Three or Four Years Earlier.... Rio De Janeiro: The Copacabana Palace Hotel
Walking into the crowded bar, I surveyed the room quickly. 3 cameras; each in their own corner, and a lone security guard who didn't look like he could be more than a ten second problem for me. Fat, bald, a five star hotel could do better if they were willing to be a little more generous.
On another assignment, I might be tempted to leave and risk questioning, but Wyatt was adamant about keeping this quiet. Anyone trying to leave the Palace could be considered a suspect. I'm flying solo this time, so getting caught would really screw me over. There are plenty of rich alcoholics and bored twentysomething women in here to keep me from being noticed as anything other than a wealthy guest.
I'll stay in the bar for a little while. When I'm sure that it's safe, I'll find the car and head out. It really sucks that they have to make such a big deal about Salvador Muñoz. He had a rather large fortune, but I doubt anyone knows why. Just like they don't know that he was carrying around an upgraded version of the GPW 7 tracking device he created two years ago. 600uA, a new diagnostic program, unheard of performance quality...the guy was pretty smart for an idiot. See, if he had chosen to sell it to us instead of our competition, I wouldn't have had to kill him.
Men always make this shit difficult.
I ordered an apple jack and waited. The pianist was doing his best to lighten up the mood with a few upbeat songs, but he couldn't do anything to rid the guests of their concerns. Someone had been murdered; people were busy trying to find out if their own asses were safe.
They were. But it's not like I could tell them that.
I sipped my drink and tried to seem as worried as the rest of them. The bartender wasn't giving out any information--he didn't have any. I would know. I did a damn good job on that guy. He died with a smile on his face.
I finished off my apple jack in time to see two men enter. The second was law enforcement, armed and looking for witnesses.
Shit.
The first was Sam Howell.
What the hell is he doing here?
God damnit!
On another assignment, I might be tempted to leave and risk questioning, but Wyatt was adamant about keeping this quiet. Anyone trying to leave the Palace could be considered a suspect. I'm flying solo this time, so getting caught would really screw me over. There are plenty of rich alcoholics and bored twentysomething women in here to keep me from being noticed as anything other than a wealthy guest.
I'll stay in the bar for a little while. When I'm sure that it's safe, I'll find the car and head out. It really sucks that they have to make such a big deal about Salvador Muñoz. He had a rather large fortune, but I doubt anyone knows why. Just like they don't know that he was carrying around an upgraded version of the GPW 7 tracking device he created two years ago. 600uA, a new diagnostic program, unheard of performance quality...the guy was pretty smart for an idiot. See, if he had chosen to sell it to us instead of our competition, I wouldn't have had to kill him.
Men always make this shit difficult.
I ordered an apple jack and waited. The pianist was doing his best to lighten up the mood with a few upbeat songs, but he couldn't do anything to rid the guests of their concerns. Someone had been murdered; people were busy trying to find out if their own asses were safe.
They were. But it's not like I could tell them that.
I sipped my drink and tried to seem as worried as the rest of them. The bartender wasn't giving out any information--he didn't have any. I would know. I did a damn good job on that guy. He died with a smile on his face.
I finished off my apple jack in time to see two men enter. The second was law enforcement, armed and looking for witnesses.
Shit.
The first was Sam Howell.
What the hell is he doing here?
God damnit!