The Target (Complete) - Watty Awards 2014

Chapter 7 - Concert

Two bodies currently rested in my tub, and more were on the way. This was an all-out war. I was expecting to hear another knock but it never came. I now had a laundry cart in my room, from the female assassin. Housekeeping? Please. I'm keeping this house. I emptied the cart and threw the rolled up bodies in it, covering them with the white cotton towels. I dressed in the cream shirt and pants uniform that I striped from hit-woman. Luckily, it was just big enough to go over top of my black leather pants and black V-neck shirt. She didn't need it. She was pleasantly deceased at the bottom on the cart, along with Russian's best.

I check both of their pockets for weapons, cash, and anything else I could possibly use; four blades, two guns, and a few hundred dollars. This should hold me over. Also, the female had something extra. A needle filled with a very strong sedative. This might come in handy for the next hired gun. I check the hallway, to see if it was clear before I rolled the heavy cart down to the laundry chute.

I dumped the baggage and the uniform. I headed back to my room, when I noticed someone standing at my door. He was wearing a blue buttoned down short and black jeans. It wasn't a very good look for him, seeing how he was bulkier than the average man. He stood at the door, knocking. He looked rather confused. Did he have the wrong door? Is he another assassin? Is he after my target, too? Questions turned to fury as I slowly walked down the hall. The man smiled, as I walked passed him. He turned his back to knock on my door, again. That's when I pinned him against the wall.

"Scream and I'll kill you," I whispered, holding one of his arms behind his back.

His other arm was held firmly between his face and the beige exterior of my room. He was breathing slow and heavy, from my weight on his back. I was using all of my upper body strength to keep him in this contorted posture.

"Who do you work for," I asked.

"You're hurting me," He replied.

I slammed his head against the wall again. "Who do you work for?"

"Higgins," he squealed.

"Who," I asked, loosening my grip a little, but remained on guard.

"Paul Higgins," he said. "I'm part of the security team for One Direction."

"So, why are you at this door?"

He sighed, "I was looking for a young lady. She's supposed to go to the concert tonight."

"Oh," I cowered, releasing him. "I'm so sorry."

He leaned on the wall, rubbing his head and shoulder. I might have gipped him, a little bit too hard. Better safe than sorry. I threw on a fake smile to make up for it, but he ignored it.

"You're a strong one, there." He groaned.

I curled up my face, "I thought you was one of those crazy fans. They've been knocking on my door all afternoon."

He looked at me and tilted his head, "Then why did you ask me who I worked for?"

"I...uh...saw it in a movie once. Always wondered if it works." I chuckled.

"Don't you think I look rather large to be a fan?"

"I don't judge." I mocked.

He smirked, "Hmm."

"So, are you the one taking me to the performance tonight?"

He straightened up, adjusting his clothes. "Yeah. I'm Stan, by the way. You ready?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Let me just get my bag."

He nodded. I opened my door and went inside. The guard stayed outside. I think he was scared to come in. I don't blame him. My large Michael Kors shoulder bag was already packed with a few items, including some of the ones I recovered. I tucked a small pistol under my pants leg, into my leg hostler, and my favorite glock into my smalls on my back, covering it with my shirt. I was ready for anything now.