The premise for this story is based on Prompt 22 - An assassin realizes something isn't right about the new target they've been given. They switch sides to save the person they were meant to kill.

Dane Chase raised the visor that was blocking the bright sun blasting through his windshield, and blinked a bit of relief as he swung into the long turn that led to Courtside Manor. Large oaks lined the roadside, and behind them open fields of wild grass and bush. The call had come on his private number, giving the Manor's address with a time to meet. He glanced at the dashboard clock and nodded, Dane was a stickler for being prompt.

The building was Tudor style, fieldstone construction with sharp gables stuck, seemingly indiscriminately, all over the design. Well trimmed plantings graced the foundation and two stone urns with geraniums flanked the entrance steps. Dane pulled up on the crushed stone drive, parked and walked up to the door. There was a bell pull, and he gave it a yank, examining the grounds while he waited.

"Mr. Chase?" The door opened and Dane faced an austere looking man in his early fifties, he guessed, with jet black hair and, surprisingly, a paisley eye patch.

"Come in, come in."

Dane followed the man down a wide, photo covered hall to an even wider room that resembled an old English gentlemen's club.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Vodka and lime would be good." Dane chose a large, leather easy chair and sank into its embrace.

The drink came, and the man clinked his glass against Dane's. "To an agreeable business venture."

"Let's first see who we're doing business with." Dane waited.

"Of course. Sanford Whitthall. Mr. Chase." The hand was warm and soft.

"And the venture you hope we both agree on?"

Sanford moved to a chair opposite and sat, crossing his legs and adjusting the crease in his expensive trousers.

"I'm putting my trust in the person who recommended you and gave me your number - I hope that trust is valid."

"If it wasn't you would never have been given the number." Dane sipped his drink and nodded appreciatively. "Blue Ice American, I think."

"You are a connoisseur."

"I like my vodka." Dane focused on his host. Confident. Educated. A smidge arrogant with the extravagant eye patch. "So, Sanford, what is the venture?"

Sanford sipped his own drink and stared into the glass as he spoke. "Have you heard of Rytex Industries?"

"Nope."

"Rytex is a pharmaceutical development company that has created a process that can halt, and perhaps even regress the effects of neurocognitive disorders - Parkinson's or Alzheimer's for example."

"Sounds like a very good thing."

"It is . . . unfortunately our progress has been disrupted by one employee, who feels there are, shall we say, drawbacks."

"Are there?"

"Every new drug comes with a list of possible side effects, you've seen the commercials."

"I have, that's why I'm drug free." He smiled.

"There's a huge segment of the population not as fortunate as you, Mr. Chase. We can bring relief to many of them."

"And grow obscenely rich in the process."

Sanford frowned and studied his drink, swirling the amber liquid in the crystal glass. "Mr. Chase, you weren't invited here to express opinions."

More than a smidge arrogant. "No, you're right." Dane drank some more. "I presume this employee is the object of our venture."

"Correct."

Sanford stood and went to a desk across the room, returning with two envelopes, one large, one small. "Everything you need to know about the subject with a timeline we feel reasonable, considering our own needs - and the suggested fee."

Dane thumbed the small envelope open and nodded. "Looks about right." He stood and handed Sanford his empty glass. "I'll look your information over and advise you if I need anything else."

"That's it? You don't want to discuss it now?"

"I'm sure the person who gave you my number also told you what to provide. I have some other appointments, and it's a long drive back to the city."

Sanford followed him to the door and watched the car all the way down the drive and out of sight. He wasn't comfortable with the man's behaviour . . . not enough - subservience.

******

Dane slid into the padded booth and set the envelope from Sanford on the table. He picked up the menu, found what he wanted and was ready to order when the waitress arrived.

"I didn't think you were coming."

"I wouldn't miss your cooking, Karen."

"Funny. Mike burned his hand today so, just in case, no complaints about the food."

"I promise. Can I get a coffee, please." He watched the woman all the way back to the kitchen then picked up the envelope.

The coffee arrived and as it was poured, she asked if that was work.

"Yup. No rest for the wicked." Dane smiled to himself.

"What is it you do anyway, Chase?"

"Work, Karen, Just work. Thanks for the coffee."

Sensing the dismissal, she went back to her own work and Dane went back to reading.

The target was a young woman chemist named Paula Regan, who worked in the research department at Rytex. That was the first letdown. Dane didn't usually like taking hits on women; he wondered if his contact forgot that when he gave out his number. The second was a request to have it appear as a suicide.