<div align="center">(http://i53.tinypic.com/25q62yr.jpg)<br/><strong>Name:</strong> Roland Roth.<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Roth House.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open.</div><br/>It was quiet inside the Roth family's not-so-humble abode, just as it was outside under the rising moon. All the staff had gone home at least two hours before dark fell, as per their standing instructions. There was no supper at the grand and ancient oak table in the dining room, nor was any being prepared in the kitchen. No one sat in the sitting-room-cum-library, with its decanters of liquor and crystal glasses. Even the bedrooms were devoid of slumbering forms, the beds not even turned down by the maid.<br/><br/>Only the attic bore a single inhabitant, and he did not sleep, nor was he awake. True, he sat upright on the wooden floor, denim-clad legs folded, grey eyes open; all signs of a risen man. But he was not seeing the bare floor devoid of carpet or rug, nor the empty walls without any paint or other adornments. He did not feel it when the cool breeze wafting lightly through the open window suddenly stopped. He did not hear the trees outside quit their stirring of branches and leaves. Floating somewhere between dream and waking life, he watched the void, felt the nothing, listened to the silence.<br/><br/>This was what he had been doing since the gardener had left exactly two hours ago, starting when the man's engine had faded into the distance. Now, he had gained the perfect focus he needed to gain the knowledge he sought. It came in the form of a woman's voice, hot and quiet as a breath against his ear, but it brushed his mind instead. Thirty seconds of this, thirty complete seconds in which no wind stirred, no animal moved outside, and Roland Roth did not breathe.<br/><br/>At the end of it, a gust of wind came howling through the window, strong enough to shake the trees outside with groans and creaks of protest, to buffet Roland onto his side. Silent until this point, two enormous canines rose from their places by the door, teeth bared, open mouths issuing basso growls as the strode to their master. Pushing himself up from the floor and back to his sitting position, Roland put one hand out to them, palm out.<br/><br/>"<em>Pax, amici. Sedete.</em>" The response from both dogs was immediate, as they instantly ceased their diesel-engine alarms and sat, tongues lolling in canine grins. They were both males, both black with discreet tan markings, both at least a hundred and thirty pounds and almost three feet tall. Roth got to his feet slowly, enjoying the sensation of stretching his legs bit by bit after hours of stillness. Moving to the door, he snapped his fingers twice, signalling the dogs to follow him. As he left the attic and began the descent into the main house, they padded along quietly, one on each side and slightly behind.<br/><br/>As he made his way downstairs, Roth was thinking. Mother wanted him to find Alexander Eldridge; the name was known to him, some sort of government spook, the opposite number of Roland's father. Justin Roth wanted nothing to do with any of the world's governments, not even their money. Eldridge was something of a rival to the family, though as far as he could remember, no one had ever told Roland of direct enmity or competition. Now Mother was telling him to 'find' Eldridge, hadn't actually said to kill him. It was awfully odd, since the only time she talked to him outside of physical visits were for Jobs, capital J.<br/><br/>Going down to the study, he brought up a recent file on his state-of-the-art computer, a job offer. Someone had asked him, anonymously of course, to locate and retrieve an object from an Eldridge household; not his style, of course, so he hadn't responded. But the file was still there, complete with a home address. No mention of an Alexander there, but then there wouldn't be. It would be a place to start anyway, and he was ready to go into town. Spending too long out here at the House, he got to be anti-social, which made it difficult when he needed to blend in with the great unwashed on a Job.<br/><br/>Taking in a quick shower and shave, he changed into some casual wear - jeans, unmarked grey t-shirt, Army jacket and combat boots - and fed the dogs. After making sure the doors were locked and the security system engaged, he went out to his truck and started it up with a humble roar. With what he really had in petty cash, he could be driving a Lamborghini, but as far as the locals were aware, obsolete Chrysler pickups were snugly inside the Spartan living habits of Roland Roth, ex-military pensioner.<br/><br/>Roland Roth as the masses knew him was always "between jobs" in the city, had a modest little apartment in a plain little neighborhood, and spent all his meager sums on groceries, rent, and liquor. Only occasionally was that liquor bought in a bar, where the retired sergeant went for one-time female company one or twice a month. None of the normals knew he was actually a high-class assassin who provided social and business solutions to the rich and famous in return for enough money to fill several offshore accounts. 'The Wolf', as they had taken to calling him, those who knew what he did. Personally he despised the moniker, and was quietly trying to put it about that the shadowy figure in question was actually called 'The Hellhound'. If it didn't catch on soon, he was going to start hurting people over it.<br/><br/>His mind spun around the old internal argument as he crossed the city limits at a sedate pace, his truck being something of a gas guzzler; he was supposed to be a money-conscious pensioner, dammit, not someone who could go rip-roaring around behind the wheel of a limited edition sports car. He thought about eating at a dozen different places, drinking at fifty different bars, and taking in a movie at a nearby theater. Every so often he even turned away from his objective as though he was heading somewhere else entirely. Damn all oracles anyway, she was making him paranoid, dissembling while alone in his own truck.<br/><br/>He turned off onto the road his target address was on and started rolling slowly down it, an obvious stranger looking for a friend's place, or maybe for somewhere to turn around. No sense drawing attention to himself by making the big V8 howl like he knew it could and hauling ass all up and down the street. Take it easy, take it slow... Absolutely no one in this neighborhood would recognize him, he was certain, nobody knew he was there.