Targeted

2: Negotiations

She fingered the trigger thoughtfully as she observed the tears leaking down the man's face. She felt nothing but satisfaction at her ability to scare him, with nothing more than her finger tracing the outside of the trigger, memorizing every notch.

"Please, don't do this," he pleaded, another fat tear dripping off his nose, "I promise I'll deliver next time!"

"And how am I to trust your word?" Lexa Green slanted her gun slightly in her grip, and the man flinched, "You failed me twice, Roan."

"I won't, I won't again, please," he started begging, grovelling at her feet.

She brought her steel-toed foot up and it connected with his nose with a satisfying crunch, followed by a glass-shattering shriek.

"Your instructions were to take out the sniper before they take out another one of us," Lexa growled as Roan fell over onto his back, palms facing her and blood gushing from a broken nose, "You've failed. For all we know, she already has another target."

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, his voice altered from his nose, "Let me try again."

Lexa's hand twitched on her gun, tempted to raise it and take the shot to rid herself of dealing with the snivelling coward. But she had to seem merciful, which was what won her leadership in the first place.

She holstered her gun and Roan let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Fail me again," Lexa hissed, "and you won't have time to beg."

Roan scrambled to his feet and ran out the door, his snuffling from his nose growing fainter as he ran down the hall. Lexa sat down behind her desk, sighing deeply. She had to show strength. But her gun-for-hire was as useless as a regular civilian in terms of getting the job done.

She picked up a magazine, inspecting the shining bullets inside. She pulled out her gun, dropped the blank cartridge and inserted the real one. She cocked the pistol, examining the barrel thoughtfully, and re-holstered the gun. She stood up, and walked out of her office.

When she got outside, she squinted across the street at the bumbling, unknowing patrons of the coffee shop there. Tapping the safety on her holster out of habit, she dodged across the empty street and sidled into the shop.

A hush fell across the shop as she entered. Everyone knew her; she was as synonymous with Washington DC as the President. Still, she couldn't help but give a once-over over the crowd, looking for anything other than caution in the faces of the customers. As she approached the barista, she placed her gun on the counter as she pulled her wallet.

"My usual, if you don't mind." Lexa said in an unusually cheerful tone, and the barista nodded, signalling to the working barista silently. Lexa tossed a $10 bill on the counter, muttered, "Keep the change," picked up her gun, and walked over to the receiving area.

A quiet clamour fell over the group, still cautious but no longer fearing for their lives. Lexa picked up her coffee, leaned her back on the counter, elbows propped, and sipped it, staring out the window of the shop.

Roan was going to fail her again, and magnificently, if she was lucky. She couldn't wait to see his death plastered on the news, knowing she had once and for all rid herself of the rival gang leader's son. She sipped again, and started for the door.

She exited the building, scanning the street, when a gun shot rang out, and a bullet hit her coffee cup, causing the contents to rain out the holes. Lexa jumped behind a garbage bin, pulling her gun and aiming around the side at the direction of the shot. On the roof, she saw a wonderfully spectacular sight.

It was Gustus, her right hand lacky, with a sniper in his arms and a pistol to their head.