Harper Rock.
Who knew his travels would lead him here, well – it wasn’t travelling for leisure. It was business, always ******* business with Godric. He had too if he wanted to stay a part of the Mexican gang he was a part of. He had a job and he had to deliver – and his job was to kill one Remington Rothfelder. He knew why, his brother Ramone had died in Texas. His brother had died at the hands of this Remington.
A grunt left his fat lip – which he had gotten from interrogating a guy who had seen his target about a day or so ago. The guy hit back obviously. His methods of torture, and interrogation were unorthodox. He wasn’t in Mexico though, he was in Canada and the way to get **** from people was different, just like the weather was different in the two places. A long leg stretched across the pavement, a small light flickered on and off. Fault electric fuse box nearby, it had to be. It didn’t bother Godric any – instead he pocketed his hands into his dark blue jeans and continued to walk on. He knew where this guy was headed a bar.
How did he know he would be at the bar? He had tapped this guys phone a couple of weeks ago – he knew he had been on the phone to some woman, her accent was Australian. Godric liked it when she spoke over the phone to Remington. It was how he was going to lure Remington to where he needed him to go, never mind the fact that the weeks he had been tailing this guy he had been noticing strange things, oddities that just weren’t usual for a guy. He didn’t eat, he only came out at night. He didn’t get it. The puzzle pieces were not coming together. He rubbed at his clean shaven chin and slipped inside the bar.
The Metronome.
Yes, that had been it’s name. He had left a note for Remington, and signed it with the woman’s name that he had heard him use. Velveteen. Yes, that had been her name. He imagined her to be a beauty. So when Remington would get to his small flat, he would see a note through the letterbox. The note would read.
Godric added the kisses, because it was something a woman would do, he knew women well enough, had slept with enough of them to know they liked to kissed, and held, and told their precious but now – the way this one sounded on the phone she sounded strong, independent something he wanted to conquer eventually. So Godric sat at the table with a glass of tap water in front of him, his had a blue shirt on, on his index finger was an onyx stoned ring with a silver design on top, the silver design consisted of a small skull with two roses for its eyes, it was an insignia of the Cartel. To anyone that didn’t know about them, it would seem normal. To someone that knew about them, knew of their history and their attention to detail. They’d know he was an assassin, a hitman of the Cartel.
Godric had his hand resting against his firearms, a silver revolver. It belonged to his brother. Better to kill the man who killed his own brother – with his brothers firearms. He had found it in the wreckage in Texas.
Who knew his travels would lead him here, well – it wasn’t travelling for leisure. It was business, always ******* business with Godric. He had too if he wanted to stay a part of the Mexican gang he was a part of. He had a job and he had to deliver – and his job was to kill one Remington Rothfelder. He knew why, his brother Ramone had died in Texas. His brother had died at the hands of this Remington.
A grunt left his fat lip – which he had gotten from interrogating a guy who had seen his target about a day or so ago. The guy hit back obviously. His methods of torture, and interrogation were unorthodox. He wasn’t in Mexico though, he was in Canada and the way to get **** from people was different, just like the weather was different in the two places. A long leg stretched across the pavement, a small light flickered on and off. Fault electric fuse box nearby, it had to be. It didn’t bother Godric any – instead he pocketed his hands into his dark blue jeans and continued to walk on. He knew where this guy was headed a bar.
How did he know he would be at the bar? He had tapped this guys phone a couple of weeks ago – he knew he had been on the phone to some woman, her accent was Australian. Godric liked it when she spoke over the phone to Remington. It was how he was going to lure Remington to where he needed him to go, never mind the fact that the weeks he had been tailing this guy he had been noticing strange things, oddities that just weren’t usual for a guy. He didn’t eat, he only came out at night. He didn’t get it. The puzzle pieces were not coming together. He rubbed at his clean shaven chin and slipped inside the bar.
The Metronome.
Yes, that had been it’s name. He had left a note for Remington, and signed it with the woman’s name that he had heard him use. Velveteen. Yes, that had been her name. He imagined her to be a beauty. So when Remington would get to his small flat, he would see a note through the letterbox. The note would read.
- Meet me @ the Metronome @ 11pm its important – Velveteen xx
Godric added the kisses, because it was something a woman would do, he knew women well enough, had slept with enough of them to know they liked to kissed, and held, and told their precious but now – the way this one sounded on the phone she sounded strong, independent something he wanted to conquer eventually. So Godric sat at the table with a glass of tap water in front of him, his had a blue shirt on, on his index finger was an onyx stoned ring with a silver design on top, the silver design consisted of a small skull with two roses for its eyes, it was an insignia of the Cartel. To anyone that didn’t know about them, it would seem normal. To someone that knew about them, knew of their history and their attention to detail. They’d know he was an assassin, a hitman of the Cartel.
Godric had his hand resting against his firearms, a silver revolver. It belonged to his brother. Better to kill the man who killed his own brother – with his brothers firearms. He had found it in the wreckage in Texas.
