He scowled as he sat in the dark, a freak LA rain streaming off the old warehouse roof to cascade across the wide brim of his hat. It had been hours and Hobbes still hadn't gotten the go call. Impatiently, he double tapped the mic at his throat as he unsnapped the holster guard of his pistol.
"This is fucking ridiculous," he swore, standing up. His target was right there, in the warehouse across the alley. All he had to do was walk in and do the job. grasping the mic at his throat, he growled, "What the fuck is taking so long, Jack?"
A tinny voice resonated in the center of his skull, "Don't blame me, I'm waiting just like you. The money isn't there, yet." Hobbes shook his head, his dreadlocks flinging droplets into the rain and sending rivulets of water down his faded army coat. Irritated, the tall hitman turned and kicked the warehouse door he had been leaning against. Cursing to himself he resumed his seat against the wall. If the money wasn't there, there was nothing to do but wait for it.
"Hey Hobbes," the voice in his head cracked.
"Yeah, Jack." Hobbes said tiredly.
"Is it true? The Rumor?" The way Jack said The Rumor gave it a sort of grave weight, an identity of its own. Hobbes smiled, his white teeth a glimmer in the darkness of the doorway.
"Yeah," He said, the laughter obvious even through the rich baritone of his voice, "It's true."
Just as Hobbes was going to continue, twin pools of light illuminated the alley. A car was coming, silver and foreign. Not one of those pansy ass hydrogen cars, but an honest to god twin-cell fusion job imported straight from India. It was a corporate ride, no one else could afford something that expensive. He stood up, flattening against the door, as the car came to a rest across the alley.
"Money's here," Hobbes whispered. Two men stepped out of the car, each scanning the windows of the warehouse across the alley, looking for light and missing Hobbes completely, sheltered in the doorway across the street, as he was. Satisfied that the alley was clear, they signaled to the car. They were muscle, probably bodyguards. The woman who stepped from the car next, however, was all Money.
She wore the prim business suit of a mid-level executive. From her severely trimmed hair, the contaminant exposure badge clipped to her lapel and the sterling silver palmtop gripped tightly in her hand, Hobbes marked her as some sort of engineer - or maybe a scientist. The truth is, he didn't care. The money was here, it was time to play his role. A click sounded in his head, the go code confirming that it was time. He smiled and stepped out of the darkness, drawing his pistol in one smooth motion.
Normally, when Hobbes draws his gun, arguments are silenced simply by the size of it. It is an absurd monstrosity, a .60 caliber revolver with a massive apparatus cowling the tip of the barrel, giving it a hammer-head appearance. He calls it "Mjolnir" - a reference to the shape of the gun and the sound it makes.
The bodyguards react quickly to the sight of Hobbes - a sure sign of their high cost, drawing machine pistols from their coats and firing down the alley in short bursts that strike the warehouse walls on either side of the alley. Grinning the whole time, Hobbes fires at a run, the shots from his pistol gouging head sized holes from the asphalt street and the brick work of the nearby buildings.
Finally, with his third shot, the shoulder of one of the guards disappears in a red mist. Screaming, he falls to the ground, out of the fight. As Hobbes reaches the second guard a shot slams into the hitman, sending him spinning to the ground with a groan. Coughing, Hobbes struggles to stand as the second guard approaches, his gun trained on the heaving hitman.
"Now, Jack." Hobbes whispers under his breath.
"What?!" The guard yells, kicking Hobbes savagely and sending him sprawling once again. As Hobbes climbs to his knees he spits blood into the rain-soaked alley.
"I said," his voice is calm, as if he is having a casual conversation until, yelling he says, "NOW JACK!"
A thousand lights, the security lights of every warehouse in the alley, spring to life at once. Momentarily dazzled, the guard fails to hear the faint hiss of the blade as it flies through the air. He only becomes aware of its existence when he sees it for the first time, its hilt protruding from the space above the joining of his collar bones. Gurgling, he falls to the wet asphalt in a twitching heap.
"Nice. Subtle, Jack. Subtle." For all his bitching, Hobbes grins up at the lights as he struggles to stand. The grin dies as he realizes the woman is running from the alley.
"Ah, what are you doing?!" He groans as he trots down the alley after her, his left arm dangling useless at his side, dripping blood.
Now, you can hardly blame Hobbes for forgetting about his "primary target." Remember, he'd been waiting for hours, watching his target the way a cat watches a wounded fly before it eats the thing. Hobbes could have killed him at any time, but he had other priorities. He'd already been paid for that one and he'd already spent the money. His eye was on the money, the bonus extraction that Jack had picked up for them on the side. If he could catch that prize he'd be sitting pretty for a few months on the commission, alone.
Still, it's hard to imagine someone like Hobbes would forget the drug-lord, his primary target. None-the-less, Hobbes had completely forgotten. As the warehouse door slammed open and the drug-lord ran out, the hitman's jaw dropped with the realization of what he'd done. (or failed to do) The drug-lord was armed, a small pistol in each hand and a snarl on his face. The snarl turned to shock as a blast of thunder tore a hole the size of a volleyball into his chest; Mjolnir's work. Without stopping to watch the corpse fall to the ground, Hobbes continued down the alley, fully intent on his Money, the woman current fleeing the alleyway.
When Hobbes looked up, she had reached the mouth of the alley and was looking to either side, frozen in panic. She obviously had no idea of what to do next. Waving his gun at her, Hobbes shouted after her, "Wait! I'm on your side!" Screaming, she fainted dead away.
"Christ!" Hobbes' curse was almost drowned out by Jack's laughter, in his head. As Hobbes reached the woman, he surveyed the street. No less than 30 people were walking on the sidewalk, all determined not to notice the unconscious woman or the tall, bleeding black man standing over her, an impossibly large gun in his hand.
Hobbes' grin returned as he holstered Mjolnir and gathered the woman up in one hand, tossing her over his shoulder. As he turned back down the alley, he nodded at the nearest passerby, who went wide-eyed and turned the other way.
"I love LA." Hobbes said, as he turned and walked back down the alley. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice, at all.
Surveying the alley one final time, Hobbes turned to the car and put the woman down in the back seat. Thumbing the mic on his throat he spoke to Jack, "I've got her and the target is down. I'm coming back. Got a new ride, too." Hobbes rifled the corpses of the guards for the car keys and stepped into the drivers seat.
"Great," Jack said, "I'll let the H-T recruiter know we've completed the extraction. You're going to tell Red the hit is done?" Hobbes considered as he started up the car and backed out of the alley. Finally, he shook his head, spattering drops of water from his dreadlocks across the prim white leather interior.
"No, he'll see it in the paper. I already got my money." He grinned again as he looked over his shoulder. The woman was still unconscious, but it didn't matter. Soon she'd be whisked away to her glamorous new job at Hyroki-Technologies, but for today, Hobbes' job was done.