Francis Miller

The first step had been to read the file, committing every detail to memory. You never knew, even the slightest, seemingly unimportant detail could prove to be useful. He spent a day with that.

The second step was scouting. With the information learned from the file, the man was easy to fine. Two more days, comparing the various daily habits to those mentioned in the file. Checking that everything was accurate, learning more.

Through those first three days, Francis talked a lot with Quinn. He wasn't giving her enough details that she could find out who the target was, but enough that she knew what was happening. He told her the thoughts on it all, what slight worries he had, what his plans were.

On the fourth day, there was no reason to put it off any longer. Three-thirty in the morning Francis left the bed, silently as to not wake the woman sleeping next to him. He dressed quickly. Dark clothes. Jeans. Boots. Warm shirt. Jacket. Then a last, quick look through the file. He was ready.

He hadn't wanted to wake her as he was getting ready, he had wanted that time to himself, but he did wake her before he left. He sat down on the edge of the bed, stroking the hair out of her face with gentle fingers. "Quinn?"

Having regained control of his assets made Francis feel like he had regained control of his whole life. But looking into it all made him groan. Finances were good, more or less unchanged. But his home! His stuff! Okay, so stuff didn't matter so much, but his downtown apartment had aways been his place of refuge. And now he found that they had put all of his stuff into storage, and used his apartment as an occasional safe-house.

That was simply Not Cool!

At least Marcus Flynn had been agreeable, when Francis had said in no uncertain terms what whomever they had in there now, if they had anyone, could be considering themselves booted out as soon as possible. They had other apartments, other houses, other places to use.

A week after Francis talk with Flynn he was standing in his mess of an apartment. All the things had been delivered from storage, box upon box upon box. This was going to take ages to sort through. Not to mention that some of the furniture weighed a ton and would require some help to move. And Ford had gone on Vacation with Darcy, and obviously not available to help. But... Quinn was still around. Actually, asking for assistance would be a terrific reason to get in touch with her again.

So he got into his car (thank the heavens that nothing had happened to his car!) and drove over to Darcy's house where he knew the younger sister Schumacher were currently staying. He hoped that she would be home, as he didn't have a phone number to reach her otherwise.

One of the interesting - and at times annoying - things about Francis Miller was that you never knew what time he would wake up. Sometimes he would be hard-pressed to get up before lunch, and at other days he'd be up at the crack of dawn.

This was one of those days.

He woke up to a silent house. This was nothing new, sometimes he did get up before Ford. Neither of the men worried about this; Francis was fully capable of fixing his own breakfast and to entertain himself to a few hours. So he yawned loudly, sat up on his bed and stretched his arms over his head. It wasn't quite light out yet, but the little man had no problems finding his clothes in the dusk without turning on the lights.

Whistling a bit to himself he wandered out from his room. Then he stopped, cocked his head to the side and stared at a strange phenomenon. The door to Ford's bedroom was closed. That was strange. He decided to go ask Sarah about it, but when he peeked into the room she was staying in she wasn't there.

Oh dear. This couldn't be good. There must have come gators from New Orleans to kidnap her. He'd better tell Ford about this.

But that closed door was oddly intimidating. That was why he was so careful when he opened it. What he saw inside made him grin widely. After closing the door equally carefully, he practically bounced down the stairs like a rubber ball. This was a cause for celebration!

Francis wasn't allowed to use the stove, but he was confident that he could whip up breakfast in bed for Ford and Sarah anyway. It ended with him stuffing a loaf of bread, cheese, a box of cereal, three bowls and three spoons, a jar of jam and a lemon (which was really an orange) into a grocery bag. He was sure that the bottle of milk was going to start leaking if he but it into the bag, no matter how tightly the lid was screwed on. So, breakfast bag in one hand and the milk in the other, he set off up the stairs again, singing a happy little tune. This time he wasn't at all careful when he opened the door.

"Good morning, good morning, good morning to youuuu! Put a smile on your face, it's a brand new daaaay!"

He couldn't carry a tune worth shit.

Buttons are fun to push, but one shouldn't just randomly push buttons onless you know what they do. But, one; Ford made the mistake of letting his PINpoint laying around while taking a shower, and two; Francis never thinks ahead. For him it was merely a cool-looking thing with buttons to push.

That's the reason why the nutter is now in Kenya. In front of him a savanna is stretching out, and behind him is a thick jungle and whatever lurks in it.

...cool!