A Necessary Kill Read Online Free PDF Page B

hospitals. I think every hospital in the world must use the same brand, so they get that same stench. They must’ve recently cleaned the floor, too, as the odor is strong and stinging my nostrils.
    My footfalls are amplified by the heels of my boots as I walk up to the front desk, which runs along most of the left side. Opposite, rows of interlinking chairs form the waiting area, which is currently half-empty—or half-full, depending on your point of view. It’s the usual collection of people with visible lacerations, people who look like shit, and people who look fine—which always makes you wonder what they’re actually here for.
    The desk is staffed by two nurses, both wearing navy blue uniforms with name badges clipped to a strip of material just above their left breast. One of them is talking calmly into a phone; the other is tapping away at a computer.
    “Excuse me,” I say.
    The one at the computer looks up—no smile, no courtesy, just the weary disinterest of someone who’s probably been sitting here for the last ten hours earning minimum wage.
    I smile. “Hi. I was hoping you could help me. I was told an old friend of mine works here. Jonas Briggs? Do you know where I could find him?”
    She frowns, as if thinking about it, and shakes her head. “No, sorry. Don’t know anyone by that name who works here. Although, I work the day shift—he might work nights…” She looks at the computer and presses a few buttons on the keyboard. “No, nothing showing on the staff directory, either…” She spins around in her chair and looks at her colleague, who has just come off the phone. “You know a Jonas Briggs?” she asks her. “Works here, apparently…”
    The other nurse, a portly woman, maybe late forties, shakes her head. “No… nobody here by that name. Certainly not on my shift, anyway.”
    I sigh, unable to hide the frustration. It’s not a good sign, falling at the first hurdle like this. Maybe Briggs uses a fake name while he’s working… or maybe Briggs is a fake name, I don’t know. But regardless of what he calls himself, being here’s a bust.
    “Okay, thanks for your time, ladies.” I turn and head back out the main entrance. I stand on the sidewalk next to the driveway, glancing both ways along the street.
    I pause, then look up and stare straight into the black dome of security cameras. I wait a moment, then walk off across the street, back through the park, and into my motel room.
    Just playing a hunch.

April 27, 2017
    01:51 EDT
    My eyes snap open as I’m ripped from my sleep by the quietest of noises. The slightest disturbance in the air around me and my subconscious body takes control. Years of training, honing my mind to be as much a weapon as the guns I carry with me.
    I feel a sharp pressure on my neck, pushing against the skin without breaking it. I glance to my left and see a dark figure looming over me holding a hypodermic needle to the side of my throat. In the darkness, I can’t make out his features. I can just see the whites of his eyes staring at me.
    It’s actually a little freaky, like something out of a horror film.
    But it looks like my hunch paid off… I figured if this guy was smart enough to use a fake identity for his day job, to protect himself from anyone in my world finding him, chances are he probably had some way of finding out if anyone came looking, too. To do that, I thought he either managed to hack into the security feeds at the hospital, or he had some kind of flag in place so he could tell when somebody searched for his name in the system.
    It’s why I looked at the camera before I left, so he could see me if I happened to be right. I know it was risky, but the way I figure it, it’s more important right now to get people on my side. Even if I’m right about security feeds being monitored by the CIA, I’ll be long gone by the time anyone tracks me here. Plus, there’s no way they would think anything of me being in a hospital besides