by Collin Earl
*****
Two days. Only two stinking days and he had already had enough. Roman Kowalski would be thrilled if he never again set foot anywhere near the Burning Plains. In fact, if it weren't for his orders coming directly from the top, he might have told them he could not locate his target and called it a day. His inclination was to do just that, but without realizing it Roman found himself heading to yet another nameless village in this desert hell-hole.
He could not remember if this was the fourth or fifth village he had visited trying to track down his target. This man, this relic hunter, seemed to snake through these backwater areas like a thief in the night. But the man was indeed a thief, and from what the intel had shown, the time of day did not seem to matter, night or otherwise. At least his target was consistent.
The rickety old transport slowed and Roman stood to exit. Once off the moving death trap, he asked around to locate the local enforcement station. He had found in the first two villages that this was the easiest way to confirm if his target had been in the area.
Roman found a shopkeeper that pointed him towards the center of the village, and after a good walk he found the ramshackle office that represented the government in the area. Government was such a misnomer here. Loose association of corrupt warlords was a better description, but Roman hadn't found a word that fit that definition yet.
He gathered his motivation and pushed through the doors. It was bad enough dealing with law enforcement when you were a local. Add the fact that Roman was a foreigner and it just complicated everything he was trying to accomplish. His resolve slackened as he saw the line of locals snaking out the door. This was going to take forever. Roman's motivation slipped another notch.