Hawke, Simon - Batman by To Stalk A Specter

Author:To Stalk A Specter [Specter, To Stalk A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-28T10:10:28.919000+00:00

As always, when he came back to the apartment in the Village, he went by a circuitous route to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Then he didn’t go directly into the building, but carefully observed the area and circled the block, twice, taking note of the vehicles on the street and the windows and rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Caution had, over the years, become second nature with him. He never forgot himself and he never relaxed his guard for an instant. He was a pro, and he took great satisfaction in his competency. He left nothing to chance. Ever.

Once inside the front door of the building, he stood still for a moment and listened carefully, his every sense alert. A crying child down the hall. A couple arguing somewhere upstairs. A radio playing rock music. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing felt wrong. Just the same, he proceeded up the stairs cautiously, conscious of the reassuring weight of the Grizzly in his special breakfront shoulder holster. His jacket had been specially tailored to prevent any telltale bulges, and the coat he wore over it made the weapon impossible to spot. But it was there, with the silencer screwed into place, ready in case of trouble. As was the second apartment he had subletted on the other side of town, just in case this one was compromised. It was all part of the overhead, and he did not mind the added expense. He was getting paid extremely well for his work, and the extra margin of safety was well worth it.

He reached his floor and paused before entering the hallway. Listening. Smelling. Extending his almost preternatural awareness out into the corridor. Years of stalking, and of being stalked, had honed his senses to an animal instinct, so that things most people did not, could not even notice, because of the casual and secure way in which they went about their lives, did not escape him. The elderly couple down the hall were cooking Chinese food again. The young secretary who spent almost every night out cruising the bars, looking for Mr. Right, had only recently arrived home. He could smell the faint trace of her lilac perfume in the hall. She had checked him out early on, with an almost predatory aggression, but he had avoided her easily enough by assuming certain mannerisms, and she quickly lost interest. Everything seemed normal.

He approached the door of his apartment and checked for signs that anyone might have been inside. The three tiny strips of filament tape he had placed around the door–one at the top, one at the bottom, and one along the side, small enough and thin enough to be invisible unless one knew exactly where to look–were still in place. Satisfied, he unlocked the door and entered.

Once inside, he removed his coat and jacket and lit up a cigarette. It was not a common brand, but French, unfiltered, available here at inflated prices only in tobacconist shops. He could

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