The Cleaner (Part 2 of 3).
A large, neat lounge area sparsely decorated with a leather three piece suite, 2 coffee tables and a natural open fireplace set upon a wooden floor with various rugs greeted him. All were dwarfed by the needlessly tall ceiling. A breakfast bar twenty feet to his right was all that separated the lounge from the kitchen that lay beyond.
Two doors stood slightly ajar on the opposite wall forty feet away, offering glimpses into what were perhaps an office and a bedroom. The wall approximately eighty feet to his left was all glass except for a small door leading to a patio. The whole wall allowed a stunning view of the tree lined, shadow dappled valley.
He drew back his concentration, placed his items neatly on the floor near the wall behind him, and stood patiently waiting for the call to end to get instruction. His host seemed to be alone as expected.
The man ended his call undramatically. "Staybrite cleaning?" he enquired.
"That's right sir, your wife made a booking." the cleaner answered in a clear voice making eye contact, "Mr Branan?".
"Yes" he answered curtly" look, I'm expecting a call, I wonder if you could start in the bedroom over there?" he pointed vaguely to one of the doors opposite.
"Yes sir."
Mr Branans phone began to ring and was answered almost immediately, he turned toward the breakfast bar to continue talking in a subdued voice. The cleaner picked up his equipment and moved across to the bedroom.
Once inside and having placed everything down on the queen sized bed, he moved the door slightly to obscure himself from being seen. Extracting his own mobile from inside the coveralls and forcing it from standby, he confirmed the picture and price. Mr Branan was still the job, the picture was definitely him, no retraction and the price was right.
He put the phone back on standby, replaced it in his pocket, and pulled his case toward him on the bed. Listening to the indistinguishable words in the next room, his thoughts ruminated on these types of jobs. It was easy money when the person's partner was the one paying for the contract.
An arrangement of a cleaner while she was overseas, and a time and day he needed to be home to allow entry was all it took. She would, of course have had to make a booking with an agency so she looked legitimate before and after the deed. It was a pity he had to dispose of the worker whose body now lay in the rear of the van, he didn't get paid for collateral damage, but it had made his task much easier.
Listening now to bits of the phone conversation while he screwed the silencer slowly onto the gun, he could tell how far away the mark was, how distracted he seemed. He could even roughly guess which direction he was facing most of the time just by listening.
Then he gave a subtle snort of derision. It was funny he thought, how people believed they were in some sort of cone of silence when talking on a mobile. He caught part of a number being given, perhaps an account or access pin, and thought about how a less scrupulous person might take advantage and use the number later.
No matter to him, he was to be well paid on completion.
The cleaner released the safety and crouched down to make use of the keyhole, and waited for the conversation to end.
A short time later, he saw Mr Branan thoughtfully place the phone down and realised his chance. Standing, he swung the pistol behind his back and began to open the door wider with his other hand.
"I'm sorry to bother you Mr Branan, but I need to ring my office and I don't have my phone. Could I borrow your mobile?" he pointed.
Mr Branans gaze followed the finger to his mobile, and as he began to turn back to answer, the cleaner went into action.
End of Part 2.