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Chapter 4: Ridgeback Bar

Rilee's P.O.V

I thought my gut was wrong. But my gut is never wrong.

The piece of paper held all of the information I would need to find and kill this son of a bitch. He seemed like a real scumbag too, the kind of person I'd be happy to kill. In the note, it said he was a terrorist who targeted nursery schools. Why the Fluellen Warriors wanted him dead, I have no clue. It wasn't my job to find that out, though. My job was to make him disappear. It stated that he lived on the opposite end of Miami, fortunately I wouldn't be travelling far when I leave. I hoped that would be tomorrow. I quickly stitched back the lining, after all this time I consider myself quite an expert at it.

I memorized every detail the piece of paper included, and promptly stuck it in my mouth and swallowed it. That left absolutely no trace of it whatsoever. What you do for your job.

******

The next day

I hadn't heard from Rawen; he said he was coming over but didn't mention a time. I was keen on getting out and eliminating the target, but I couldn't have Rawen waiting for me when I got back.

I was about to text him that I had to go to work, when a low rumbling came from the distance. Him and his toys, I said to myself. When he got outside my house, he revs the engine purposely. I swear the windows nearly shattered.

"Hey bro!" he exclaimed, climbing out of his car.

"What's up?" I said nonchalantly, trying hard to hide the fact that I was on my way to a job.

"Not much."

You seem awfully excited about nothing, I said to myself.

"So are you going to let me in or what?"

"Oh, shit. Haha yeah," I stutter, making a crucial error in lying. When lying, lying effectively should be the last thing on your mind. Blatantly ignore the fact that you are lying, and you won't show it. Lying was the second thing on my mind. Thankfully, Rawen doesn't seem to notice. But why is he so excited? He probably found himself a girl or a bone, I conclude.

We enter my house, I pour myself a glass of wine, he grabbed a beer. We sit ourselves on the couch and indulge in it's fine taste, conversation comes awkwardly though.

"What's wrong?" he finally asks me.

"Nothing," I assure him, and attempt to find a suitable topic. Rawen seems slightly.... worried? I can't tell for sure. Eventually he puts his beer down and demands that I tell him what's wrong.

"Er... I kinda have to go to work..."

"Shit! Why didn't you tell me, I'm so sorry!" He gets up and practically races through the door. Rawen believes that I am an expert programmer, but I actually only know C++. Had he asked, I would be helping out a company called Seeff with programming their app.

I dismiss his strange behavior, having troubles of my own. I open my garage, the only car at my house is a small, inconspicuous red Mini Cooper. I love that car, it feels like I'm driving an angry sperm. I WILL GET TO THE EGG FIRST! I imagine my car shouting. Laughing at the joke, and then my strange sense of humour, I climb into the little car, open the garage door and hit the road.

I run the final sentence of the paper through my mind.

Tcif4 da4 fwrus7 pof2 (See if you can figure out how I got the answer, or if you really want a challenge try and figure it out without reading forward. If you are really stuck, PM me and I'll explain :)

A relatively easy code once you know the formula, one of the guys at Fluellen taught this code to me. The process of me receiving it is the first line of defense.

It stood for: four P.M, ridgeback bar.

I opened my phone and Googled "Ridge Bar". Any search and browsing history on my phone or laptop was cleared, and monitored through the Fluellen. They could also change my screensaver without leaving a trace, that's how I know when there's a job. I found the location on Google Maps, and drove their in a bit of a hurry.

I arrived at Ridgeback Bar at precisely 3:47 PM. I parked me car on the busy street, grateful that it was so small, and walked over to the bar. It had marble walls, a sleek design and modern metal doors. It looked fabulous, although it certainly wasn't a bar as the name suggested. Thankfully I was wearing a dark grey pair of pants, a pristine white shirt and a lighter grey waistcoat. I would fit in perfectly.

I walked in, immediately searching for a smallish cheetah with brown scruffy hair. Just as the message had claimed, a small brown haired cheetah was sitting in Ridgeback Bar at 4 P.M.

That was a habit, a bad one. Habits get you killed.

I found an empty table near him, it was ready to seat two. Perfect.

He was sitting alone, a waiter came by. He called her, and ordered a plate cheeseburger and fries. I expected that to be his usual meal. I ordered a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich with fries, and walked over to the kitchen.

"Where's the bathroom? I asked.

A panther replied that it was just down the hall. I thanked her, and walked to missing restrooms.

"One more thing," I said, quickly shuffling back to the kitchen window, "my salt level is really high, so do you mind not putting any salt on the next batch of fries?"

The panther agreed, and I went to the bathrooms.

I had been waiting for about 15 minutes before my lunch arrived, a piping hot sandwich and saltless fries. But my salt wasn't high.

"Umm hey, could I borrow your salt?" I asked the cheetah before he could put any on his dish. He sighed, and handed me the salt. I thanked him, and put some on my fries. Then, without him noticing I swapped the salt shaker with another one in my pocket.

"Here you go," I said, handing him the new salt. He took it without a word, and threw plenty on his fries. I took a bite of my fries, I had purposely thrown too little on.

"Shit, sorry dude but can I get the salt back again?" I asked him.

He reluctantly handed it to me, I quickly swapped it with the old salt and threw some more over my fries. I quickly ate the delicious sandwich and properly seasoned chips.

Killing a heartless murderer, and having a delicious lunch while doing it. Today was a good day, I say to myself.

I glance at the cheetah, his eyes seem distant and cloudy. The CF-86 chemical was working. I collect the bill and pay, leaving a healthy tip for the waiter. I walk out of the bar, sure that within an hour Richard Cosly would be dead. The chemical is designed to cause the brain to malfunction, eventually the vital organs will shut down, and he will be dead. There is no trace of the chemical after death, since the scientists at Fluellen designed it to be neutralised by a base they recently discovered in the brain. But by the time the chemical was nutralised, you'd be dead. It was brilliant.

I got in my jolly Mini Cooper, and raced home, satisfied that I had done a speck of good in my dark life.