He double-checked its contents. A change of clothes. His Glock and silencer, just in case. He tucked the knife in one of the black boots he wore, yanking the jeans over the bone handle. He’d planned carefully, as always, and it wouldn’t take long. He’d have more than enough time to return here for a shower if things got messy. The good thing about black – blood never showed. It was a warm spring day, promising rain later. He moved down the streets at a leisurely pace in the early morning hours, reaching the discreet boutique hotel well before the city day had begun. Scum of the earth like Mirador never gave him a moment’s pause. He had a gift, a gift for death, and in the case of someone like Mirador it was well-used. He didn’t know why he hesitated. He’d been trained for this by none other than the United States government, though they no longer paid his bills. And at least on his own he could pick and choose his targets. He didn’t have to worry about shades of gray – either the target was scum or worth redeeming. He had more than enough business taking care of the absolute scum.
