Michael waited in the shadows, peering over his dark glasses at his target. He glanced down at the photo, then tucked it in his pocket. Stepping out of the gloom, he walked towards his target. His target was an overweight, balding,and old man. The target was standing in a alley, looking around for someone. Michael walked up to him, getting his attention.
"Oh, are you the contact I'm suppose to meet," the man asked, wiping his sweating face.
"Rodger Franklin," Michael asked, his voice low.
"Yes,"the man stepped forward eagerly, a nervous smile on his face.
Michael nodded, then he smoothly pulled out a gun and unloaded one shot in Rodger's head. The man's legs collapsed from under him, he still had a smile on his face. When his body hit the ground, Michael had already slid his gun back into his pocket, walked away and down the street. He quickly walked in to another alley, he leaned against a wall, his shoulders trembling as he slid down onto his butt. He cradled his face in his hands, his teeth clenched, his body shaking with tension. He was tired of working for people he hated, tired of killing, he just wanted to find his families killers. He rubbed his pale face, squinting his eyes and got up. He strode out of the alley and down to the local flower shop. He pulled off his glasses, opened the door and walked in. His pale skin stood out against his black, skin tight zippered shirt, and tight black pants with hanging chains and belts. At the neck of his shirt, he had silver clasp with a ruby in it and his arms had belts on them. His hands were covered with gloves that had intricate designs on them and steel toed black boots on his feet. All in all he looked battle ready. His dark brown hair fell long in the front, but short in the back. High cheek bones, narrow nose, full lips, stubborn chin and wide piercing blue eyes made up his face. It was a face never to forget. Especially, the cold, cruel eyes. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out his wallet, walking to the front desk.
"Three white roses, please," his voice had a rich baritone that was almost poetic and melodic, but had a dark underbelly. He pulled out some money and looked up for the owner.
"Thank you," Michael whispered, money in hand.
Michael took the flowers and laid the money on the counter. He glanced passed the florist, seeing another man, his blue eyes were calculating. He recognized the man as not only a bounty hunter, but as a fellow Mercenary. Then, he gave the man a cocky and knowing grin, and a wink, and smoothly walking out the door, roses in hand. His boots hit the sidewalk silently as he made his way to the cemetery. Michael, kept walking, though he heard the other solo's words. His hand clenched over the roses protectively, and turned down another street, and into the cemetery. He strode between the headstones, and up to three graves. He laid roses in front of two headstones, saying some words, then moving to the last one. Michael crouched in front of it, his fingertips brushing the name.
"Hey, little sis," Michael placed the last rose gently in front of the headstone,"I'll see later, kay?"
His voice was soft, which contrasted with his dark outlook. He pulled his hand back, and stood up. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slipped one between his lips. Michael smoothly flicked out a lighter, lighting the cigarette. He continued out of the cemetery and towards his apartment. He had an appointment later.
Michael grabbed his phone, just as he entered the apartment, a cigarette bobbing between his full lips as he spoke.
"Hello."
It was a woman's voice.
"Hello, I have a missing person, my husband, he's been missing for a couple of days and I want to find him, can you find him. I'm willing to pay."
Her voice was cold and impersonal, just the way he liked it. Michael stared blankly through the room's fogged window, waiting.
"E-mail me a name, a picture and recent locations. I charge 5,000 dollars a day, plus expenses, all of this is to be sent to my P.O. Box," Michael kept his tone even,"I will call you back when I have more information."
"Alright, I accept your terms," she paused," do I call you later...?"
"No, I will contact you later," Michael hung up, and grabbed his laptop. He checked his mail, printing the locations, photo, and name. He glanced at the name and photo, but focused on the locations, then headed out the door.
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