Taken By The Hitman by Amber Adams

 

Chapter 1: Jason

 

The late afternoon wind ruffles my hair as I lean against the glass railing that keeps me from falling off the three-story building. Usually, I’m not the type to stand around and look at the scenery, but something about the rooftops that stretch across the landscape catches my eye. I can’t put my finger on it.

I turn away from the view.

After all, I’m not here for the scenery.

The restaurant is buzzing with the late breakfasters and early lunchers, eating dishes that are equally as hard to eat as they are to pronounce. Me, I’m a steak and potatoes kind of guy so the delicate foods are barely appetizing.

Still, I walk back to my table and sit myself in front of my eggs benedict with truffle, attempting not to frown as I dig my fork into the saucy yellow dish.

Thank the god I’m not here for the food.

The real reason I’m here is two tables away, currently poring over a stack of papers next to his cup of coffee. Black, if I remember correctly from my research.

He comes here every Wednesday at nine to have that cup of coffee and read over whatever shit he’s trying to accomplish during this time.

He’s a creature of habit, an easy target for someone like me.

I like easy these jobs.

Roger Stacco picks up his cup of coffee and takes a sip as I slowly chew on my rich breakfast.

Roger is fifty-five, a tall, imposing figure who enjoys staying fit by tennis and running. He also enjoys fine things in life, like his designer clothing and his flashy sports cars.

Me? I like the same things, but again, I’m not here to make friends with the man.

I’m here to kill him.

Using last bit of my English muffin to wipe up the last of the hollandaise sauce, I pop it into my mouth, throw my napkin on the plate and withdraw my wallet from my inside coat pocket. I extract a few bills placing them half under the plate, so they don’t blow away.

The waitress makes her way over as I stand, and I wave off a receipt before walking out, right on time based on the schedule in my head. In fact, as I check the watch on my wrist, I’m fifteen minutes early.

It never hurts to be early.

The elevator ride down gives me a chance to run my hands through my hair and pull out my sunglasses the moment it stops, taking in the morning sun as I step onto the sidewalk.

My destination is a quick walk from here so there’s no need to hurry, tucking my hands in my pockets as I turn the corner. I have someone else to meet this morning before I finish my job, someone who will be the last person Roger Stacco will expect to meet.

My other appointment is waiting in the small alley between a bank and bakery on the fringe of the financial district, his keen eyes seeking me out as soon as I step inside.

“Good morning, Joe,” I nod, taking in the man’s stained trench coat and boots that have seen their better days.

“Early as always.”

Joe shrugs. “Not that I have anything else to do, Boss. Figured you would be here early anyways.”

I grin. “You are correct, my friend. There will be another hundred in it for thinking that way.”

Joe grins in return, his teeth no longer filling the void in his mouth.

I’ve used Joe before, mainly because he doesn’t open his mouth about my business, nor does he ask for anything more than I give. I once offered to get him off the streets, but he had stated that he would be bored, so I left him alone.

Looking at my watch once more, I straighten my coat. “Five minutes Joe.”

“You got it, Boss,” Joe responds, his grin sliding from his face.

I step into the shadows and lean against the brick wall, watching from the direction that I know Roger will come. Another habit of his, taking the same route to work for the past two decades. I can only imagine what he’s seen on this walk, how he probably feels safe now that he can identify every storefront, every crack in the sidewalk.

It’s usually the things we are comfortable with that destroys us.

Joe hands me the coat from his stash in the alley and I shrug it on, tucking my sunglasses in my own coat pocket to keep them from being cracked. The coat smells like piss and garbage, but hey, I’ve smelled worse. It will do the job.

A quick muss of my hair and we are ready.

At exactly ten after ten, Joe and I bust out of the alley and Roger is completely taken aback when a random body suddenly slams into him.

The sudden impact nearly sends Roger to the ground, although he is able to gather himself quickly enough. The stunned look on his face quickly turns to disgust as he watches the two homeless men in front of him rolling around on the ground, squabbling like children.

Watching the two men drunkenly attempt to trade blows, he swallows his anger, stomping away toward his office as he viciously brushes at the stain that has appeared on his coat.

Even as I continue to yell at my opponent, I keep one eye on Roger, who doesn't look back a single time.

He likely feels this is just a bad morning, but it’s about to get much worse.

Once he makes it about a block away, I give a drunken shout and run at my adversary, pushing Joe back into the alley while yelling bloody murder. These are the crucial moments now, as to whether Roger is going to alert anyone to the fight or not.

I know he likely won’t, but we wait until it’s clear that no one is coming to investigate, and I slowly exhale.

"Uh, so, we all good?"

I turn to look at Joe who is smiling despite the exertion.

“You did good as always,” I say, shrugging off the coat and handing it back to him.

He folds it over his arm like it’s the most expensive thing he owns, and I reach into my pocket, pulling out a few hundreds from my wallet.

Joe’s eyes widen as I hand them over. “That’s more than we agreed upon,” he says, his eyes widening.

“You showed up early and you did good work. Take it,” I say gruffly.

“Do something worthwhile and not spend it on alcohol, will you?”

He nods and the money disappears into his coat faster than I can put my wallet away.

“I’ll be around if you need me again. This is my alley,” he eagerly offers.

I don’t respond, instead striding out of the alley and down the street, blending with the rest of those moving along the sidewalk, cell phones at their ears and paying no attention to the man who has joined them.

It isn’t until I am a few blocks over that I stop at a newsstand for a moment and throw away the subdermal needle patch that was used on Stacco, making sure not to get pricked by it myself.

What did you expect? A stabbing? Maybe a silencer on a gun?

There are other ways to kill a person, ways that will never be detected until it’s too late.