Read Online Hunter: A Thriller by Robert James Bidinotto - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert James Bidinotto
Tags: Novels
Ads: Link
were off at Vic’s place.
That guy. Never gives it a rest. Always up to something.
NINE
ALEXANDRIA , VIRGINIA Saturday, September 6, 11:27 p.m.
The bearded man parked his nondescript old Chevy Metro hatchback on a side street just a couple of blocks from the Braddock Road Metro Station. Then he settled in for what would likely be several hours of surveillance outside the target’s place.
The Chevy was cramped and uncomfortable, even with the seat pushed back. But so was the motel room he’d stayed in down on Route 1 the night before. The stained, peeling wallpaper, once beige, looked as if it had acquired a case of jaundice over the decades. The cheap nightstands and bathroom sink were criss -crossed with brown scars from unattended cigarettes, and he had to work under the light of the room’s single functional lamp. One glance in the bathroom convinced him to pass on taking a shower, just as a look at the carpet convinced him to keep his sneakers on.
He’d had no choice, really. He needed a base nearby to run this op, but it had to be the sort of place where he could pay cash and not have to show a credit card or his New York driver’s license. It was out of the question to let the clerk see the name Shane Michael Stone—however unlikely it was that anyone would track him to a place like that. So he peeled off fifty-five bucks for two nights and signed in, using an alias that appealed to his sense of irony.
It had been very late when he arrived at the motel. But rather than get some sleep, he spent the remaining hours before dawn conducting a recon of this neighborhood. When he returned to his room, he covered the stained bed cover with newspapers before lying down fully dressed. He woke in the late afternoon, grabbed a bite at a Wendy’s up the highway, then returned to the motel to check his gear and mentally walk through the plan, which included contingency options at every stage.
After that, he dressed for the job with clothes from one of the two duffle bags delivered by the van from Maryland . Then he looked himself over in the cracked, full-length mirror barely attached to the bathroom door.
Scruffy-looking guy. Ragged red hair and beard, oversized blue pullover sweater, baggy jeans, Orioles baseball cap. Where he was headed, he’d fit right in.
As always, he was ultra-careful about leaving any prints behind. Before he left the room for the last time, he wiped down the place. Which was more than he could say for the cleaning staff, such as it was. He also carefully folded the newspapers covering the bed and took them with him…
He’d picked this place to park because it faced the street spur that extended straight back into the courtyard of the project, where it dead-ended a short distance away at a parking lot. That was the only route in, and from here he had a clear view of everyone who entered or left. It was a pretty safe spot, too. Though the cops patrolled regularly, his car was off the main street they mainly used, and it was shadowed from the nearest street light by a tree. In addition, the one upgrade he’d given the Chevy was extra-dark tinted windows. Even the cops were unlikely to spot him sitting inside.
Last night, the target had returned home to the projects with another guy about three a.m. They’d entered the courtyard in a battered silver Honda Civic, pulled into the lot and parked. He watched them through the latest thing in monocular night-vision scopes: the Xenonics SuperVision Digital Viewing System. When the pair emerged from the car about fifty yards away and stood chatting, he was able to zoom in and identify his target in a black-and-white, high-definition image. After a few minutes, they did a fist-bumping thing and parted company. He watched the guy unlock and enter a door in a brick row house on the right, not far from the street entrance to the complex.
Tonight, a bit earlier, he’d walked past the complex entrance and didn’t see the target’s car parked in
That guy. Never gives it a rest. Always up to something.
NINE
ALEXANDRIA , VIRGINIA Saturday, September 6, 11:27 p.m.
The bearded man parked his nondescript old Chevy Metro hatchback on a side street just a couple of blocks from the Braddock Road Metro Station. Then he settled in for what would likely be several hours of surveillance outside the target’s place.
The Chevy was cramped and uncomfortable, even with the seat pushed back. But so was the motel room he’d stayed in down on Route 1 the night before. The stained, peeling wallpaper, once beige, looked as if it had acquired a case of jaundice over the decades. The cheap nightstands and bathroom sink were criss -crossed with brown scars from unattended cigarettes, and he had to work under the light of the room’s single functional lamp. One glance in the bathroom convinced him to pass on taking a shower, just as a look at the carpet convinced him to keep his sneakers on.
He’d had no choice, really. He needed a base nearby to run this op, but it had to be the sort of place where he could pay cash and not have to show a credit card or his New York driver’s license. It was out of the question to let the clerk see the name Shane Michael Stone—however unlikely it was that anyone would track him to a place like that. So he peeled off fifty-five bucks for two nights and signed in, using an alias that appealed to his sense of irony.
It had been very late when he arrived at the motel. But rather than get some sleep, he spent the remaining hours before dawn conducting a recon of this neighborhood. When he returned to his room, he covered the stained bed cover with newspapers before lying down fully dressed. He woke in the late afternoon, grabbed a bite at a Wendy’s up the highway, then returned to the motel to check his gear and mentally walk through the plan, which included contingency options at every stage.
After that, he dressed for the job with clothes from one of the two duffle bags delivered by the van from Maryland . Then he looked himself over in the cracked, full-length mirror barely attached to the bathroom door.
Scruffy-looking guy. Ragged red hair and beard, oversized blue pullover sweater, baggy jeans, Orioles baseball cap. Where he was headed, he’d fit right in.
As always, he was ultra-careful about leaving any prints behind. Before he left the room for the last time, he wiped down the place. Which was more than he could say for the cleaning staff, such as it was. He also carefully folded the newspapers covering the bed and took them with him…
He’d picked this place to park because it faced the street spur that extended straight back into the courtyard of the project, where it dead-ended a short distance away at a parking lot. That was the only route in, and from here he had a clear view of everyone who entered or left. It was a pretty safe spot, too. Though the cops patrolled regularly, his car was off the main street they mainly used, and it was shadowed from the nearest street light by a tree. In addition, the one upgrade he’d given the Chevy was extra-dark tinted windows. Even the cops were unlikely to spot him sitting inside.
Last night, the target had returned home to the projects with another guy about three a.m. They’d entered the courtyard in a battered silver Honda Civic, pulled into the lot and parked. He watched them through the latest thing in monocular night-vision scopes: the Xenonics SuperVision Digital Viewing System. When the pair emerged from the car about fifty yards away and stood chatting, he was able to zoom in and identify his target in a black-and-white, high-definition image. After a few minutes, they did a fist-bumping thing and parted company. He watched the guy unlock and enter a door in a brick row house on the right, not far from the street entrance to the complex.
Tonight, a bit earlier, he’d walked past the complex entrance and didn’t see the target’s car parked in
Similar Books
