Day One
July 21, 1952
Monday Morning
River parked the Indian two blocks from the Down Towner and swung over on foot to see what his little target Alexa Blank looked like. No waitresses matching her description came into view after two passes. A third pass would be risky. Going inside was out of the question. He headed back to the Indian and drove south out of the city.
He needed a place to keep her.
It needed to be secluded.
The miles clicked off.
The city gave way to less city which gave way to no city.
An abandoned barn or structure would work. Sunshine was everywhere, pure and uncompromised. Yellow-winged butterflies dotted the sides of the road. The air was warm.
A narrow dirt road appeared up ahead.
River stopped at the base and gave it a look.
It was choked with weeds.
Whatever it had been used for, it wasn’t used for it anymore.
The world had abandoned it.
He turned in and drove far enough to get the Indian out of sight. Then he shut it down and continued on foot. If it turned out to be useful, he didn’t want to fill it up with motorcycle tracks.
The topography rolled, a prelude to the foothills three miles to the west.
In typical Colorado prairie style, trees were almost non-existent except for the occasional scraggly pinion pine. Tall grasses and rabbit brush ruled, dotted with sharp pointed yucca and small hidden cactuses. Rattlesnakes were at home here.
River loved the city.
He loved the noise and smoke and buzz, the danger, the anxiety and desperation, the beauty and opportunity, the night neon and the early morning shadows.
He was equally at home out here.
This is where the real men met the world.
It was raw and unforgiving, there for the taming.
Back in the day, River could have been one of those tamers. He could have been one of the persons who boarded a wooden ship and headed for the horizon, not knowing if anything was out there except a slow descent into starvation.
It was in his genes.
The present assignment was going to be tricky. River was supposed to take the target-Alexa Blank-but not kill or harm her until and unless given orders. That conceivably meant that he might be told to release her at some point. He couldn’t do that if she saw his face. That was the tricky part, staying anonymous.
He could wear a mask but that would only partially solve the problem.
There was still the issue of his body, both the warrior physique and the height.
Baggy clothes, he’d need those for sure.
Also, there was his voice. How could he disguise that? The only positive way to do it would be to never speak. That would be impossible. He’d need to give the woman orders.
Complicated, that’s what it was.
Too complicated.
Too complicated for the standard commission at any rate.
He’d renegotiate at the first chance.
Up aheadsomething appeared on the horizon that wasn’t part of the landscape. It looked like a rusty metal remnant of some type.
Another appeared.
Then another.
There were dozens of them.
It was some kind of machinery graveyard, mostly old farm machinery and truck hulks from the looks of it.
Interesting.
He picked up the pace.
As he walked a thought came to him. If the woman did end up seeing his face, he could have her die by a rattlesnake bite. He could say it wasn’t his fault, just nature at work.