magnum bearer.

“Shit!” the man screamed.

“Move!” Avery slapped the .357 from his face, simultaneously shoving its stunned man back into the darkened room. In the corner of his eye, he watched the two hit men taking quick aim.

Thunder clapped.