Assassin's Asylum ✔

26

"Yo!" Harry yelled at the bartender, gaining his attention. "One more."

The bartender eyed him from head to toe and shook his head.

"I think you've got enough", he said. "I need to ask you to give me your car keys. You can come pick them up tomorrow."

"Fuck you", Harry mumbled but hit his keys on the counter anyway. The bartender took them and pointed at the door. Harry narrowed his eyes and stumbled out of his chair. He walked, not so straight, to the door and got out of the bar, showing his middle finger to the bartender who just called, 'Fuck off, Styles', after him.

Despite drinking all his cash, he didn't feel any better. He was still angry with his mother and now when he was drunk he wasn't even thinking straight and everything just seemed hopeless.

He started his long walk back to home and during that walk he had time to sober up a bit. Slowly but surely the come down at the end when the alcohol wasn't buzzing through his body anymore. Headache was making it's way to Harry's head and he just wasn't up for it.

His whole body started to feel the tiredness and his walking slowed down massively. He slouched forward when suddenly he heard steps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw two guys walking behind him. He frowned.

Something didn't feel right.

He started walking a bit faster and soon the steps behind him started picking up their space. That's what started worrying Harry even more. He had become a bit paranoid during the past year and now this situation wasn't making it any easier.

Was it Plague's men? Or someone who didn't like that Harry was digging things up about prostitution and buyers. Harry had lots of people who didn't like him.

He started running.

And so did the two men behind him.

"Fuck", Harry cursed and ran faster. Now he didn't dare to look behind anymore, he just kept his focus in front of him and ran as fast as he could. There were people coming out of a club about twenty meters in front of him and Harry jumped straight in the middle of them, not apologizing as he pushed people past him and found his way through the crowd.

He found the courage to glance behind him and saw that the men were struggling to get through the drunken people so he ran again, fast and scared.

A few more meters and he disappeared behind the corner. He looked around and saw ladders. An idea popped into his head and he ran towards them and climbed up. When he was on the roof he crawled on his stomach and peeked down. Soon he saw the two man running down there.

They stopped in place and looked around, talking with each other but Harry couldn't hear properly their words. They stood there for a moment before continuing running.

Harry waited until they disappeared behind the corner and even after that he waited twenty for minutes. The sun was already coming up when he finally climbed down the ladders and breathed heavily, leaning his hands against his knees.

"I'm getting too old for this", he muttered and then started jogging towards the office. He decided it was safer to sleep there than go to home at this point. And it was not like he had any cash so that he could've go to a motel like he did last time someone was after him.

This time he just didn't know who was after him because it wasn't Red Machete.

***

Grimshaw swung his hand and his fist hit the man's cheek hard.

"You lost him?!"

"He's fast and clever", the man said and got another hit.

"What a piece of shit you are", Grimshaw snarled and looked at Plague. "Nice workers you have. Can't even catch one fucking journalist."

"Calm down", Plague said. "They will catch him."

"That's what you keep telling me, time after time."

"They will. It just has to happen as smoothly as possible, we are on a run here, remember? Can't give any leads to the police."

Grimshaw nodded hesitantly.

He dismissed the two guys that had lost Harry Styles and started walking back and forth, Plague smoking a cigarette on the couch.

"I just don't get it", said Grimshaw. "How difficult can it be? He's just a journalist. Tall and clumsy if you ask me. It can't be that difficult to catch him."

"I don't know, man", said Plague. "Even Red Machete failed a few times. Styles has some moves, I suppose."

"Don't talk to me about Tomlinson, I'm so disappointed to him", Grimshaw hissed. "And he dares to call himself an assassin."

"He is good. It's just that there's something more in Harry Styles."

"I fucking hate them both", Grimshaw muttered. "They ruined my life."

"Red Machete killed many of my men, you're not the only one who has unfinished business with him", Plague pointed out. "We will get them both, believe me."

"We better."