It was pitch dark out and Owen’s target was parked in his neon green BMW on a leafy side street with few passing cars and even fewer pedestrians.
The hitman approached slowly but in full view. Experience told him with this kind of job it would go much smoother that way.
No surprises for anyone.
He rapped on the window. The driver waved him away. Owen then produced an unlit cigarette from his blazer.
The window eased down, but instead of a lighter, the driver leveled a Tokarev – a favorite of the Russian military.
Owen smiled.
No surprises for anyone.
The Weekday One Hundred 