January 4th, 2020
1500 hours Eastern
Point Breeze, Philadelphia
John sighs as he enter his apartment, "of course they screw up my haircut." He touches his freshly trimmed down hair. "Fucking shorter than how I wanted it". He tosses his keys into a small bowl on a wooden table next to the door then bends down to grab the mail scattered all around the first few feet of his home.
"I need a beer."
He shuts and locks his front door and walks into the kitchen. He opens up the white partially rusted fridge door and looks inside.
"Empty except beer and two week old pizza."
He grabs a beer before closing the door with his foot. He walks over to the living room, tosses the mail on the dining room table, and then sits on the stained, torn up couch. Opening the can proved to be more disastrous than anticipated. He pulls the tab and then gets sprayed in the face with what feels like a geyser of foam.
"God fucking dammit!" he shouts as he slams down the can on the side table. He gets up and walks to the bathroom and wipes his face with a clean towel hung neatly near the shower.
"Stupid fucking...," he groans as he throws down the towel and walks to the bedroom. He takes off his stained and wet t-shirt and drops it on the floor. He looks up at the mirror positioned against the wall. He touches the small scars across his chest and thinks about the brawls he was in causing them.
"All because of a woman," he chuckles. He walks over to the large black dresser and pulls out a faded t-shirt with his old units insignia and slogan, and he slips it on.
"Dropping down from the sky faster than hungry vultures," he says looking down at the front of the shirt. "Such a stupid thing to put on a shirt."
He leaves the room and hears scratching coming from the guest room. "Is that where you are?" he ponders, opening the door. Suddenly, he's tackled to the ground as a large german shepard leaps at him and begins to lick his face.
"S-s-SARAH!" he laughs as he pets the dog.
"Calm down, girl. I'm home." The dog whimpers and continues to lick before stepping back as John sits up.
"Why did Gina put you in the room before she left?" he wonders. He rubs her head and gets up.
"Were you being bad?" he asks, looking down into her big dark brown eyes. "No there's no way you could be bad."
He walks into the room and notices a note on the end table next to the guest bed with considerable amounts of fur shed all over the comforter.
"..yea I expected as much from your hairy butt," he chuckles. Sarah rubs up against his left leg, almost tripping him. He picks up the note and reads it:
Sorry, had to put her in here because she was tearing up the couch more during the last thunderstorm. I checked on her before I left last night. Call me if you wanna chew me out. - Gina.
He chuckles softly and bends down to kiss Sarah's head.
"Sorry about that, hun. It's my fault. I should have refilled your pills before I left." She licks his cheek rapidly and rubs up against him more. "Such a cutie."
He gets up and walks out of the room. "C'mon, silly. You must be hungry." Sarah follows right behind him then runs quickly into the kitchen towards her food bowl.
"HALT!" he shouts. Sarah quickly sits down and looks forward upon the command. He grabs the big bag of dog food and fills her bowl up. "Clear!" Sarah then relaxes and begins to eat.
"Good girl," he says, petting her. He goes back into the living room and sits back onto the couch and turns on the TV.
"...and with more and more attacks happening near the Syrian border, NATO recently recommended to the president that more American troops be placed at the closest military base in Turkey as a quick reaction force. Coming up after the break: does eating cinnamon help lower your chances of heart disease? We will tell you our findings when we come back."
"Fucking stupid news reports," he groans, changing the channel quickly to a movie. He glances over at Sarah, who is still eating.
"Don't eat too fast now. Don't wanna run you to the vet because you weren't smart." He sips what is left of the beer and relaxes as he turns his head back to the tv and watches. His eyes start to droop heavily down. He starts drifting to sleep with his head now bent back against the top of the couch.
Sarah, now finished with her meal, walks over to his side and leaps into his lap before laying down. She nuzzles her head onto his hand, rested on the couch arm, and falls asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John is awoken by his butt vibrating, and Sarah licking his face. He pushes Sarah's face down slightly. "No, no, no. I don't want kisses from you right now." He gets up, pushing Sarah off. She doesn't seem to mind having to leave her comfy owners lap to wander the house. He pulls out his phone from his back pocket.
"Damn, that was a five hour nap?"
He sits up, slightly scratching his head. He unlocks his phone and checks his notifications. He notices he has three new texts and a couple emails.
"Great, I wonder who texted me." He opens up his messaging app and sees the texts are from George, Steve and Luke.
All of them say just about the same thing: "Money got counted, and the client was informed. Call one of us immediately." He sighs and calls Steve.
"Hello you have reached the voicemail of one of the guys who needed to talk with you HOURS ago please leave a message after the -"
John chuckles softly. "Fuck you, I took a nap. What do you want?"
"Well, we did an official count of the money we bagged a week ago and came up with 1.5 million."
"Oh? Did you talk to the client about it?" John asks curiously while scratching Sarah's back tuff of fur.
"Yeah. They said to consider it a bonus for getting the maps and having to handle more guys than anticipated."
"Nice. So we all get 300 thousand. You know what to do with my share. Just deposit it into my account," he replies with a small smile on his face.
"Yeah, we know, but that wasn't why we wanted to keep you in the loop."
"Well, why do you feel the need to inform me then?" John says as he sits straight up, rubbing his neck with his free hand.
"The client wants to give us another job. It is a little lower in pay, but it's easier than the previous op."
"Tell them, 'Fuck no.' You know how this goes. We take a job, we get paid, we relax for a little bit, and then we take a vote on if we wanna take another contract," he responds, a little agitated.
"I know, I know. We just wanted to check with you about what your standing with this is. Bill and George didn't really want to do it either, but they said they would if you were in."
"Well, thanks for the offer but not right now. Maybe in a couple weeks if they are still wanting the job done," he says, rubbing his temple slightly.
Calm down, John. He was just curious, he thinks while taking a deep breath.
"All right. Well, let us know when you wanna go to a bar and get fucked up. I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah. See ya." He hangs up and tosses his phone on the couch, shaking his head.
"I don't even know why he wants to do another op. He has more money than all of us! I guess he just must like the thrill of it."
He sighs and walks over to the small round dining room table, takes a seat, and opens the laptop in front of him. He goes onto his bank account to check his balance.
"500 thousand in my direct checking," he sighs. "Dammit. I should have opened another account before I left for the job. Screw it, I'll do it tomorrow and deposit half into it. All this because of FDIC regulations. Maybe I should just open a freaking Cayman Islands account." He rubs his eyes, groaning softly, and opens up his email. The single new spam message from a random loan company he's never heard of gets deleted within a second. He notices one, however, from an email address he has never heard of.
The subject says: 15 Million Dollar Job Opportunity DO NOT DELETE! After staring at the subject title for a moment, he clicks on the message.
Mr. Kanter, thanks for not sending this to the trash. As I understand it, you have recently come back from a trip to Mexico City. Now I may or may not know exactly why you were there, but the latest news reports indicate a very large explosion New Years Eve that unveiled to the Mexican Police a drug ring importing items into the United States. Nevertheless, I can guess that was you, and I was impressed with your work. Attached are details to a contract I would like to hire you and your team for. If you accept the job, then I will send you more information, via more secured means, so you may plan and execute said mission. I realize what your rule for contracts is, but I hope you take this opportunity as it pays well and can open quite a lot of doors for you and your team in the future. Good Day. He reads and rereads the message again.
"What the hell..?" He attempts to send a reply to the address, but he gets another email saying the message could not be sent due to an invalid address. He goes back to the email and downloads the attachment. He begins to read the details as Sarah brushes against his leg.
Mission Details are as follows:
The job is to execute the highly ranked mafia leader of the Toutre Family, Don Robert Toutre. The job must be executed at his home in Lakewood, Pennsylvania.
This job pays 15 Million Dollars, three of which will be given to you immediately if you accept this contract within the next 72 hours. If you truly do accept this mission, be at the Citizens Bank Park on the 9th and go into the nearest bar and order the Winners Bowl. The bartender there will make a note of your name and order and will then hand you a package which contains the money, reconnaissance photos of the home, and more information on the Mafia and Toutre's family. His eyes widen as he reads the message.
"Are these people serious? Kill a Don?" He looks down at Sarah, who stares back up at him. He gets up from his chair and grabs his phone.
"The guys need to hear about this." He calls Steve back.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Steve, get the guys together tomorrow at McDaniels Pub. I have a level one priority." He walks back to the table and begins to print out copies of the email.
"Well, if it's a level one, then why not meet up now?"
"We got a little time, and George is probably five drinks into his third bottle of whiskey by now. Tomorrow at noon. Make sure you let the others know."
"Well, what the hell is it, John?'
"..A job.."