Assassin and bodyguard

How it began

          The restaurant had just closed, and the brown haired woman was busy cleaning up. Soon she'd have to review the material provided for her. By them. Unfortunately, she hadn't met those who had hired her in person. All she knew was that there were a handful of people who wanted the target gone.

          "If we need anything, we'll contact you." One had said to her, after she asked for details on how to meet in person. It sounded cliche, but, after being in the business for long enough, she knew how much people wanted their privacy. Funny, how one can give her so much information on a target, yet so little about themselves. Roxana had mentioned that she wouldn't consider going through with it until she had all the necessary info, as well as why'd they want the victim in the first place. They had skillfully dodged most of the questions, mainly the 'personal' ones. The job wasn't guaranteed, of course, even with all of the proper information. 

          So many factors came into play when researching a victim. How old are they? What have they done? What do you believe they are going to, or may, do? Do they have family who will miss them? Friends, co-workers? So on, and so on. 

          Roxana had finished cleaning the restaurant dining area, as well as putting up the chairs. 

          "Took you long enough." George said to her as she walked into the back of the restaurant to the "room."

 The best way to describe said room, was to imagine a poker room for mafia leaders who own upscale restaurants, in a way. A circular table sat off to the left of the room, from the direction of entering the doorway. Behind that was several metal shelves holding boxes of files; files that held information on past victims and her hires. They were alphabetized, then organized by date. It was unnecessarily complex. Alphabetized, date, and then importance. The two kept track of everything. Successful and unsuccessful missions, as well as offers. It was an honest and paying job, and she got it done. Well done. To the right was an arsenal of weapons. Guns, knives, poisons, and several other lethal tools.

           An orange file holder sat open, papers and photos scattered across the open space the table had to offer. George sat down. He gestured to another seat at the table. She accepted.

George had been her mentor slash uncle. He housed and taught her, both fighting and cooking techniques. Now at twenty two years old, she had finished just about all of her training. Not to mention, he was getting old, and it showed. He lost his touch. He was tired and lazed around more than he had before.