Claude Groger had never done anything like this in his life. He was an all-American father, white picket fence, three adorable kids, coached little league. If he was candid with himself, he did orchestrate the murders of hundreds of individuals across the country; however, that was not his choice. He'd was tricked! His wife had passed, and he needed to provide for his children.
Nobody told him what he would be doing when they recruited him. They simply told him it was a once in a lifetime job opportunity. They told him he'd be making a hundred thousand dollars as a logistics manager, something he'd done previously for half the salary. They told him, they'd hire him a world's best babysitter to watch his kids while on the job. They'd buy him lunch every day, and pay for his monthly rent. They'd even promised free transportation to and from work so he wouldn't have to worry about morning traffic. Who wouldn't take that job?
It wasn't till he climbed the bus on his first day he realized everything that sounds too good to be true often is. Instead of being met by the bright faces of happy coworkers, he found everyone completely silent with bags over their heads. His immediate thought was he walked into some sort of hostage situation and tried to run from the bus only to be tackled and dragged down the aisle kicking and punching. His hands were cuffed to the seat, and a bag was taped over his head. They kept him at central support for a week of new employee orientation.
Claude voiced his displeasure loudly. He complained every day to anyone that would listen. "This is not right; this is just not right!" He would say over and over as he clicked away on his computer. He had no choice, and he knew that. He had to do his job, but he didn't have to act happy while doing it. He would write notes to the boss, promising he would never tell if he let him go. "I won't tell a single person. I'll move to a different country," he'd write, "I'll disappear, please just let me disappear."
After years with no response, he finally got a response. They asked him if he wanted out of The Company and without pausing he answered, “Yes.”
They told him they needed him to do one offsite job and that would be it. He’d be free to go. He said he’d do anything.
Claude sat on a curb next to the air pump at a small gas station in middle-of-nowhere Maine. He'd always been a bit of a thrill-seeker, but controlled thrills: sports, amusement parks, exercise. Thrills that had no risk were exciting. This event was different; he had everything on the line and hated it. He looked down at the picture they'd handed him upon his arrival. The guy looked about as innocent as him. His name was Harvey Sinclair.
The briefcase they'd given him had three objects, a small revolver with three bullets, a tracking unit that showed Harvey's location, and four hundred dollars. It was almost enough to buy a plane ticket to Alaska.
Claude watched as the old blue pickup truck left the small county gas station. The only car left was a little Honda Civic parked next to him that he assumed belonged to the single employee working the store. He stood from the curb and slipped the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He pulled the strings, so the hood's opening shrunk to a small baseball-sized hole, just enough for him to see out.
He pulled the small gun from his sweatshirt pouch and approached the front of the store. Claude glanced through the window. One man was standing behind the register preoccupied on his phone with two white earbuds in his ears.
Ok, breathe, you can do this. One…two…three!
Claude pulled the glass door open, ringing the tiny bell attached to the handle by a string.
The cashier was a young adult, early twenties, with a graphic t-shirt and patchy facial hair, "Good afternoon," the man said without looking from his phone. He had a bright red cap turned backward with small thin hairs poking through the opening above the snap buckle.
Claude walked to the counter, pulling the gun from his side.
"Please, give me the money from the cash register," Claude said in a soft tone that sounded more of a suggestion than a threat.
"Excuse me?" the cashier pulled an earbud from his ear and finally looked up from his phone. When he saw the gun, he threw both hands in the air, "What? Jeez, man, what is this?"
"Just give me the money in the drawer," Claude repeated himself, trying to sound more confident, more like a dangerous person.
The man set his phone on the counter, and turned to the register, keeping an eye on Claude as he typed a code and pulled the drawer open. He pulled a wad of bills from the drawers and slid them across the counter to Claude.
"Do you want the change?"
"No, this is great, thank you," Claude used his left hand to slide the bills into his pocket and kept the gun pointed at the man with his right. He reached across the counter and grabbed the man's phone. "I'm going to take this too, what's the code?" he asked.
"8242," The cashier replied. He was visibly more upset about losing his phone than he was about giving up the cash. He tried the code, and it unlocked. Robbing a gas station was a whole lot easier than Claude had anticipated.
Claude reached across the counter, causing the man to jump. He grabbed the landline and pulled it from its hook. He used his left hand to smash the mouthpiece on the counter. "One last thing," Claude pointed to the parking lot, "I'm going to need the keys to your car."
Claude drove down the one-lane highway with the windows rolled down. He couldn't believe his luck, seven hundred, a smartphone, a gas station that had zero video surveillance, and a car to take him to the airport. Hours ago, he wasn't sure how he'd make the deadline. Now he'd have plenty of time.
Off to Alaska.