Revenant

Chapter 18

I've said it before, I'll say it again - there's an art to not being noticed.

I'm not talking about not being seen - I'm talking about being noticed. Trust me, there's a difference. A big one.

I've watched some other hitters working from time to time, and there were more than a couple of times when I'd scratch my head and wonder what the hell they were thinking. My best guess is that many of them had an unshakeable mental image of what the life of a hired gun must be like, and they went out of their way to fulfill it. You know, the sunglasses, the trench coat, the toothpick hanging out of the side of the mouth. The dangerous, menacing looks they'd give to anyone within range. They're the ones that people look at and think to themselves, 'That guy really looks like a hit man.'

It's kind of the opposite of what you want.

They're also the ones who are most likely going to be hopping in and out of the shadows during a job, caught up in the heady rush of going after their mark, brandishing a high powered rifle out in the open, living their dream. This despite the fact that there's nothing that attracts people's attention quicker than someone who is acting suspiciously, darting here and there and looking shifty. I don't know why they do it. It baffles me.

There's another type that are equally baffling, of course. They're the ones like the young mister GQ; the 'master of disguise' types who think the whole secret to a successful hit is to look like someone else completely. You know, to layer on makeup, wear a wig, add years to their face, and whatever else they can manage in order to make it so even their own mother wouldn't recognize them. I guess they figure if nobody can tell it's them, or pick them out of a lineup later on, they'll be fine.

There are times when dressing up like an old man can be very useful, don't get me wrong. It's just that there are just as many times when walking around looking like Colonel Mustard is going to grab more attention then it deflects. The point isn't to disguise yourself and look completely different - the whole point is to blend in, and look the same.

In order to blend in and look the same, you usually have to do something other than sneak around. You have to be obvious, act like you belong.

And so, despite how strange it may sound, when it was time for me to make my move on Diavolo's warehouse, I did nothing unusual. I simply pulled up into one of the parking stalls outside of it, parked my car, grabbed my bag from the back seat, slammed my door and headed on over, muttering curses and kicking at a few errant rocks and assorted street debris.

It was practically a guarantee that there would be a ridiculous number of closed circuit cameras monitoring the area around the warehouse, and there was no point in trying to avoid them. So, I made as if I was pissed off that I had to be there in the first place, like I was following orders. Anyone watching me would see I was walking around in plain view, perhaps jot down the time if they remembered to, and then promptly forget all about me.

I walked up to the door, stopped, and then struck it three times with my fist.

A few seconds later, a rough voice called out, "Yeah?"

"My sister said you were having a party, do you need olives?" I said loudly and clearly, over-enunciating every word, my tone suggesting that I was already bored with this 'super-secret password' crap.

The door opened a crack, and then opened halfway, revealing a tall, portly man with the most unfortunate nose I'd ever seen in my life.

He smiled a big, gap-toothed smile at me, and somehow that was even more disturbing than the nose had been.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Boss's orders. Can't be too careful right now, right?"

"Right," I said, stepping inside the dimly lit warehouse. "Say, could you hold this for me?"