CHAPTER ONE
DALLAS
Getting into the convention center was easy—the security guard smiled and held the door for me.
Hiding my rifle is the tricky part.
I stride through the noisy trade show, retractable banner case slung over my shoulder, as I wind through a hundred vendors breaking down their displays. As soon as they're out, security tightens for the next event—a political fundraiser for Congressman Townsend. The man I'm here for.
Another dirty politician. One of hundreds. Thousands maybe. This one just happened to piss off the wrong people. The mafia maybe. Someone on the other side of the aisle. Possibly another country.
Don't know.
Don't care.
Staring down my scope at so many, their faces started blurring together anyway. That's when I realized I needed out. I don't enjoy what I do. It's a contract with money attached. At the end, I've removed the worst of the worst from humanity and walk away with a clean conscience.
Or at least I tell myself I do.
All I really feel is tired. Of the faces. The travel.
The dossiers of vile acts next to a picture of civility.
One last job, and I'm done.
I step into a service hallway at the back and navigate corridors until I'm near the exhibit hall where the fundraiser will be held. I find an unlocked janitor's closet with easy access to the stage and enter unnoticed. Shelves of cleaning supplies line the walls, and mops and buckets are stacked haphazardly against them, all smelling of lemon disinfectant.
Just like the hallway, it has a drop ceiling. I pop one of the tiles up, slide my rifle onto the metal support grid, and drop the tile back into place.
Quick, easy, and clean.
Two minutes later, I leave the convention center at the back of a group of tired businessmen.
The oppressive heat and humidity of late summer slide beneath my jacket, making me sweat. August in New Orleans can be brutal, when the river is slow and smells like decay, and the breeze isn't blowing. Thank fuck I'm only in town for another day. I don't know how anyone lives here.
But then, I don't live anywhere.
I peel off from the businessmen who never noticed me and circle the building, scouting one last time for alternate escape routes.
Nothing can go wrong tonight.
I eliminate the target, collect, and disappear. This time for good.
I'll have enough money set aside to retire and quietly fund my parents for the rest of their lives. When Dallas King dies, they'll inherit the trust I set up for them. Perfectly legal. And I can disappear knowing they're taken care of, even if I won't be there to see it.
After all the things I've done, going home has never been an option. There's no reconciling the man I am with that kind of love. I don't regret this life. I chose it.
The cost is one I gladly pay. If some innocents are spared by the removal of another, it balances out.
I move down the alley, sticking to the shadows where it's cooler. I pass an open door that smells like Dim Sum and hear a couple squabbling inside. There's an orange tabby sitting next to a blue bowl by the door, licking his paw while he waits. Jazz music plays from one of the apartments above, mixing with the honk of cars on the next street.
It could be any alley in any city if it weren't for the jazz and the scent of the river.
I cross two more streets, seeking fresher air and more shade. There's a park in this direction, and I have a couple of hours to wait.
At the end of the next alley, something prickles at my awareness. I stop in the shadows and scan the street beyond. There's normal pedestrian traffic as people finish their shopping or stop for dinner. No one seems out of place.
A burst of giggles rings out as a few kids bounce out of the ice cream shop across the street, followed by a couple with weary smiles. The man scoops the youngest into his arms, sets him on his hip and wraps his arm around the woman, pressing a kiss to her temple. She leans into him, a soft smile on her lips as she takes the hand of a little boy. The oldest is trying in vain to lick an ice cream cone and laughs when he ends up wearing most of it.
