TARGET [Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction]

Chapter 11 : Are you sure you want to play this game?

[3rd Person POV]

Well, for a weekday, this pub sure was crowded. After navigating my way through the back streets of London, dropping of my gun at a secure location, I made my way to the arranged meeting point to meet him, my boss. At this point, I didn't have a lot to go off as to who this man was, well not a description at least. From what I have worked out up to now, he's young. I'd put him in his 30's, maybe even a little older. So that's one disadvantage from the start; he's a cocky spoilt brat who has too much money for his own good, and clearly has a screw loose. Why else would he go to all these extreme lengths to not only impress me, but to try and make a name for himself. Who else would call themselves 'The Devil'? 

There are a long list of things I don't like about this guy, and I haven't even met him yet. First he finds out who I am and tracks me down, hacks my bank account, blackmails me, and then tricks me into having to kill my old rival. Is there any wonder why I should like this guy? I mean, he's already paid me nearly £100,000 and reunited me with my old sniper rifle, but that's about it. He hasn't really 'won me over' so to speak, but I am not in the best position to argue. One wrong move and he'll reveal my identity to the world, and the mafia will be after me again. Odds aren't exactly in my favour right now. The only thing I can do is hear him out in person, and let him reveal his plan. Besides, he knows I can kill him, so I have a good reason to suspect that tonight at least, he will try to stay on my good side. 

Finally I arrive at The Sherlock Holmes pub, our arranged meeting place. For a weekday it's pretty crowded inside, with drunken businessmen huddled around the entrance, smoking their joints whilst drinking away their sorrows, complaining about their menial jobs and cheating wives. I pull my hood down a little further as I walk towards them, and they soon move aside to let me in. That's the advantage of being built up like a brick shit-house, size and muscle will always win in the intimidation game. 

The pub is pretty crowded inside, and the place erupts into noise as soon as the door swings open. A collective cheer soars around the crowd, but thankfully, not to announce my arrival. Everyone is too preoccupied with the football game on the large TV hanging on the wall to even notice me slip inside. I slip past a few drunken businessmen, cheering loudly and roughly hitting each other on the back as a few sighed mournfully, their team obviously loosing. Even with my hood up in this crowded environment, no one has seemed to pay me any attention, which is odd, considering that my jeans and jacket clash horribly with their suits and ties. As I manage to slink over to the bar, I catch a glimpse of two men sat close to each other at the far end of the bar, their eyes following me. Both of them look like brothers, their dark eyes following my every move as they drink their pints slowly, their knuckles cracking. It's at this point that I know my meeting will not be done alone. Why else would there be two body-builder types sat watching my every move?

"Peacemaker", I say to the barman once I've caught his attention. At first he doesn't seem to hear me, but as I go to repeat myself he raises his finger, as if to silence me, whilst never breaking eye contact with me. Is he studying me, checking if I am the person he's been pre-warned about? Just to confirm my suspicions, he looks over at the two men who are watching me, who nod at him. The barman reaches up to the top shelve stacked high in alcohol and pulls down an old bottle of something and pours a shot of it into a waiting glass, before proceeding to pour the contents of other drinks in until it resembles a solid black liquid. With shaky hands he sets the shot glass down in front of me, casting a look towards the two men. "P-Please sir. I d-don't want any trouble", he stutters, looking nervously. "It's not me you need to worry about", I reply back honestly, my eyes watching the two men as they go back to resuming their conversation. 

"He has my daughter". His whisper sends a cold shiver straight to my cursed heart, making my blood begin to boil in rage. I shot the drink back and nearly break the glass in my viper grip. So this is the game that my boss wants to play, huh? He must have sensed the shift in me as he leans in closer, making it look as if he is trying to clean the old wooden bar with his dirty rag, obviously not wanting the men to see, or hear him speaking to me. "Please, don't harm her. They're upstairs. He is armed sir, so be careful", the barman whispers to me, his old eyes pleading to me, trying to keep his face from displaying his hearts true emotions. "Anything else you can mention which might help keep me alive?", I replied coldly, setting my glass down slowly, grimacing slightly as the bitter taste of the shot kicks in. The barman gulps a bit, hesitating to reply, trying to keep his hands steady. "His men are everywhere. Play his game, otherwise innocent people will die".