GAME ON - GoM 2

12

The door opened, startling the young man in a wealthy suit, working on his computer at the desk. He stood up when he saw the stranger stride in as if he owned the place. About fifty, dark hair, dark eyes, dark goatee, absolutely nothing distinctive about him. But the young man lowered his head before him.

"Mister Blake, sir..." he murmured, still surprised.

"It's Robert Dempsey now, boy," the man said angrily. "Ian Blake is dead. Mostly thanks to your bright idea about that pretty northern town by the lake. Am I wrong?"

A chill ran down the young man's spine at his boss' rage. "N-no, sir. You're right."

"Thought so. You're fired."

The young man felt his throat squeeze shut, and the growing burning in his chest. He tried to gasp for air. In vain. Robert Dempsey glanced down at the young man squirming on the rug and huffed, annoyed.

"Bring the cleaner!" he called out at the door.

He waited to hear footsteps rushing away and strode across the room to his library. Gosh, it was so good to be back, he thought, going to stand by his favorite armchair. And that meat suit was younger and healthier than good old Ian Blake, so he could keep it for a while. He produced his phone and made a call, his dark eyes moving over the garden outside the large window.

"Marla, dear, it's me," he said, smiling. "It's Dempsey now, didn't you get your new ID?" he asked. "Oh, well, good. Where are you? Any sign of the Holster boy?" He listened and chuckled. "That's my lucky girl. Do your magic, my dear. I'll be waiting for you call. Take care."

He disconnected, still smiling. So Marla had finally located the hunter. There was nothing his girl couldn't do. His lips curled in what until two weeks earlier had been Ian Blake's trademark smug little smile. What was about to become Robert Dempsey's trademark smile.

If Marla was right, they might celebrate Christmas welcoming the Warrior to the family. Wouldn't it be just perfect.