He didn’t talk for the longest while, then finally uttered, “One time, on one of my missions, I had to sit up in the branches of a tree, for hours stalking my target before I had a chance to shoot him.”
“Really?” said Martin, breathless.
“That tree,” he gestured outside, “reminds me of the tree on that mission.”
“How do you do it?”
“I have a sixth sense…about other men. That’s why I’ve never gotten killed on my missions. I always know when someone’s there.” He looked directly into Stephanie Martin’s eyes. “I know when someone’s behind me. I know when someone is coming. I don’t have to hear them, I just know.”
Busenburg went silent again.
A couple of days later, Will Busenburg gentlemanly opened the door for Stephanie Martin to enter the apartment he shared with Chris Hatton. Hatton sat in the living room drinking and watching a video.
Busenburg glanced over. “Oh, you’re watching that thing again.”
Martin asked, “What is it?” She saw uniformed men in hats walking across a stage receiving a piece of paper.
“That’s when I made in into the Navy SEALS,” said Hatton.
“So…why do you watch it all the time?”
He took a swallow of his drink. “Because that’s what I always wanted to do, and I’m mad that I went AWOL and gave it all up.” He took another swallow.
She thought about how Busenburg said he killed people—sharpshooting or with his hands. She looked around the room and noticed a dartboard on the wall and knife holes in the Sheetrock. “So…how do you make your hits?”
Hatton looked up at her. “I drown ‘em.”