Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction based on Human Target which belongs to Fox.It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of Fox.

Special thanks to Movieexpert1978 for your help, support and beta reading.

Unraveling an Enigma

Human Target (General Fiction) Main Characters, Winston, Guerrero, Chance

Part one

6th June 2004

George Brighton was a sixty year old, multimillionaire who guarded his privacy; one of the journalists had once said that he made Howard Hughes look like a party animal. He was in a foul mood because the DA had made him come to court, and now all he wanted to do was get back to his estate.

He saw the younger man straight away, his fair hair, and a build that said that he spent equal time in the office as he did the gym.  The man halted ignoring the people that went past buffeting him; he appeared to be looking at the building opposite them.  Suddenly he spun round, and surged towards him; before his bodyguards could react the man had grabbed him, pulling him down, at the same time the younger man gave a cry of pain and landed on top of him unmoving.  George reached for him then pulled his hand back quickly, a look of horror on his face when his hand came away wet with blood.

The hit man was out of the building and into his car by the time the first emergency siren was heard. He stowed his rifle bag in the trunk of the black 2002 El Dorado, then slide into the driver’s seat. He glanced at this watch and waited, as if on cue an ambulance rushed by lights flashing.  Reaching into the glove compartment, he pulled out a sandwich, and took a bite, savoring the taste of the meat and relish, before driving away.


George Brighton was so thankful for the younger man for saving his life that he paid for all his medical care and once he was able, had him taken to his estate to recover. His personal staff at the estate spoke in glowing terms about the younger man, Jeff Cartwright, and how much Mr. George had liked his company, in what was to be tragically the last two weeks of his life.

Brighton was dead now, courtesy of  a contract, paid for by a shadow agency, Brighton’s back door dealing with certain foreign governments had come back to haunt him. Dealings that even his money couldn’t insulate him against.

The younger man strolled out of the estate to the black El Dorado that was waiting for him. Junior opened the door and climbed in, his partner asked, “How did it go bro?”

Junior showed him the portable hard drive, “He never expected the man that saved his life to be his assassin.”

“So that half assed plan worked,” Guerrero drawled.

Junior just grinned, “It was the only way to get close to him, and it had to look like a natural death,” he rested his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder giving him a pat, in doing so he was doing something that few people would dare. Guerrero liked his personal space, and more than one of the Old Man’s men had ended up with broken wrists, fingers or in the worst case a broken neck for laying a hand on him.

Junior continued, “Brighton’s dead and I downloaded all the files off his computer.” Without thinking he rubbed his healing shoulder wound, which he knew had been on hell of a shot, anyone could kill someone, blow their head off, but it took a real master sniper to wound at that distance, and Guerrero, was the only one he would trust to do it.

They drove in silence, until finally Guerrero said “The Old Man’s got another contract for you, if you want I can take it.”

“Who’s the target?”

“Katherine Walters,” Guerrero added, “you know the Old Man didn’t give much away. Seems he wants you to do this one.” Guerrero gave a shrug, there was something going on between Junior and the Old Man, a shifting in the power dynamics of the organizations. And that was something he wasn’t going to get in the middle of, it had all the hallmarks of a family squabble.

“And you,” Junior asked.

“Some guy in Detroit conned the Family out of their money, they want the money back, and him dead.”

Junior settled back more comfortable in the passenger seat, “Don’t they have the Peacemaker for that.” Junior said, naming the Families own enforcer.

“Sledge hammer, dude seriously not cool.  This guy going to need finessing.”

“So you’re taking the tackle box.”

“Don’t leave home without it.” Guerrero drawled as he paused, “some jobs are fun than others,” he shrugged, “but I get the feeling that this one could be interesting.” He smiled one of his more eerie smiles that told Junior he was looking forward to this one and he didn’t let it bother him. In the years since he had been took off the street by the Old Man, he had met many killers, but none of them were as lethal as the man sat by his side. Guerrero wasn’t even part of the organization; he was a freelancer, and even the Old Man, stepped a little softly round him. If there was one man that could ice the Old Man, it was Guerrero.

He had a capacity for pure violence and ruthlessness and hell he scared the shit out of people who killed for a living which said it all. But he liked him, and he could take liberties with Guerrero that would have got most other people an early grave, and against the odd they had become friends, and in the violent, back biting world of the Old Man’s organization he knew that he could trust him.

Guerrero dropped him outside of the Old Man’s estate, “See you later bro.”

Junior got out watching as the black El Dorado pull away. He exhaled slowly, now he had to see the Old Man, the nearest  person he had to a father, but …… maybe one day…………. It would all end.

Part Two

The Present

Laverne Winston was a patient man, he was kind hearted and even twenty years as a cop and seeing the worse the human race could give him, hadn’t lost him the essence of who he was. Chance was a good man, he knew he had been an assassin but that was between him and his God, but right here now Winston was going to keep him balanced and on the road to redemption.

They had been working together six months the first time that Guerrero had walked through the door, when Chance had needed a second gun and the man had never looked back. He might be a freelance operative, but he was the only freelance they ever employed.

Winston found Guerrero to be one of the most aggravating people he had ever met. He had tried to drop hints that he wasn’t needed, and hell he had even spelt it out in words of one syllable, but Guerrero ignored him, took the money, and just to piss him off he would always count it, and then just walk away. Only to return next time he was needed.

Now, he sat enjoying a whiskey with his friend and partner Christopher Chance at the end of a long day, he decided to bit the bullet and ask the question he had always wanted to ask, “How long have you known Guerrero?” 

Chance looked at him over the top of the whiskey glass.

 “Eight years more or less,” he gave a shrug, and there was a long silence and Winston for a moment thought that Chance wasn’t going to continue then finally he gave a soft sigh.“I first met Guerrero when he was brought in on a job, my boss he...” Chance paused, “well he thought I needed some help on it, he was freelance just like now.”

“Was he, as, you know.” Winston trailed off.

“Hell no,” Chance grinned “he’s a lot more mellow these days, then back then…..”

Junior was on a high the job had been straight forward in theory, and then at the last minute the police had gotten onto them, and then had had to make a run for it. Guerrero had held them back while had he run the gauntlet of gun fire to get to a car, and then to the smell of burned rubber and squealing brakes they had made their escape.

Once clear, Junior had pulled over, the adrenaline was coursing through him, Guerrero was out of that car and walking towards their back up car, Junior without a thought clapped the smaller man hard on the back.  Then next second he was laid on his back in the dirt, blood flowing from his nose, as he stared up at Guerrero. The smaller man had snarled at him, “Next time dude, I’ll break fucking neck,” and he stalked away from him.

Junior got groggily to his feet, a hand going to his nose, and he looked at the blood smeared on his fingers as if it was the first time he had seen blood. He opened his mouth to yell at Guerrero, but closed his mouth as the other man turned round one hand on the door of the car, and just looked at him. It was as if the temperature plummeted, the Old Man was scary, but Guerrero, the fear he generated went  right to the lizard part of the brain, the one that governed the fight or flight reaction. Now Junior just wanted to run, tuck his tail between his legs and run like hell.

 Junior was an assassin, but Guerrero was a cleaner, a hit man, a terminator, a torpedo, but what he wasn’t was an assassin. He couldn’t put the difference into words, but it was there, and he wasn’t the only one that felt it. The other assassin’s in the Old Man’s stable felt it as well, giving Guerrero, the freelancer a wide berth.

Then there was the things that Guerrero did, he was a master sniper, an expert computer hacker, if you needed someone found he was your man, but it was the darker skills that scared them. It was the fact that he was an expert in extracting information from people that sickened even these hardened killers. Guerrero was too cool and collected, he killed without hesitation, old Phil Goodman found out the hard way, the man had known Guerrero since he had come in from New York, thought of him as a friend. Yet Guerrero had put a bullet through his head, when he had aggravated the smaller man on a job.

 Guerrero was cold blooded, brutal and totally ruthless; the smaller man was a total professional, concerned only in the quality of his work.  Junior knew of other assassins that refused to even ride in the same car as him.

The Old Man, thought he could learn from him, so here he was, and apart from getting knocked on his ass, he actually found he had worked well with Guerrero, he closed the distance between them, all the time keeping his hands clear of his sides.

“Look sorry about that, should have kept my hands to myself.” Junior had thought of some real good lines he could have tried on the smaller man, but decided that Guerrero’s sense of humor was an unknown factor or did the guy even have one? So the honest apology might be the right course to take.

“High spirits can get you killed dude.”

“Yeah I kinda see that now.” Junior drawled rubbing his face, “you pack one hell of a punch.” Then he grinned and put a hand out, for a long minute it hung in the air, as Guerrero, just looked at him, then he tilted his head slightly as if weighting him up. Then put his hand out and they shook.

 Winston took a deep drink, “Mellowed, he laid Harry out flat the other day.”

“Yeah, eight years ago he would have killed him.” Chance suddenly smiled, “then again he might still do that if Harry keeps pissing him off.”

Winston smiled back at him, as he lifted his drink in a toast “Tempting isn’t it.” 

The big man took a sip of his drink, then added “you know on the wharf that time when he said When you’re off duty you don’t want to follow me either. Have you ever?”

He saw the slightly guilty look on Chances face, as the other man said “In self-defense, I must say that it wasn’t my idea.”

Part three

May 2004

The Old Man sat at his desk, looking out the window at the man that he was grooming to take his place. He had given the younger man his name and in him he saw someone with the will and determination to succeed him. But he was wild, taking risks that could get him killed. So he had partnered Junior up with Guerrero, the two seemed to hit it off, even if on their first job Junior had returned with a bleeding nose and black eye. When he had pushed for an answer Junior had refused, but he had a good idea it has something to do with Guerrero. 

He began to put the two men together more often, they worked well together, and Guerrero’s experience countered Junior’ s excesses. More and more he was having problems reigning Junior in. But all Guerrero had to do was fix him with a look and a few words, the most damning seemed to be “seriously uncool,” and Junior would look sheepish and fall into line. To begin with it had seriously angered him that Junior was listening to another man, but then he had understood that if Junior listened to him meekly, then he wasn’t the man that he wanted as his successor. If Junior was going to take over he had to learn to curb his humanity, and partnering him with Guerrero seemed a perfect solution, he would learn from the best. The only problem was that Guerrero was a freelancer, and did side jobs, that he had no control over. He had just taken off on one of them. The Old Man rubbed his face thoughtfully; perhaps it was about time he knew what his freelance specialist did when he wasn’t working for him. After all Guerrero was important to Junior’ s development.

San Francisco

The job had gone down straight forward; Guerrero had taken out the wing men and then homed in on the primary target and taken him out. He had exited the building before even the hotel security knew that anything was wrong. Guerrero walked out the front, a laptop bag thrown over his shoulder looking like a typical computer geek, even down to the tweed jacket with the leather patches on the elbows.

Junior pushed away from the wall he had been leaning on, tucking the newspaper under his arm as he started to follow Guerrero, the smaller man was strolling towards his car, parked down a wide alleyway that was partly blocked by a dumpster.

It was then he saw another car, something about it made Junior do a double take.  It all happened as if in slow motion. Junior began to run even as he yelled his warning; the only thing that saved him was that Guerrero didn’t turn round. He heard the yell and the roar of the engine behind him and ran closing the distance between him and his car. He jumped and one foot landed on the bumper with the other on the hood of the car. His next step landed him on the roof and he powered up, aiming for the bottom rung of the fire escape just above his head. But at that moment the two cars collided. The impact spun the front of the car round sending Guerrero flying. It knocked the car out from under him as he leaped and only one hand caught the bottom rung of the fire escape, but it couldn’t hold him. He lost his grip, and landed onto the roof on his back and was thrown by the momentum. He hit the pavement, and then rolled into the wall.

The damaged car was blocking the alleyway, shielding Guerrero from the other car, the driver threw his own car in reverse and floored the peddle, nearly hitting a passing car, as he swung out of the alleyway and into the main flow of traffic.

Junior arrived as the car was exhilarating away from the scene, people were beginning to rush up, but Junior made sure that he was the first one to reach Guerrero. The man had serious issues about personal space, and the last thing they needed was him to punch a Good Samaritan out. Kneeling down Junior put a hand out and rested it on his shoulder, just managing to catch the fist that was aimed at his face. For a long moment he met Guerrero’s eyes waiting for the smaller man’s brain to catch up with his reflexes, then Guerrero’s jerked his hand free, and when Junior offered his hand to help him up it was knocked away with a snarl, as Guerrero got to his feet.

Blood was trickling down his face from a cut in the hair line and from the corner of his mouth. He brushed his hand across his mouth, Junior dragged a clean hank chief from his pocket and handed it across pushing it into the smaller man’s hand. Guerrero glared at him, he didn’t have to say it Junior knew that they would talk about this later, and he would be lucky if it stopped at talking, then Guerrero turned away.  The front of the car had taken a hard hit, knocking one of the wheels out of alignment, writing it off as a getaway vehicle.  By then all hell had been let loose in the hotel opposite, and the attention of the bystanders were attracted to the bigger show across the street.

Bearding the lion, Junior caught hold of Guerrero’s arm and propelled him away from the hotel. The one thing they both knew was that it had been an attempted hit. Now they had to find out who and why?



The Assassination Broker was sat at his table in Drake’s bar, when one man slipped in next to him and a smaller man sat down opposite him. It was then that the Brokers heart began to pound in his chest; the target sat in front of him. The briefing had been simple; the target was visiting the city on business, and needed to be taken out, when he left the hotel. He had screwed the wrong man’s wife and the husband wanted him dead.

 But now the Broker found himself looking into the coldest blue eyes, and he felt his mouth go dry and his hands began to sweat.  For the first time in a long time, the Broker was scared of the man opposite him and he seemed to sense that and he saw the slightest twitch of the lips. It was like being drenched in ice cold water, “You know Burt, it’s been a few years, your boy screwed up, and I am still alive.”

The voice, it was one of his worse memories, throwing him mentally back in time, to his living nightmare. He had been picked up, hell he never knew what hit him, and been interrogated for information he had on a man known as the Dentist from Detroit.  The pain had been something he had never known he could experience and live through. He had been blindfolded all the time, and only that told him that he might just live through it as he never seen his interrogator. But all the way through there had been that voice with a tone that was soft and level. It had never been raised in anger, but it had just told him details of what its owner was going to do and he did it, with no hesitation, but with an impersonality that was scarier than if he had yelled and beat him uncontrollably. This was the man that still gave him nightmares; he could feel the sweat break out on his face.

So he threw the shooter Connor to the wolves, and only seemed to breathe once the two men had gone, on shaking legs he got up and rushed out of the bar; it was when he got to his car he heard a soft footfall behind him. He spun round, and his eyes took in the silencer on the gun that was pointed at his head and the face of his nightmare, “Who put the contract on me?”

The Broker shook his head, “He would kill me.” He looked at the other man stood just behind his own personal nightmare, but he knew that he wouldn’t get any help from him.

“You really think you’re walking away from this,” Guerrero said, “the only question you have to ask yourself is if it’s going to be quick or slow, now I have a personal favorite, but it’s your life, what’s it going to be?”

The Broker felt he bladder give way, he was going to die, he knew that, this man wasn’t going to be swayed, “It was Frank Williams, he’s a local business man, got offices in the southern district he told me to have you hit, said you where screwing his old woman,” he paused “I didn’t know,” he looked at the gun “I didn’t know you were a cleaner.” The gun fired and the Broker collapsed one bullet through the head.

“What about this Connor?” Junior asked referring to the name the Broker had given them earlier.

“Just a trigger.” Junior looked at Guerrero the man seemed too relaxed and that set of every alarm bell in his head.

“So your letting him walk.” He sounded puzzled.

“What makes you think that dude,” Guerrero said leaned against the car “he’s a dead man walking he just doesn’t know it yet. Williams first, and let Connor stew for a while, before I pay him a visit” He paused “and then, we will talk, dude.”

Junior suppressed the shudder that ran through his spine at the tone in Guerrero’s voice, he had going to have to make this good.


Part Four

The Present

Winston listened to the story, “So someone tried to have him hit.” The big man took another sip of his drink, “can’t say I blame him.” Catching the look from Chance he added “okay, okay, I concede not even Guerrero deserves to be hit.” Reaching over Winston filled their glasses “So what happened.”

“Happened?” Chance said innocently.

“Yeah, so what happened next?”

Chance took a deep breath, and released it slowly, he wasn’t sure how much to tell Winston about what followed but he was already jumped into it with two feet.

“Guerrero is good with computers.”

Winston nodded; he had to admit that Guerrero was good with computers, and he had seen the smaller hit man find people with a lot less information than that before.

Chance continued. “He confronted him; Williams had originally employed Guerrero to take out a man who was competing for a large multimillion dollar contract from the city.  The police had reopened the investigation, and the man got worried that Guerrero was the loose end, that could bring him down. So he decided to have him hit; only he didn’t tell the Broker Guerrero’s name, for obvious reasons.


“Dead, three days after the Broker told us about him, and Connor, disappeared.”

“Made a run for it?”

Chance didn’t answer, just took another drink from his glass. He looked at Winston for a long moment, and saw the bigger man nod he understood Connor’s fate. 

The big man frowned “and your talk with Guerrero, you’re breathing so that must have gone well.”

Chance considered his glass, sloshing the whiskey round the bottom of it, “He broke three of my fingers, which for him was a mild reprimand, since then I tend to leave him alone when he’s working side jobs.” Draining the glass, he added “unless of course it’s for his own good.”  Chance added “and then all bets are off.”

Winston sipped his whiskey, “back at the wharf that time, when he called me when I said about being loyal to a criminal.” Winston sighed “I have to admit that I am, we go at it like cats and dogs, but that time he got caught in that building fire… I admit it I was worried about him.”

Chance smiled over the edge of his glass, “I kinda of thought you were when you flattened that thug and ran into the burning building ………”

Winston wasn’t going to get drawn by him; he knew what he did and why he did it. “He’s still an enigma,” he looked at Chance the one person that could truly be called Guerrero’s friend, and added “and one day I am going to unravel it, you just wait and see.”

Chance drained his glass as he got up, “that’s something I want to be there to see.”

“What to see the look on his face.”

“Hell no Winston, to stop him killing you.” Chance said over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving his partner thoughtfully clutching his whiskey glass.

The end.