Chapter 11
Parker
“Boring!”
Bare legs hang over the arms of my computer chair while spinning mindlessly in circles.
Another hunt in the bag and we are already searching for the next.
It’s been a few days and that night, after the Greg auction bomb, I wired my team their percentage of the take and the rest is lining my pockets.
I’ve always wanted to get a Pablo Escobar style money machine to count all the dollar bills, but to have that much cash on hand freaks me the fuck out.
So until I get the balls to try it once, I only see it raining money in my head, thanks to another job well done.
Oh, and speaking of… “Have we uncovered the Greg beef bomb?” We are nosy people. It’s only human to wonder and snoop, so sue us. Actually, don’t, that would be rude.
“This guy evaded every CCTV, security checkpoint, and mobile camera for the past ten years. He is a myth, a legend, and my personal hero.” Taco is captivated, amazed, and possibly falling in love with the one they call Greg.
Still spinning circles in my chair with my body partially starfished and relaxed, I question, “Do we think that’s why he came to bid on her?
She was reckless. We managed to find her the minute she landed on American soil.
Every mistake or lack of finesse worked to our advantage.
Bensen was a challenge, a great fucking hunt, but you have to admit something was off the entire time with her…
” I pause mid-thought. “Unless…” A light bulb goes off in my head.
“He wanted us to catch her. Bensen knew he was coming, and he pushed her out regardless of her attempt to stay undetected.” Some food for thought, and perhaps the trade-off is we leave his whereabouts for the last decade in the past.
“Regardless. The guy's photograph is being framed and put on my bedroom wall. They don’t make them like him anymore. People are so much more sloppy these days. A complete disregard for the craft. It’s all about the cash.”
Connor clears his throat. “The cash is fucking nice.” He isn’t wrong.
“I agree with both of you. But if you don’t hone the craft, you don’t deserve the payoff.
” I sigh, still bored. Then, like the phone gods felt it, my phone dings and my eyes light up with excitement.
Pulling the device out of the back pocket of my cutoff jean shorts, I see the notification is from Ophelia, who is also on the open line. Interesting.
Sliding the message open, I find a link and click on it.
The boys banter in the background as my focus has shifted to the video loading on my screen.
Tapping the play button, a giant smile forms on my face as my feet kick in the air.
A furry masked burglar fills my screen and my heart melts in my chest. The person filming pulls the camera back to reveal our furry friend is standing on their back legs, holding the human companion’s hand. “Awwww.”
The boys say in unison, “What?”
“She is so unbelievably bored. I caved and sent a fucking raccoon and possum video.” O confesses her sin.
She swore she would never contribute to this habit of mine, but today she caved and I consider this a victory.
“She demonstrates negative productivity when she is this bored. I needed her attention for ten more minutes. It’s the only way we’ll get it.
Let’s finish going through the open bounties so we can go back to our lives outside of this bullshit.
” I laugh and slap my knee. “Ha! B.S. Blood Sport, or Bullshit Agency. It will never not be funny to me.” I’m still chuckling as I immerse myself back into this lovely video that I am wildly jealous of.
The person filming pans out once more and in his other hand rests the paw of a possum, who is also on their hind legs. This is so romantic! I am desperate to have this in my life. I long for it. One day. Once life slows down, I will have my happily ever after, too.
Still tuning the team out, I replay the video over and over.
By the fifth rewatch I find myself holding the phone close against my chest, cherishing these treasured moments caught on camera.
This is why O is my best friend. As much as I annoy the shit out of her, she still does things like this, and sends me videos of everything she hates that will now riddle her feed for days before the algorithm corrects itself.
A loud clap startles me, disrupting the moment.
“Ten minutes. Even less if you’re able to maintain your focus regardless of the painful boredom that will engulf you.”
Rolling my eyes, I give in to her compromise and moan. “Fine. Hurry. Please.”
Some of these are old. We saw them on the last go around, before Bensen. They are older individuals with no challenge or risk. An easy grab the moment they leave their apartments. A few even have exclusivity rewards on them, but it’s still not worth it.
Wait! You don’t know what that is yet, do you? I can’t remember what I’ve explained, so even if this is old information, you’re going to act like it is brand new and exciting. Got it?
Exclusivity rewards. What are they?
Usually they are bounties with million-dollar-plus rewards attached to their sheets that get sent to us once the bounty is approved by the agency.
Quick backstory, my team puts all open bounties into a folder for us to readily go through once our current hunt is done.
They review the folder weekly to ensure it’s up to date, because, to be frank, it’s a waste of my time to do it.
Anyways.
The million-dollar-plus reward means no auction.
It has to be a minimum of a million to even be considered by the agency to be exclusive.
Many will make it two million to ensure they get approved.
Then, the rich bitch who put the ‘hit’ out, for a lack of a better word, gets their captive served on a metaphorical silver fucking platter, at the Blood Sport cabin once we capture them.
They get the guarantee of a capture and hunt all to themselves.
These situations are typically a result of decades of unresolved bad blood between families or within the family, inheritance or trusts. Rich people problems.
I don’t crave the exclusivity hunts. I want to work for my dinner.
Without hard work, what’s the point? Life has never been handed to me.
Every penny in my bank account has been earned.
Never will I be whispered about or be accused of taking the easy way out, and, to me, that’s what the exclusivity rewards would do. I am not about that life. Ever.
No judgement if you are down for that shit. But don’t think I won’t side-eye you. My face can speak a thousand words without me realizing.
And I kind of like watching the auctions. It’s another wave of adrenaline. Who will win, for how much, and the surprises that sometimes occur, such as the other night. That’s the shit I love. This life is fun, and easy isn’t fun, for me.
Glancing around, I find myself standing. Strange. When did I get up? Whatever. That doesn’t matter. Now please allow me to step off my high horse.
With those rewards, it’s a straight fifty-fifty split. You drop the subject off at a location sent to you once you send the text, just like the others. The only difference is, folks meet you in a blacked-out SUV and grab the captive instead of going to a location for bidding.
All very anticlimactic.
So, now you know. And the more you know, the wiser you are. Although always remember, snitches get stitches, bitch.
“Connor, I really don’t think she should train this week. Park has been talking to herself since getting hit. I think she’s really concussed, guys.” Taco, sweet Taco, he doesn’t know you’re all here. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it our little secret.
“Who’s here? P, help me understand.” It’s always so cute when he begs. Tac is so used to seeing and knowing all. This is kind of fun.
“It’s not fair!” Aw, he’s pouting now.
I giggle. “It’s okay, Taco Bell. One day you will understand.”
“PARKER,” O shouts.
Oops, sorry, friends. I’ve got to go.
“Yes, oh wise one. You have me for seven minutes.” Pausing, my eyes glance down as I decide to slam my palm down on the glass tabletop to assert my minimal power. “Let’s fucking do this.”
Hoots and hollers follow and classic silent but deadly Ophelia eye rolls also enter the chat.
I heard that term online recently, entering the chat, and I hope it means what I think.
Sheets move rapidly across all my screens. Paying attention is painful, I desperately want to stop so I can look off into the distance. Instead, I am surrounded by photographs of noes.
“No. Nope. Nadda. Nah.” These are all old.
I didn’t want them when they first came out and still have no desire to take them now.
Someone else will, it’s fine. The agency never forces us to hunt.
I’ve been with them for years. They know how I work.
And it’s never been an issue as long as I keep bringing in those dollar bills.
God, I really want a Pablo Escobar money counter.
Shifting my eyes, mean mugs still riddle the screen.
I’m tempted to throw my head back, but with my luck a monitor will mysteriously turn up on my ceiling tomorrow to further torture me.
Blurting out, I declare, “I hate admin work. I think that’s my issue.”
“Obviously,” they all say in unison. Even Connor. He really is trying to bond. I love it.