CL Hart -From A Distance

From a Distance

By    

CL Hart

Chapter 1

Kenzie's weathered soul was as worn as the stones of the pathway leading to the south entrance of Paris's Luxembourg Park. The City of Love was all around her, but she was not there as a tourist. She was there to do a job. Trained eyes looked over the lay of the land, taking in locations, distances, exits, and any patterns in the daily activities of the Luxembourg Palace security. The observations were not necessary, as the famous palace and park - constructed in 1615 for Marie de Medici - were already etched into her mind. She knew every inch of it before arriving in France, having pored over maps and pictures upon receiving the assignment. Once she had landed, she explored the park grounds extensively until she found the best spot to wait for her target. The vantage point she chose provided her the easiest and quickest escape.

This morning she strolled along the pathway with her canvas bag slung lazily over her shoulder. Already, a few people gathered on the benches and chairs that lined the walkways of the park. Not one of them gave her a second glance. One of the tools of her trade was to blend in with those around her, and she was good at what she did. She was of average height and stature, looking common, almost ordinary, with the exception of her exotic gold-colored eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. What made Kenzie special were her skills as a hunter. She stalked her targets with unwavering determination, never showing emotion, or care, or concern for anything around her. She was silent and lethally dangerous.

Unseen, she slipped into the thick foliage, opened her bag, and quickly assembled her rifle with practiced precision. With the weapon in its deadly form, she climbed into one of the trees, searching for the right spot. Years of training and experience enabled her to make herself comfortable and invisible. With her shot lined up, she closed her eyes and relaxed. She opened them again, confirming that her natural point of aim was still on the empty chair next to a chess table.

She rechecked her rifle and was confident it would do the job. Though the gun was not the caliber she trained with, it shot straight and true, nothing special, nothing unique, nothing traceable. Satisfied that everything was ready, she waited with determined patience for her target to appear.

There was no change in her demeanor when she saw him coming down the sidewalk toward his chair. He sat down and she primed her body for what she was about to do. She breathed in and out rhythmically, then took one last deep breath and released it slowly, silencing her mind. There was a large clock tower in the center of the park, and at one minute to nine, she squeezed the slack out of the trigger, everything in her focused on her target. She sensed more than heard the heavy iron hand move into place over the XII. There was a churn and a click as the gears aligned noisily. The ancient tower erupted with a bong of the first bell, signaling the hour. There would be nine, and she counted. Two, three...fire. She didn't wait; she didn't need to. The job was done. She was out of the tree before the clock tower chimed its final bell.

She left the park and headed for the Charles de Gaulle airport. She patted her plane ticket, secure in the inside pocket of her jacket as she travelled northeast through the narrow streets of Paris on an old, used motorcycle. Several times she turned to make sure no one was behind her. Once she was certain she was alone, she turned down a back alley, and then slowed the bike to a stop next to the River Seine. Quickly, she descended the stone steps to the wide walkway next to the river. Without a second thought, she separated the scope from the rifle and dropped them both into the obligingly murky waters, then scampered back up the steps and sped away. Her assignment finished, she could disappear back into the darkness, her only respite from what she had become.

The plane was only half filled to capacity, but she still felt slightly claustrophobic as she leaned back into her seat and settled in for her long flight home.

Home. What a concept.
She sighed deeply as she closed her eyes. Home was just a place to wait for her next job.

Her given name was Katherine, but nobody called her that. She had never known a real home, not even as a child, nor had she had a real family or friends, just different places with different faces. Her mother, of Egyptian descent, had died when Katherine was young, bequeathing her daughter dim memories and the looks of an exotic princess. Her father had gone to fight in Vietnam and when he did not return, Katherine went to live with her elderly grandmother, Helen, who called her by a shortened version of her middle name, Mackenzie. Well intentioned, Grandmother Helen had no idea how to deal with a rambunctious, rebellious teenager. The total lack of parenting only added to Kenzie's moral decline and frequent troubles. She trusted no one, respected no one.

With no adult guidance, her sharp mind and bad attitude landed her in Juvenile Hall many times. Just when she was about to fall through the cracks of the system, she found herself in front of Judge Benjamin Woodward, a hard-nosed man with little tolerance for disrespectful, out of control teenagers. A widower for more than twenty years, he had learned to hide his emotions. However, occasionally, behind his mask of stone, he found himself wanting to reach out to those who needed a little extra help. Tough, but fair, Judge Woodward commanded respect from those who respected few.

He watched with interest as the latest rebellious young woman stood in front of him, surveying her surroundings in cocky arrogance. With her full lips, dark skin, and almond shaped golden eyes, her looks were as intriguing as her body language. It was easy to tell that she thought her present predicament was a waste of her time, and she wanted everyone around her to know that. The opposing counsel shuffled papers and the defendant split her attention between the clock on the wall and the hole in her jean jacket. She impatiently ran her fingers through her long, curly dark hair and sighed loudly.

For Judge Woodward, it was not hard to see why Kenzie had been in trouble with the law several times. She stood defiantly in front of him, reached into her pocket, and fished out a cigarette and lighter. She placed the cigarette between her lips and glanced down at the lighter in her hand. With an ease born of practice, she flipped open its lid to light her cigarette when her eyes caught the stony face of the judge.

"Don't...you...dare," he said slowly and clearly, leaving no doubt in Kenzie's mind who was in charge of this courtroom. Judge Woodward watched and waited, and finally the Zippo clinked shut without its flame ever touching the end of the teenager's cigarette.

Judge Woodward looked over her lengthy juvenile record, then glanced at her. He saw something more than just defiance in Kenzie's eyes. Checking her birthdate, he realized she was almost an adult, almost - but not quite. He studied her strong features and her obstinate attitude, then leaned back in his chair and pulled off his glasses.

"What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

Kenzie stared back at him. "Is this going to take long? I've a previous engagement."

"I think you're going to miss it." He put his glasses on and read from her file. "Would you care to explain yourself?"

She crossed her arms and looked suspiciously at the judge. "In regards to?"

"Why don't we start with the stolen car?"

Kenzie shrugged her shoulders. "I needed a ride."

"Twice?"

"There and back."

"And the assault?"

"The guy wouldn't give me his car. I wanted, I needed...I took it."

"Why?"

"I told you, I needed a ride."

The judge sat quietly studying her as she ran her fingers through her unmanageable hair. Years later, he would look back at this moment, trying to figure out what made him do what he did. Kenzie appeared no different from the thousands of other young offenders who were marched before him, but something told him she was.

Judge Woodward adjourned the court for lunch and went back to his chambers to see if he could pull a few strings with an old Army buddy. The colonel and he had remained friends long after the judge had exchanged his uniform for a black robe, and he was quite willing to listen to the judge's idea.

After lunch, Judge Woodward called the teenager and her public defender into his chambers. He waited for them to take a seat across from his desk. Once they had settled, he started. "You, Miss LeGault, are almost an adult and you've been in and out of the system like it's a revolving door. Well, the revolutions are about to stop. Tell me, young lady, have you had any thoughts about your future?"

Kenzie crossed her arms and remained silent.

The judge flipped through some papers on his desk. "You're no longer a juvenile, young lady. It's time you started to take some responsibility for yourself as an adult. Two counts of grand theft auto, one count of aggravated assault. You have two options: two years at Washington Correctional Center for Women or-"

Shocked at the judge's proposal, Kenzie's public defender slid forward in her seat. "Your Honor WCCW is-"

The judge cut her off. "Let me finish, counselor."

"Your Honor, with all due respect, that's a women's prison...for adults. You can't send her there-"

"It is within my power to do so, and believe me, I can and I will. She's old enough to do the crime, so she's old enough to do the time. It's time for her to make some of her own decisions." He leaned over his desk and stared straight into Kenzie's eyes. "Your choice?"