Waiting
Hit men are not naturally gregarious people.
The keep to themselves.
That’s why the three of them were so uncomfortable. Reliable professionals, all of them, who had graduated to the level of assassin. None of these three would walk into a crowded deli and open fire on a target. They weren’t that kind of lion.
These killers were subtle. These were the kind of killers that scaled walls and dropped poison into bedside cups that made the coroners think that their victims had died of heart attacks or strokes.
Invisible shadows hiding in plain sight.
Your average button man for the mob was a loser. A tool about as replaceable to the organization as the gun he used in his work. He was kept around like a dog.
These guys, though, they operated through blinds and doubles. No one knew their true faces. They all had aliases, many passports in different names, scrambled far-off bank accounts, and smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.
Until now, each and every one of them had worked alone. This present job that had them sitting in the same pub was unorthodox but the money that was on offer was enough to let them retire if they pulled it off.
The target was very difficult but doable. The plan was sound. They were just waiting for the go-ahead now.
The tall one at the table took a sip of his beer and sized the other two up.
The one to his left had mousy red hair and a flat nose. He had the face of a dock worker, invisible to most people.
The other one was refined without being flashy. Obviously in shape and wearing a cheap grey suit. Also invisible in most parts of town. People saw the suit, not his face.
The tall one doing the staring had small eyes and short hair. He was thin and there was something about him that made witnesses not too sure that he was the man they had saw running from the scene. It’s like his aura was greased. People’s perceptions just slid off of him.
The three of them depended on being hard to notice. It had worked so far. Even the waitress in this place had forgotten to ask them if they wanted another drink. They were good at being background.
They had their phones in the middle of the table. They were waiting for The Call.
They didn’t talk to each other. Red hair stared at the last sip of his beer, Suit gazed up at the ceiling in idle thought, and Tall One kept appraising Red Hair and Suit.
It was a long afternoon.
tags
The keep to themselves.
That’s why the three of them were so uncomfortable. Reliable professionals, all of them, who had graduated to the level of assassin. None of these three would walk into a crowded deli and open fire on a target. They weren’t that kind of lion.
These killers were subtle. These were the kind of killers that scaled walls and dropped poison into bedside cups that made the coroners think that their victims had died of heart attacks or strokes.
Invisible shadows hiding in plain sight.
Your average button man for the mob was a loser. A tool about as replaceable to the organization as the gun he used in his work. He was kept around like a dog.
These guys, though, they operated through blinds and doubles. No one knew their true faces. They all had aliases, many passports in different names, scrambled far-off bank accounts, and smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.
Until now, each and every one of them had worked alone. This present job that had them sitting in the same pub was unorthodox but the money that was on offer was enough to let them retire if they pulled it off.
The target was very difficult but doable. The plan was sound. They were just waiting for the go-ahead now.
The tall one at the table took a sip of his beer and sized the other two up.
The one to his left had mousy red hair and a flat nose. He had the face of a dock worker, invisible to most people.
The other one was refined without being flashy. Obviously in shape and wearing a cheap grey suit. Also invisible in most parts of town. People saw the suit, not his face.
The tall one doing the staring had small eyes and short hair. He was thin and there was something about him that made witnesses not too sure that he was the man they had saw running from the scene. It’s like his aura was greased. People’s perceptions just slid off of him.
The three of them depended on being hard to notice. It had worked so far. Even the waitress in this place had forgotten to ask them if they wanted another drink. They were good at being background.
They had their phones in the middle of the table. They were waiting for The Call.
They didn’t talk to each other. Red hair stared at the last sip of his beer, Suit gazed up at the ceiling in idle thought, and Tall One kept appraising Red Hair and Suit.
It was a long afternoon.
tags