Mercy Tendered: Part 2

A man in his mid thirties leaned against a car and ran a hand through his thinning hair as he watched the remaining members of the dojo leave the building. He lit a cigarette as he planned his strategy. He was determined to take care of this one chore and he couldn't afford to let anyone stop him. He changed his mind about the cigarette and stubbed it out, shoving his hands in his pockets instead. It would still be awhile before the person he was looking for would arrive at the dojo. Actually, it would have been easier to wait at her apartment but the dojo was a better choice. It was safer than ambushing her in her home. He knew she kept weapons at home and wouldn't think twice about using them. The semi-public atmosphere of the dojo would definitely be better. It was the type of thing he would know. He made it his business to obtain that knowledge. It was what he did. Usually people paid him to find someone they'd lost contact with or to spy on a wayward spouse. It wasn't every day that he tracked down a client to return a retainer. Then again it wasn't every day that pursuing a client's case got him threatened or followed. He scowled as he looked around the area of the dojo. He didn't see anyone following him this time. Not that he cared, he planned to wash his hands of this case and be done with it. However, it was getting cold and he saw no point in freezing while he waited. The inside of the dojo would do just as well.

Thomas Carter liked three things, women, money, and a good rush, not necessarily in that order. His problem was that he was also relatively lazy and not good at taking orders which often made getting money a problem. However, working for himself took care of that. He couldn't get a better boss and as a self-employed man small things like ethics didn't necessarily get in his way. Snooping and peeping into windows wasn't a bad way to pass the time until this last case came along. It seemed relatively simple enough when it all began. A very young woman walked into his office very purposefully and sat at his desk.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"My name is Reina Molestador. I'm looking for a couple of people. I heard you can be discreet."

"Look kid, I don't do business with minors. Try again when you're legal."

Reina smiled and withdrew a New York State driver's license. "I don't think that will be a problem."

Carter looked at the license. Twenty-four years old. Very legal. "What can I do for you?"

"I understand you specialize in difficult cases."

"I like a challenge."

"Then you should have a ball. I'm looking for a couple of people. One should be very easy to find. So easy in fact that I could probably find her myself."

You already have. Carter said to himself. "Then why have me look for her?"

"I couldn't possibly confirm my findings myself for reasons I'd just as soon not go into," Reina handed Carter an envelope. "This is all the information I could gather. I'm afraid the picture is a bit dated. The second person is a man named Mark Tuttle. I'm afraid he's probably not using that name at the moment. All I have is a composite sketch of him."

"Any clue as to where he might be?"

"No."

"He could be anywhere."

"I'm aware of that fact."

"You haven't given me a lot to go on."

"If there were a lot to go on it would be easy. Where's the thrill in that?"

"It could be expensive."

"Let me worry about my pocketbook."

He'd let his greed get the better of him. The rush he got from invading someone's security was too great to ignore until things started to get ugly. Carter never found Mark Tuttle. He didn't even get close. Whoever this Mark Tuttle person was had low friends in high places. Many of whom were governmental thugs who had all of the subtlety of a Mac truck. They tapped his phones and searched his belongings. Then they had him brought up on trumped up charges and threatened his livelihood. He wasn't stupid. He got the point clear enough. He ended his search for Mark Tuttle and turned his attention to the woman looking for him. She had no criminal record, no stays in mental hospitals although she had been forced to see a psychologist during college. She had a degree in Accounting, a carry permit for a sword of all things, and had been training in martial arts in the last year and a half or so. Traveled to Paris and Barcelona. Had two brothers one deceased the other an FBI agent. Mother deceased, father living overseas. Current habits included long hours spent online and at a local dojo. That was where he would find her.

Carter knew the dojo would be closed when he arrived. He also knew that at least one of the men with whom Ms. Molestador spent her time would be in the office. The door would also be unlocked awaiting her arrival. He would simply walk inside and wait. When she arrived he would tell her what he had come to say and wash his hands of the woman.

Richie Ryan shifted in his seat for what was probably the millionth time. As a kid he'd been called fast but lazy and as an adult book learning still didn't appeal to him. However MacLeod still insisted that he at least learn to keep the books so every chance the older immortal got, he foisted the bookkeeping detail on his protégé. The fact that MacLeod had recently taken to doing this whenever Reina was no where to be found was not lost on Richie.

Richie ran a hand through his short reddish blond hair and shifted again. The telltale squeak of the door alerted him to the presence of another person in the room. Whoever the person was, he clearly was not the woman he was expecting. Reina's presence would have been given away before she had a chance to open the door. Richie left the office to greet the newcomer, glad for an excuse to put off the dreaded chore of updating the books.

Richie's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Look man, we're not open and since I can't do anything for you I'm going to have to ask you to…."

"I'm looking for Reina Molestador. You are familiar with the lady in question isn't that correct Mr...," the stranger looked at his notes. "Ryan isn't it?"

Richie quickly recovered from the shock of having a strange man call him by name. "As you can see, this is a place of business. No one lives here."

"On the contrary. Your friend, Duncan MacLeod lives in the loft upstairs. But that's not why I'm here."

Richie struggled to keep his expression neutral as he felt the presence of two immortals at once, one from the elevator behind him, the other from the front door beyond the intruder. MacLeod, who was on the elevator, arrived first.

The three men turned towards the door to see a very angry woman standing in the doorway. Reina leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed in front of her tapping a foot impatiently.

"Thank you Duncan," Reina said smiling ingratiatingly. "After you," she said to the interloper.

MacLeod and Richie watched as the man whose name they still didn't know walked hurriedly towards the office. Reina took her time to reach the same destination. The clicking of her heels on the wooden floor testimony to the pace she was taking. Neither man was fooled by the calm demeanor that belied the anger the immortal woman felt.

After closing the office door Reina turned to the man who had invaded her space.

"You have an odd definition of the word 'discreet,'" she said. "This certainly isn't in line with your reputation."

"You're right. But I also happen to have a strong sense of self-preservation and desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm returning your retainer. Working for you is hazardous to my health."

"The woman you wanted me to find? It was a no brainer. I'm not charging you for it. But I can't look for Mark Tuttle for you anymore. And if you knew what was good for you, you wouldn't either."

"Your man has low friends in high places. Ever since I've started looking for this person I've been followed, my phones have been tapped, my license has been threatened, and suddenly the IRS has taken an unhealthy interest in my past tax returns. So I turned my attention on you. You might be surprised to hear this but I'm not the only one interested in your goings ons."

Reina looked at the check incredulously. The man was actually returning the money without even deducting his fees for finding Carrie. "You didn't deduct your costs up to now," she said.

"Get what?" Reina asked. "You don't want to look for Mark Tuttle. Fine, I'll find someone else who will. But you found said you found Carrie. So you're entitled to take your fees for that."

"I told you I'm not charging you for finding the woman," Carter sighed. "Look, I'm washing my hands of this completely. I don't want anything with your name on it attached to mine. I'm even cutting contact with the person who referred you to me. I'm moving out of my offices. I'm through. After this I don't want any remote item connecting me with you or this Mark Tuttle person. I'm making myself scarce. I was serious when I told you that if you knew what was good for you you'd back off. You'll live longer if you do. I've said my piece and I've even gone so far as to give you a bit of advice which you appear too stubborn to accept. But that's not my problem. Good luck and have a nice life," Carter turned and walked out the door.

Reina stared incredulously at the man she'd hired to help her get her revenge as he left the room. Once he was out of site she turned her attention to the paper he left. The unsolicited advice was completely forgotten as she took note of the address on the paper. At least hiring the man wasn't a complete waste of time. She thought. Looks like it's time for a road trip.

Reina jumped at the sound of Duncan's voice. Once she was in his presence he was obscenely easy to lose track of. MacLeod often startled her after the initial buzz of an encounter dissipated. It annoyed her to no end. "I'm fine," she said snappishly.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back