Shadow Wrought's Journal: [Serial Writing] Everywhere, Is the War (Part VIII)

Start from Part I or Back to Part VII

After the whirlwind of a weekend with Clarke, Walker was in some ways relieved to find himself back on DC's streets. The sky was overcast and the weather unseasonably cold, but he had long since learned to steel himself against any of the weather's vagaries. Today found him in yet another costume of sorts, though one to which he was better suited. He was dressed in the business casual look affected by lower office grunts from across the country; dockers, polo shirt, and a leather jacket.

Tonight was another working night, and he was on the prowl. His target this time was a stock analyst of dubious repute. If you wanted your stock recommended, and weren't above a bit of bribery, Jenkins was your man. Since Jenkins had come from working class roots and still had a penchant for blue collar bars, Walker hoped he wouldn't stand out too much, but that he would clique with his target. This was also the first time that he would actually engage one of his victims before killing them, but there was hope he could get some intelligence out of the guy.

So, as the shrill wind kicked up the odd newspapr and flier, Walker found himself entering a dingy establishment called the Drunken Badger. The name had nothing to do with the decor, however, and Walker suspected it retained its name from a bar long since past. As he suspected his attire caught a few glances, but since the bar wasn't too far from the financial district no second glances were forthcoming. He sat at the bar and ordered a Rusty Nail to pass the time while waiting. Fortune was with him again, though, as Jenkins not only entered a mere five minutes later, but he also took a seat next to Walker. Perfect.

After some idle chitchat and the building of a repoire, Walker realized that not only was Jenkins a gold mine of information, but that he kept all his records on a PC in his garage. Even better. Walker bided his time before placing the clear drops into Jenkins' drink while everyone was distracted by a loud argument. Within a half hour his target was compeltely pliable and only half there mentally. With only a few more thoughts placed, Walker had connived Jenkins into asking him for a ride home. Perfect indeed. Even the barkeep had heard it. After a forty-five minute drive in Jenkin's own car Walker and Jenkins were sitting in the latter's garage. On the computer was a spreadheet that the now helpless analyst called his "Gold Sheet." Won't they be pissed when this hits the press, thought Walker as looked at row after row of carefully documented bribes.

With Jenkins now effectively passed out in his chair, Walker took a thumbdrive from his pocket and copied all the Excel files he could find. If Clarke was happy after the last mission, he couldn't wait to see how she rewarded him for this one! With the files copied, there was only one last thing to do. He took the large syringe from his pocket, drawing air all the way up into its empty cavity. Then, sticking Jenkins right in the artery, he slowly pushed plunger down until it had emptied its air bubble into Jenkins' bloodstream. Walker didn't wait for the stroke to kick in, instead letting himself out through the back door. He silently navigated through the 'burbs to the closest strip mall and its waiting bus stop. Another day, another mission, he thought. Though it is easier when your enemy hasn't come to terms yet with the War...

~ ~ ~

Special Agent Brink looked over the body and the garage. The man hadn't been dead for long, but Brink would bet that the empty syringe on the floor likely wasn't there by accident. The computer was on but locked. Maybe his forensic guys could find something...

"Agent Brink?" the criminalist called to him, "Can you come here?"

"What do you have," he answered carefully stepping through the crime scene, to the crouched crminalist.

"I haven't analyzed them yet, but I'd swear that these are the same footprints from our train shooting a couple months back."

"Good enough for me. Sergeant!"

"Yes sir?"

"Run the picture of David Allen Walker. I want every station letting the world know that he's wanted for questioning. Time to flush us a baddie."

Continue to Part IX
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