Now, relax for awhile.” Marcel handed him a thick stack of money as payment for the last hit. “Stay low, but be ready. You deserved a rest.” “I feel good,” Claude objected. “No need to relax.” He wanted to work more so he could rent a condo in a better location and take a trip with Leila to Las Vegas. In spite of the good pay that Marcel provided, money was in short supply. “One has to have a rest once in awhile,” Marcel insisted. “Make it your habit. Stress will eventually take its toll. Don’t worry so much about work: there’s plenty.” A bit of rest wouldn’t be that bad, Claude admitted to himself. No matter what other people might think, contract hits, in his opinion, did take nerve. The target could easily become a hunter and shoot back; if the Iron Ghosts caught wind of him, they’d be after him the rest of his life; there was no way to know what evidence the police might find after a crime—he could be locked up for good. Twenty-five years in jail without a chance for parole would be a bitter pill to swallow.
