After leaving the shooting range, Zane headed straight for a small neighbourhood. Inside a parked car, tucked away in a discreet corner, his amber eyes never left the iPad screen in his hands, watching the livestream of women whose backs were exposed.
"We're done with today's search stream. Thanks for your time," came the voice from the phone, shifting from the woman on camera to a shadowed corner before adding, "Boss, most of the backs look plain — no butterfly birthmark like you wanted. Some have tattoos."
"Do the usual," Zane said, his voice low and tired, tinged with disappointment after hours spent sifting through over two hundred women since noon—and now the sky had darkened. "Pay them. Prepare the next batch for streaming."
An investigation he ran twice a month without fail.
"Understood, Boss," the voice replied before the call ended.
