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When Cash came after Dresden, the only thing his employers had given him was a blurry snapshot of his face. Just enough to get the details right so he didn't off the wrong guy.
They'd said something about none of the cameras working properly around him. Probably had a bunch of $2 Kodiaks that'd fallen off of the backs of trucks; bunch of cheapskates.
Shifting his weight, Cash felt the welcome drag of sensation of a gun holster at the base of his spine.
The group that had hired him to kill off Marcone's lover had warned him that Dresden was a big son of a bitch. They weren't wrong, he'd seen enough of the man over the past couple of weeks to be intimidated by the rangy mans height.
But height was one thing; knowing how to use it was something else. The guy looked like a businessman, he probably wouldn't know what to do with the reach he had. Not that it mattered, Cash rarely got close enough to his victims to be even noticed let alone attacked before they were down with a bullet to the skull.
No amount of searching on his part had turned up where Dresden got his money. No matter what the men who hired him thought, it definitely wasn't coming from Marcone, at least not directly.
The mansion he lived in was apparently inherited from his Uncle and a couple of small office buildings that bought various artifacts had been bought and paid for before Dresden had even begun his relationship with the Mafia Don. All of his money appeared legitimate but a lot of money came and went through various bank accounts.
Cash had been momentarily puzzled by Dresden's visits to his bank. None of his banking was done online; and he actually had no real online presence; he didn't even own a cell phone. The only thing Cash could figure was that Dresden was a bit of a technophobe.
He didn't really understand why he'd been brought in from out of town to do this job. No matter how high profile it would become. Bunch a pussies was probably just afraid of what would happen if a local did in Marcone's boy toy so they brought in outside talent that wouldn't ask too many questions about their motives behind the killing. (The fact that Marcone owned most of the people who would be willing to kill someone for money and smart enough to get away with it had also crossed his mind.)
Slithering around the corner of the bank that Dresden had his accounts in; Cash pulled the Glock from its holster and twisted on a silencer
All he needed to do was a quick double tap to the head with his baby, and then he'd be on his way. He'd done it enough times and gotten away free and clear to make him confident in his plan.
Weeks of planning had gone into his approach and then into various escape routes that he could take depending on the time of day that he managed to isolate Dresden.
The man didn't really have a set schedule, seeming to flit from suburbia to slum to downtown business buildings with equal frequency. So he had finally managed to figure out that Dresden was likely to go to the bank at least once a week, although when he did so seemed almost completely random.
Settling onto a bench and waiting for Dresden to show up to the bank was his only real option and he had waited patiently for nearly three days before his patience was rewarded.
Dresden was striding down the street, his long legs eating up the ground swiftly; he had on a tailored suit and the black leather jacket that he seemed to wear everywhere. Cash had yet to see the man take it off. He thought there was probably Kevlar laid into the leather and the man was paranoid (read smart enough) to realize that people might be after him.
No big deal to Cash, he always aimed for the head whenever he could anyways. No chance that any of his victims would be able to respond violently, and they generally died quickly.
The quicker the man went down the faster Cash could head for a bolt hole and cool his heels until the heat went out of the investigation. He had a nice little place in Aruba that was waiting for him to hibernate in.
Steps quickening Cash focused most of his attention on the lanky form that was heading towards the banks doors, when suddenly he disappeared.
Dresden's footsteps hadn't even stuttered but suddenly he had swept sideways so that his body was protected by one of the pillars that were in front of the bank.
Cursing under his breath, Cash tried to figure out what to do as he slid to a stop. The move had been too abrupt and calculated to be anything but a reaction to his presence.
He didn't know how the man had managed to sense him, but Cash was very cautious as he approached the pillar. It looked like it was probably going to be a bust, because if Dresden started screaming bloody murder Cash was more than likely not going to make it out of the city before Marcone managed to corral him into some dank little hole where he could be tortured at the Mafia Dons leisure.
He had barely taken a single step when Dresden swept back around the column a jangling bracelet of charms was now clearly visible and he'd pulled a small pentagram from underneath his shirt and it was glowing softly against the dark dress shirt.
Cash had only an instant to see the angry black eyes of his intended victim before he felt the wave of heat that seemed to surround him.
Eyes widening, Cash began to backpedal as quickly as he could, but he had barely made it a foot when a pair of massive hands grabbed his shoulders.
Cash's feet actually left the ground as Dresden dragged the smaller man towards himself by the collar of his coat.
"You are a very stupid man."
Struggling against a man that could pick up a 150 pounds of squealing dead weight was not a good plan but Cash still had the Glock in his right hand.
He brought it up shakily not trying to hide the movement from the man who was holding him.
"P..Put me d…down." The stuttering sentence came out as a near wail and Cash was just happy that for some reason Dresden was refusing to look him in the eyes because the glare he was refusing was enough to make him reconsider not only every assumption he had made about the businessman in front of him but also how he made a living.
Dresden gave the gun a disdainful glance and with a muttered word of what sounded like bastardized Latin the gun fell apart in Cash's hands.
The man whimpered in pained surprise as his only weapon seemed to disintegrate from his grasp.
Harry changed his grip so that he only needed a single hand to hold the man up, and casually backhanded him across the face.
"Who sent you?"
Cash frantically looked around but he had chosen the place for his ambush too well. Nobody could see them among the forest of pillars that surrounded the entrance to the bank and the breath was currently being throttled out of him so he couldn't even gasp in enough air to breathe, let alone scream.
Dresden was right; he was a very stupid man.
FIN