It's Kill Or Be Killed...

Chapter 2 - Hey, Pete!

I knew this one was going to be different. He never asked me to tell him when I got anywhere. He'd tell me the town name, assume I'd pick the most awful joint in town to stay in (one that doesn't keep track records) and send me the envelope full of information... So what was going on here? Arriving at what I can only describe in the nicest possible way as a shithole, I clambered off my bike and went into the reception. A greasy, sweaty, smelly rat of a woman walks over to reception to greet me.

"Hello! Welcome to 'The Hotel Motel'" She grinned, showing me what was left of her decaying teeth. "Would you like a room?" Her eyes looked evil, like she was holding some dark secrets. It seems to me that only my sort even book rooms here. I nod and she hands me the book to write my name in. As I look down the list of names it becomes more obvious; lots of 'John Smith' and 'Jane Doe' types seemed to be staying here recently. This must be a hit man hideout! I hover the pen over the free row to fill in for Room 23. Shall I write another name like this so I am unrecognisable, or do I write the name I was given by my hirer? It seems so fancy in comparison to James Davis and Susan Walker... In my fanciest handwriting I scribble 'Sharon Lawrence' and write that I pay cash when its due. I push the book back to the stubby fingered ogre behind the counter and she smirks the most horrific smirk before handing me a rusting key.

"Enjoy your stay, Sharon!" She winks as I walk out the room. Please to God tell me she's my victim?! She needs to be! I get my phone out as I make my way to the room.

I'm here.

I enter the room and automatically think I would be safer and healthier sleeping in the road. And I thought the last place was bad! The bed was barely a bed; the stained, broken, unsprung mattress looked less inviting than the stained rug on the floor by the 2 seater sofa that was as flat as a sofa could be. I switch the light on, but a mere dim glow appeared in the room. This is ridiculous. A cockroach runs between my feet and I shuffle back. This place should have been demolished a long time ago, as well as the owner! I walk over to the cupboard which I assume was meant to be a for clothes, as there was nowhere else to store things, and pull the rotting door from the hinges as I try to open it. You have GOT to be kidding... A knock on the door tears me away from the whinging in my head. I walk up quietly and peek through the peephole in the door that was obviously drilled in by the last tenant. I open the door a little, allowing the man to come through.

"Pete, man, what the hell are you doing here?" I question this shadow in the room. He pulls his hood down, moves his bandana off his mouth and smiles.

"It's a joint job!" He smirks. "They wanted only the best people for this job!"

"And they didn't have any so sent you?" I said sarcastically. Pete was another of the 'hit men' or whatever you wanted to call us that were hired by a guy only known as Des. Des only hired 10 people, and we travelled wherever there was a job. He's the one that sends the paperwork. He does the intelligent stuff, we do the dirty work and we get the money, well minus 10-20% for him depending on the difficulty of the research.

"Lemme guess..." I began, "You got a text?" I say smirking. The only way Des ever contacted us was by text, untraceable unless people properly looked into phone logs and by that point, I'd know I'd failed my duty to stay undetectable. Thing is, all the years I'd worked for Des, I'd never done a joint case... He always said they were too risky; one could say the other's name, get in the way, leave a trace the other didn't know about or just about anything else I can think of. It was always cleaner on your own...

Another knock at the door, I knew what this was going to be... I open the door, no one was in sight but an envelope was left outside the room. Here are my instructions.

"So who is it this time?" Pete says in a way that's almost chillingly calm.

"Mr and Mrs Robertson" I start, shuffling the papers into the right order. "Asked for a loan from our client but hasn't paid a penny back. Although our client has asked many times for it to come back, even in small amounts, they refused saying they deserve the money more than him and saying they'd get the money back 'over their dead bodies'."