distanced itself from the world below.
They were the third cart from the top when Joe noticed a disruption across the carnival. A fight or similar disturbance looked to be out of control in the distance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Randy sat mutedly, mapping out the route to the unusually named road that their target resided upon, while Shotgun negotiated the road. There weren’t many roads that Shotgun didn’t know about, but Port Steward had its share of cul-de-sacs and tiny roads that didn’t touch any of the main streets. Shotgun had been born in The Port. He has shared quite a few stories about this little place with the core over the years. Randy, originally from a metropolitan area of California, knew this town fairly well, but has only resided in Port Steward for about two and a half years, leaving many of small roads untraveled by him.
“ It looks like Bishop's house isn't far from Saddle Brook Park, that's about fifteen minutes away,” Randy announced from the passenger seat of the SUV.
“ Be there in ten, Boss,” Shotgun confirmed, his strong hands gripping the steering wheel. Shotgun has a beefy-body with a golden glow, a chiseled face, with no facial hair, and a blonde flat top spiked up with gel.
Randy works out with his team every morning, Monday through Friday. He likes to keep them strong. Showing solid judgment and leadership skills early on, made Shotgun the obvious choice as the core’s second in command. While following orders is what the core does best, Shotgun occasionally allows his conscience filter his decisions. In many cases, Randy tells Shotgun whatever is needed to get him to do what needs to be done. When the occasion calls for it, Randy will omit or even fabricate the information he gives Shotgun, in an effort to get him to do whatever is necessary to carry out their orders. On rare occasions, like the one earlier today, Randy had been given an assignment by James that could not involve Shotgun. It had been a slippery assignment in which they needed to extract information, collect data and see to it that the target would no longer be a problem. Due to the time constraints and strict parameters assigned by James, there had been no chance at easing the situation on Shotgun. Therefore, this morning’s assignment only included Randy, along with Rhino and Junior.
“ So Boss, what kind of illness do you think he has? It really must be bad for it to be fatal,” Shotgun glanced over at Randy.
“I don't know and don't really care. They're orders, James gives them, and we follow them, period, ” Randy said as he kept his eyes on the road ahead, watching the light fading from the sky.
Randy knew that the other members of the core commonly spent time with one another outside of work, at barbeques, pubs and ball games. They were friends. As the leader of this unit, of these men, Randy knew that his place could not at their side as a friend—it had to be that of a commanding officer. While some of the other members of the core may be friendly and jokesters with one another, it’s all about business with him.
“ Your right,” Shotgun nodded.
The two men sat in silence the rest of the way to Bishop's house. They arrived at the yellow and white house in ten minutes as Shotgun had promised. The night sky bestowed darkness upon The Port with the first stars glimmering from above. They parked on the street in front of the house, just behind a gold sedan. The house appeared to be only a few years old and fairly ordinary, by Randy’s standards. It reminded him of the house that he grew up in. There were leafy shrubs in the front yard with a rose garden lined against the front of the house beneath an expansive bay window. A black Scion was parked in the driveway, and a glow could be spotted through the front window of the otherwise darkened house.
As they marched the pathway up to the front door, a few people were seen loitering on the lawn of the house on the left, drinking from red disposable
They were the third cart from the top when Joe noticed a disruption across the carnival. A fight or similar disturbance looked to be out of control in the distance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Randy sat mutedly, mapping out the route to the unusually named road that their target resided upon, while Shotgun negotiated the road. There weren’t many roads that Shotgun didn’t know about, but Port Steward had its share of cul-de-sacs and tiny roads that didn’t touch any of the main streets. Shotgun had been born in The Port. He has shared quite a few stories about this little place with the core over the years. Randy, originally from a metropolitan area of California, knew this town fairly well, but has only resided in Port Steward for about two and a half years, leaving many of small roads untraveled by him.
“ It looks like Bishop's house isn't far from Saddle Brook Park, that's about fifteen minutes away,” Randy announced from the passenger seat of the SUV.
“ Be there in ten, Boss,” Shotgun confirmed, his strong hands gripping the steering wheel. Shotgun has a beefy-body with a golden glow, a chiseled face, with no facial hair, and a blonde flat top spiked up with gel.
Randy works out with his team every morning, Monday through Friday. He likes to keep them strong. Showing solid judgment and leadership skills early on, made Shotgun the obvious choice as the core’s second in command. While following orders is what the core does best, Shotgun occasionally allows his conscience filter his decisions. In many cases, Randy tells Shotgun whatever is needed to get him to do what needs to be done. When the occasion calls for it, Randy will omit or even fabricate the information he gives Shotgun, in an effort to get him to do whatever is necessary to carry out their orders. On rare occasions, like the one earlier today, Randy had been given an assignment by James that could not involve Shotgun. It had been a slippery assignment in which they needed to extract information, collect data and see to it that the target would no longer be a problem. Due to the time constraints and strict parameters assigned by James, there had been no chance at easing the situation on Shotgun. Therefore, this morning’s assignment only included Randy, along with Rhino and Junior.
“ So Boss, what kind of illness do you think he has? It really must be bad for it to be fatal,” Shotgun glanced over at Randy.
“I don't know and don't really care. They're orders, James gives them, and we follow them, period, ” Randy said as he kept his eyes on the road ahead, watching the light fading from the sky.
Randy knew that the other members of the core commonly spent time with one another outside of work, at barbeques, pubs and ball games. They were friends. As the leader of this unit, of these men, Randy knew that his place could not at their side as a friend—it had to be that of a commanding officer. While some of the other members of the core may be friendly and jokesters with one another, it’s all about business with him.
“ Your right,” Shotgun nodded.
The two men sat in silence the rest of the way to Bishop's house. They arrived at the yellow and white house in ten minutes as Shotgun had promised. The night sky bestowed darkness upon The Port with the first stars glimmering from above. They parked on the street in front of the house, just behind a gold sedan. The house appeared to be only a few years old and fairly ordinary, by Randy’s standards. It reminded him of the house that he grew up in. There were leafy shrubs in the front yard with a rose garden lined against the front of the house beneath an expansive bay window. A black Scion was parked in the driveway, and a glow could be spotted through the front window of the otherwise darkened house.
As they marched the pathway up to the front door, a few people were seen loitering on the lawn of the house on the left, drinking from red disposable
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