Hit And Sprint

two

"Ice, when's the last time you did a suicide?"

I cut my gaze to Roy, replying, "Six months. Be quiet." It had been two weeks since I made the deal with Joel Bradford, and I was finally able to do the last part of my job.

Roy had offered to help me with the final execution, since it was safer with a lookout. I had offered him a thousand dollars, too, after he made his choice in joining. That hooked him in.

"I don't mean it like that," he defensively responds. He must have thought that I figured he was doubting my abilities. "This is just a really risky way of doing things-"

I shake my head, pointing to my ear, and more importantly, the earpiece in it. "No, seriously, shut the fuck up," I restate.

"What are you listening to?" he asks. He knew that it was a live feed of what was going on inside of my target's house, but he didn't know how I had retrieved that.

"I came over here while he wasn't home and put a bug in an open window," I mumble, straining so that I could speak while still hearing what was going on. "I just need to make sure he's not on the phone or something when I go in." I stare at the quaint house across from where I was parked, hoping that whatever was going on inside was a solo activity. If someone else was in that house right now, I would be fucked. This was the perfect day and hour for the hit, and if it was ruined, there would be a huge dent in my plan.

Roy gives me an odd look that I can feel, regardless of my inability to see him from where I was facing. "Well, is he?"

I shake my head again, pulling out one of the earpieces and handing it off to the man. "Not sure. I can hear a voice, and I'm not thinking that it's our guy." It sounded like a woman, from what I could manage.

The audio quality was mediocre at best, so some things were unable to be determined.

"He's watching The Real Housewives. Orange County, I think."

Or so I had thought.

I look back, making eye contact with Roy."Are you sure?" I ask, surprised that he was able to determine something like that with such ease.

"I know Tamra when I hear her," he quips, nodding feverishly. His blue eyes were wide, as though he had just witnessed a match being struck.

I stay monotone, retorting, "Great. How about you ask him about the plot development while I'm hanging him."

"Did you say 'banging him'?"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Hanging him, Roy."

"Oh," he laughs. After calming himself, he queries,"Is doing that really the safest way?"

I reach toward the backseat of my car, scrounging around for my bag. "Any criminologist would tell you that a man usually won't kill himself with medication. They like it messy. And I can't get the bastard to slit his own wrists, can I?" As I finish my spiel, my hand lands on the bag. I grip the fabric and lift it into my lap.

"You can get him to hang himself?" Roy seemed quite doubtful, considering he knew how good I was at things like these.

Unzipping my bag and pulling out an eyeliner pencil, I mutter, "Maybe I should've mapped out this plan for you."

I then smudge the eyeliner across my under eyes, shoving it back into my bag seconds later. I repeat the process, but with a tube of red lipstick. The goal was to look like a high class prostitute, which wasn't usually what I went for.

Throwing my bag into the backseat, I tug off my jacket as well, swinging open my car door and stepping out. I gently brush my fingers across the black fabric wrapping my figure, huffing slightly before pulling up the bottom hem of the dress.