Hunter - Pt 1 Draft 1

[James]

[Warning - some mild sexually suggestive content. NOT graphic]
[Any feedback on plot, style, and characterization welcome. I have not edited for grammar yet - this is a rough draft]

Hunter sipped his double tall latte and mind-walked. To a casual observer, he sat at a cafe table with his coffee while surfing the web with an expensive iPhone 247se. His target, Carl Phin, Chairman of the Board at Lexico Financials, lounged with friends near the front window. The stupid Fat Cat had no idea that a mind-walker lurked at the door. In Phin’s head, Hunter walked a narrow dim tunnel to a steel door while in the cafe he took a long hot drink. A silver house key appeared in his right hand, and with his left, he touched the smooth metal of a lock-less door. A key but no lock. Not a problem. He had been here before.

For three months he had stalked Fat Cat Phin, frequenting the man’s favorite restaurants, cafes, golf courses, strip clubs, and his Mega-Church, The East Haven Christian Fellowship. All without Phin noticing him once. That was the beauty of mind-walking. You never touched your target. You never spoke to your target. You listened, watched, and waited for all you needed. The mind is a tricky complicated thing yet it operates inside a terribly lazy organ; the brain. Neurons firing along well worn synaptic connections are easy to follow for an experienced man like Hunter. Words, smells, even simple visual inputs cause these pathways to fire and light up like electronic billboards.

Once he mapped out the routes he was interested in, the rest was routine. Get in. Do the job. Get out.

Inside the cafe, Hunter initiated the only contact he would ever have with Carl Phin. He pressed send on his phone and three seconds later the Fat Cat’s phone lit up and vibrated on the table. It really wasn’t a direct touch. He simply hash-tagged Lexico, Phin, and Greer in a social media post with some other words that he knew would do the trick. The Chairman kept close watch on any mention of his company across the networks. The name Greer created a back door.

Phin looked down at the text message and the synaptic connection lit up on queue. Funny how people can control what they say or do yet can’t control their own thoughts. A lock materialized on the steel door under his hand and Hunter slipped in his key before it disappeared. Tumblers fell as he turned it and he pushed against the heavy door. Behind it lay the office of the Chairman on the one hundred and twenty eighth floor of Lexico Financials’ Headquarters. Fat Cat Carl Phin sat behind the desk talking on the phone.

Stealing secrets was the least of the things he could do once inside a pathway. Many a mind-walker had been tried, convicted, and executed for their handiwork. He could cause pain, induce sleep or bring on a temporary coma. Pathways could be altered or cut off completely, wiping out memories or learned functions. In one famous case, a jealous husband hired an inexperienced hack to make his wife forget she had a lover. He wanted the bastard erased. Every pleasant memory, gone. All traces of the affair, wiped out. Consequently, she murdered him while he slept. The mind-walker got twenty-five years in the State Penitentiary and a permanent brain-wave collar to monitor him. Rumors of how the government “studied” the poor sap while incarcerated gave Hunter nightmares. The woman was permanently institutionalized. Hunter stayed away from domestic jobs and anything that remotely hinted at altering the targets brain function.

He seated himself in front of the Chairman and crossed his legs. To the Fat Cat, Hunter appeared as an attractive middle aged woman named Holly Greer. Mrs. Greer, who also sat on the Board of Directors, was fucking Phin every chance she had. Many times right here in this office. This erotic back-door pathway led to the information his client wanted. Phin hung up the phone and came around the desk to him (her). At this point, he let the synaptic pathway run its course, allowing Greer to do whatever Phin remembered her doing. Hunter mind-walked his way behind the desk, unseen and unknown, and looked over the papers and folders. A woman’s moan of pleasure caused his eyes to glance up for just a moment. Phin’s head was between her legs. He didn’t have time to watch, as much as he wanted to.

The folder he sought sat there and he almost flipped it open when the glint of something caught his eye. It had a security seal. Lexico must have paid a bundle for this. He wondered if the whole board had secured the information or just Phin. Not a problem. He mind-walked back to Holly. Phin was pushing her on top of the desk, hiking up her skirt. The folders and papers scattered but he (she) slapped her hand on the one Hunter wanted. An alarm sounded, and in the cafe, the Chairman twitched a little. But in his mind he resumed the memory as Holly (Hunter) held up the folder. The siren stopped when Phin touched it and another synaptic pattern lit up. Hunter cruised along the path, now inside the folder’s contents having let the Fat Cat disarm it himself. This time the Chairman spoke on his cell phone to the owner of a rival financial institution.

“Yes, the deal is done like dinner, Hal. Uh-huh, the Fed’s will approve the merger,” Phin said. “We are drawing up the agreement. We’ll announce by the end of the month.”
That was all his client wanted know. The connection winked out and immediately he was back at the metal door, hand on the key. He removed it and wiped the lock away, much like removing fingerprints from a crime scene. He put his phone in his pocket, walked past Phin, and out of the cafe. The Fat Cat didn’t even notice.


One million appeared in Hunter’s off shore account the next morning. Not bad for three months work. Given that H. Goodwin Hedge Funds were about to have a record quarter with the information he provided, he could have asked for three times as much. Hunter poured a bowl of granola, sliced up a banana, and sat alone in his kitchen pondering where to jet off to now that this job was over. Out the window, the Chicago skyline looked back at him, stifling, dull, and uninviting. Someplace colorful sounds good for six to twelve months. The Florida Keys? Cuba? Jamaica? Down under? It wasn’t just the dreariness of the city that compelled him to go. Getting as far away from an insider trading job like this was a good idea. Best to get out of town before any hint of scandal hit the news. Not that he could be implicated directly. H. Goodwin and company had to worry about that. But if anyone flapped their gums about him it would be better if he was offshore like his money.

His phone vibrated on the countertop. Someone was calling his private number. Shit, has something gone wrong already?

He tapped the screen. “Hunter here.”

“Mr. Hunter. I’m so glad to find you at home.” The voice was feminine but not anyone he recognized.

“Let’s hope I’m glad, darlin’. What can I do for you?”

“I have a proposition that requires your talents,” she said.

“Everyone who calls this number does. Let’s start with, who gave you my information? If I don’t like the name, I hang up.” He was already getting annoyed. This woman was not following protocol. Former trusted clients always introduced new ones. This line of work required great care and discretion. A brain-wave collar choking his neck was not an accessory he coveted.

“Bernie Flemming. Ring a bell?” She sounded amused. He was not.

“Bernie’s been dead for five years, sweetheart. I’m hanging up now.” His thumb was poised above the red END icon on the screen when pounding rattled his door. He jumped and knocked his breakfast off the counter. More pounding, four hard thumps that sent his heart beating faster. “Who the fuck is this?” Hunter said into the phone.

“I hear my associates at your door, Mr. Hunter. Call me Eva. I would advise you to go with them. I prefer to make my proposal in person. I’ll see you soon.” She hung up.
At the door, he looked through the peephole. Three large men in suits waited for him. One raised a fist to hit the door again. “I’m coming, brainless. Don’t wake the neighbors,” he called through the door.

[Brady]

I think it's good. A cool concept, that someone can be inside your mind probing around without you having any knowledge of it.