Chapter 23: The Clean Kill — Part One
Thursday arrived cold and clear, the kind of November evening that made Portland feel like the edge of the world.
Cole spent the day managing his PI cover—filing paperwork, returning client calls, maintaining the appearance of a normal businessman with normal concerns. The routine felt hollow, like wearing a costume that no longer fit, but it provided necessary camouflage.
By 8 PM, he was dressed in dark clothing and driving toward Lake Oswego.
The suppressed pistol sat in a holster under his jacket, a weight that felt both foreign and familiar. He'd killed before—the Skalenzahne with fire, Volk in brutal hand-to-hand combat—but this was different. This was planned, calculated, the kind of premeditated violence that separated predators from prey.
This is who you are now. Accept it or fail.
He parked on Lakeview Boulevard at 8:47 PM, close enough to the bar to reach it on foot but far enough that no one would connect his car to whatever happened later. The walk took six minutes through quiet residential streets that smelled like money and fallen leaves.
McMenamin's came into view at 8:53 PM.
Cole found a position across the street—a bus stop with a clear sightline to the parking lot—and settled in to wait.
Marsh arrived at 9:17 PM.
His BMW pulled into the lot and parked in the usual spot, the engine dying with a soft rumble. Cole watched through the shadows, tracking movement through the vehicle's windows.
The driver's door opened.
Marsh emerged—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the confidence of someone who owned every space he entered. He wore a tailored overcoat that probably cost more than Cole's monthly rent, and his expression carried the satisfied calm of a predator at rest.
Then the passenger door opened.
A woman stepped out—dark-haired, athletic, moving with a fluidity that screamed combat training. She scanned the parking lot with professional attention, her gaze passing over Cole's position without recognition but with the kind of awareness that suggested she'd notice anything out of place.
[SKALENGECK DETECTED. ARMED. CAUTION ADVISED.]
Cole's stomach dropped.
Bodyguard. Personal protection. The solo window just closed.
The woman fell into step beside Marsh as they walked toward the bar, her position angled to cover approaches from multiple directions. She was good—professional in a way that suggested formal training rather than street experience.
Did he get spooked about something? Or is this a regular thing I didn't know about?
Either way, the plan was compromised. Cole couldn't take both of them in the parking lot—not without losing the element of surprise, not without risking the kind of prolonged fight that would attract attention.
Abort. Try again next week.
The professional choice. The smart choice. The choice that meant another week of women in collars, of victims processed through Marsh's operation, of suffering Cole could have prevented.
He followed them into the bar instead.
McMenamin's interior was exactly as Cole remembered—dim lighting, expensive whiskey, the subdued murmur of professionals discussing things they shouldn't discuss in public.
He took a seat at the bar, angled to observe Marsh's regular booth, and ordered a scotch he didn't intend to drink. The Skalengeck positioned herself with her back to the wall, facing the entrance. Good tactical positioning. Hard to approach without being seen.
Think. There has to be another way.
Marsh seemed relaxed, ordering drinks and making small talk with the waitress. He wasn't worried about anything—the bodyguard's presence was protection, not paranoia. Maybe he always brought someone on certain nights. Maybe Cole's surveillance had missed a pattern.
Doesn't matter now. Work with what you have.
The bathroom was at the end of a narrow hallway, accessible only through a single entrance. Cole had noted it during his reconnaissance—a detail that hadn't mattered when the plan was a parking lot ambush.
If I can get him alone in there...
The risk was significant. The Skalengeck would notice if Marsh was gone too long. The bathroom had only one exit. Any fight would make noise that carried into the bar.
But it was an opportunity. Maybe the only one he'd get tonight.
Cole sipped his scotch and waited.
At 11:43 PM, Marsh stood from the booth.
He said something to the Skalengeck—probably bathroom, based on her dismissive nod—and walked toward the hallway. The bodyguard stayed in her seat, attention fixed on the entrance.
She's watching for threats coming in. Not threats already inside.
Cole gave it thirty seconds, then stood and moved toward the bathroom with the unhurried gait of someone who'd had a few drinks. No one looked twice.
The hallway was empty. The bathroom door was closed.
He pushed through and found Marsh at the urinal, back turned, coat hanging open.
The world compressed to a single point of focus.
Cole drew his weapon.
Marsh heard something—the whisper of fabric, the shift of weight, some predator instinct honed over decades. He started to turn, started to woge, yellow eyes beginning to glow as the Hundjäger emerged.
Cole fired twice.
The suppressor coughed. The first round caught Marsh in the side, spinning him. The second punched through his chest, dropping him to the tile floor.
[TARGET NEUTRALIZED]
[ABSORPTION INITIATED]
[REMAIN WITHIN PROXIMITY — 60 SECONDS REQUIRED]
Marsh's woge completed in death—the full Hundjäger transformation rippling across his features as life drained away. Dog-like snout, pointed ears, the savage features of something bred for violence.
Cole knelt beside the body, feeling the absorption begin.
The Hundjäger essence was different from his previous kills—sharper, more focused, carrying the weight of loyalty and hierarchy and hunting instinct. It flowed into him like cold water, spreading through his nervous system with ruthless efficiency.
[ABSORPTION: 12%... 23%... 31%...]
The bathroom door exploded inward.
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