Cold Blooded

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“Hello, Mr. Robinson.” A seated man’s shadowed face appeared on the screen.

“You have an urgent matter?”

“We found someone -”

“You’re running my location. The price just doubled.” The man referred to as Mr. Robinson closed his notebook computer with satellite uplink and packed it away. He left the empty Pacific Grove beach after taking a last look at the surging waves. The overcast dawn gave the ocean surface a grayish hue.

It took him only minutes to travel the road which ran along the coastline. With his gear safely stowed in the trunk, the man mentioned as Mr. Robinson drove his nondescript gray Chevrolet Malibu away from the beach to Lighthouse Avenue, where he parked near Monte Café. With a different laptop, the man walked into the nearly empty restaurant and sat down. He smiled and nodded at the middle-aged couple having breakfast a few tables over.

“You’re up early, Nick.”

Nick grinned over at the balding man with deeply lined, tanned face. “It’s not that early, Dan.”

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