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Prologue
Thisbastardisahitman’s dream. I’ve followed him for a couple weeks, and he never strays from his routine. He and his bodyguard start their day at 5:00 A.M. at the gym, 6:00 A.M. is breakfast at the coffee shop a block from the gym. By 7:00 A.M., he’s in a cab headed to his office. Lunch at noon, always at a sit-down restaurant; he usually has two beers with lunch then heads right back to the office until 5:00 P.M.
Saturdaysarealittleharder to track except for his 8:00 P.M. poker night with the guys. It’s also the only day he doesn’t have his bodyguard with him. That’s my window, so I sit in a rental car just down the street from where poker night is held every week.
Ihaveaclearview of the front of the house. A two-story brownstone with pretty little flower boxes on the front. I scoff at the money these people have. To live this high and mighty, it would take a lot more kills. Tonight, is the night. Jonathan Swank’s last night.
It'salmostmidnight,andthings should wrap up soon. I impatiently look down at my watch, ready to get this the fuck over with. I get antsy on nights like this, and my stomach churns with anticipation.
Rightoncue,Swankstaggers to the curb, just like the last two Saturdays before. I toss my stolen cab light on the roof of the car and put the shifter into drive. He holds his hand up, hailing the cab. I chuckle to myself.
Poordumbbastard.
Ipullupbesidehim, careful to keep my head down and in the dark. I don’t want any cameras on the street to pick up my face. He climbs in. “427 Ocean Boulevard,” he says in a rush, and I can smell the bourbon coming from his breath.
He’stoodrunktorealize he’s not in an actual cab. I have no meter and no divider between us, but I don’t waste any time because I don’t want him to figure it out. The doors lock as we pull away. He lays his head back against the seat, confident he’s heading home. He’s out like a light in no time, saving me from having to wrestle with him too much. That’s why I chose tonight to kill him. He leaves poker night so hammered, he’s already defenseless. This is an easy kill for me.
Imakeasharpturn onto the freeway, and his body slaps the seat as he falls over. I shake my head at his trust in a total stranger. I press my foot down a little harder on the gas pedal. The drive to his final destination is a short one, but I want to get there and get this done before he sobers up enough to fight back.
Lookingover,Imakesure my mini bat is within reach in case I have to hit him over the head before we get there. I reach over, running my hands up and down the worn wood, and a giddiness overtakes me.
Pullingoffthefreeway,I scope out where I’ll need to kill him. I probably should have done that before I grabbed him. Whatever though. It’s too late for that now.
Ispotasecludedovergrown spot right in front of the bay.This is perfect. The car jostles us as I pull off the pavement into gravel and grass. I ease to a stop beside the bay, putting the car in park. It’s dark, and the car is hidden behind some bushes. As I look around, inspecting the area before I get out, I feel confident I’m hidden enough to get this done.
Igetout,roundingto the back of the car. I look through the back window to see my passenger is still knocked out.
MycellphoneringsasI open the back door. I ignore the call so I don’t divert my attention. Swank’s eyes flutter open as he uses his hands to push himself upright in the seat. He takes a long look at me and swivels his head back and forth, trying to figure out where the hell he is.
“NotquiteOceanBoulevardhuh, bub?” I ask with a laugh.
“Whothefuckareyou? Where am I?” he asks, trying to get out of the car.
Ihelphimalong,grabbing his forearm and dragging him out onto the ground. He tries to get up, and I can’t help but laugh at this pitiful excuse of a man in front of me. He’s so drunk off his ass he can’t make it onto his own two feet. He nearly stands before staggering backwards to the ground.
Ilaughoutloudat him. “You almost had it that time!”
Hedragshimselfupagain. This time, he has a wider stance and makes it all the way to standing.
“Whatdoyouwantwith me? What are we doing here?” There’s fear in his voice.
“Idon’twantanythingwith you. You fucked with the wrong guy. I’m just here to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
“Who’dIfuckwith?”he asks, steading himself.
“Notgood.You’vefuckedwith so many you’re unsure who might have hired me?” I tsk, taunting him as I pace back and forth.
Hefollowsmethebest he can with his eyes. To my surprise, he charges me, if you want to call it that. With barely any effort, I sidestep him and use my hand to shove him to the ground. I almost feel bad for killing someone this defenseless.
Almost. It pays the same whether I have to fight them or not.
He’slaidoutonthe ground, moaning and having difficulty getting back to his feet.?Fucking pussy.Popping the trunk, I pull out plastic and cinder blocks.?
Ineedtomakesure he sinks all the way to the bottom.?
Iplacetheitemson the ground beside the car.?Now, where the fuck are those zip ties??I quickly look back, noticing he’s still on the ground, but he’s made it to his hands and knees. I quickly turn back around, leaning into the trunk again. My hand rests on the side of it to steady me. The zip ties I need slid all the way to the back.
Thetrunkslamsdownhard on my back and the back of my head. Son of a bitch!?
