Professionalism Has Exceptions [Lelantos]
Posted: 26 Dec 2013, 02:02
It wasn’t his first time in Canada.
It wasn’t his first time in Canada by a long shot, in fact, nor was it his first time in the province of Ontario, but it was his first time in Harper Rock. That wasn’t a surprise, really. Nothing important seemed to happen in this little town. Or at least, nothing had of import had happened until nearly four years ago. Then he had heard whispers from contacts in the area that weird things were happening. Grisly murders, disappearances, things that would be in a crime drama.
Weird things didn’t scare him. Murders and disappearances certainly didn’t, being a perpetrator of both himself. He was even paid for it. You see, Judas Hale was a mercenary, an assassin, and he was good at his job. He had been contracted to murder a woman in Harper Rock, not even on some maps of Ontario, and stage it as a simple disappearance. The woman, supposedly, was known to leave for long stretches of time and not returning at all wouldn’t seem strange.
Or so he was told.
He shrugged his coat more firmly over his shoulders, the thick wool along with the scarf around his neck, pulled over his lower face, shielding him from most of the below freezing temperatures. Not many people were on the streets, no doubt celebrating the holiday season at home in the warmth. Here he was, standing in the snow, weapons hidden beneath his layers, but well within reach, knowing after days of following the woman that she came by here on a schedule.
There was no way she would know he was coming. He was, as previously mentioned, good at his job. A professional at heart. No matter how lovely the face in the photograph was, she would be dead before sunrise, her body disposed of, and he would be on a plane back home with his bank account significantly raised once again.
It wasn’t his first time in Canada by a long shot, in fact, nor was it his first time in the province of Ontario, but it was his first time in Harper Rock. That wasn’t a surprise, really. Nothing important seemed to happen in this little town. Or at least, nothing had of import had happened until nearly four years ago. Then he had heard whispers from contacts in the area that weird things were happening. Grisly murders, disappearances, things that would be in a crime drama.
Weird things didn’t scare him. Murders and disappearances certainly didn’t, being a perpetrator of both himself. He was even paid for it. You see, Judas Hale was a mercenary, an assassin, and he was good at his job. He had been contracted to murder a woman in Harper Rock, not even on some maps of Ontario, and stage it as a simple disappearance. The woman, supposedly, was known to leave for long stretches of time and not returning at all wouldn’t seem strange.
Or so he was told.
He shrugged his coat more firmly over his shoulders, the thick wool along with the scarf around his neck, pulled over his lower face, shielding him from most of the below freezing temperatures. Not many people were on the streets, no doubt celebrating the holiday season at home in the warmth. Here he was, standing in the snow, weapons hidden beneath his layers, but well within reach, knowing after days of following the woman that she came by here on a schedule.
There was no way she would know he was coming. He was, as previously mentioned, good at his job. A professional at heart. No matter how lovely the face in the photograph was, she would be dead before sunrise, her body disposed of, and he would be on a plane back home with his bank account significantly raised once again.