Sporting a New York Yankees ball cap and sunglasses, the man who called himself Snake blended in with the workers coming in for their evening shift at St. Francis Hospital. Keeping his face partially turned toward the floor, he passed several surveillance cameras, confident that his identity would remain hidden. To disguise his height, he walked slightly hunched with a dark backpack slung over one shoulder. His tattooed left hand, remained in his pocket, keeping it out of view.
Snake strode past two reception desks, one for radiology and one for general hospital admissions, manned by receptionists busily preparing for the inrush of morning patients. The tricky part would be to conceal himself in the utility closet without being noticed. He sidled down the long hallway past the side passage that led to the closet, shifting his eyes left and right. Two people were standing, talking within sight of the door. One glanced up and looked at him. The man looked like he might ask him a question. Snake walked past as if he had taken no notice. He didn’t want to get caught up in a conversation with someone who might later remember him. Instead, he mounted the nearby elevator and rode to the top floor as a delaying tactic. There were no other passengers on the elevator to see him get off. The top floor was not being used because most of it was undergoing remodeling and he could hear power tools at the other end of the hall. He checked his watch and, after a few minutes, rounded a corner and entered a stairwell. Descending slowly, he hoped the two talkers would have moved on in time for him to arrive back at the utility closet. The stairway opened on the main floor, near to his destination. He glanced up and down the corridor and, this time, saw no one close enough to matter. There were no cameras in the side hallway, so he opened the closet door, stepped in, then closed it behind himself. There, he would wait to implement his plan.