Jake Novak's pace was interrupted when a ragged, dirt-grimed man came stumbling out from an alley before him and nearly ran him over. The man didn't pause to apologize, just eyed Jake briefly before taking off down the street. Jake cocked an eyebrow looking after him. What was his hurry? A ruckus coming from further down the alley made him flinch, and he tilted his head casting a glance down the narrow, garbage-strewn road. A soft chirp coming from the phone in his pocket made him tear his gaze away from the alley and he continued on down the road.
As he dug out his phone, though, he noticed this fleeing man had left a dark, smudgy stain on the front of his waistcoat upon collision. Jake stopped again, giving a faint grunt of dissatisfaction.
"Oh, for the love of – Really?" he muttered, eyeing his reflection in a nearby shopwindow. The stain covered most of his silky, midnight blue vest. Jake frowned. He briefly considered trying to rub it off, but chances were it'd just make it worse. With a silent sigh he went into a nearby alley and dumped the large leatherbag he had over his shoulder on the ground next to him. He muttered annoyed to himself while peeling off his dark, leather Jacket and putting it on top of a dumpster. Then he undid the buckles of a very unusual belt he had across his torso. It had two straps going over his shoulders and one wide strap going across his waist. On each side of his waist hung a scabbard, designed to fit knives and daggers of varying kinds. Today they were occupied by a large hunting knife and an ornate dagger. Jake got the belt off and put it on top of the jacket. Then he opened the bag and pulled out a spare deep burgundy vest and replaced it with the blue one. Once he'd gotten it on, however, he realized the deep red clashed horribly with the pale blue of his shirt and that he had to change out both shirt and waistcoat.
"And here I'd hoped to wait with the change of clothes until after the job was done,,," he muttered buttoning up the new shirt and pulling the vest in place across it. He knew for a fact that this particular job could get pretty messy pretty fast.
He stuffed the discarded clothes into the bag and got his belt back around his shoulders again, making sure to hide the knives under his jacket before he exited the alley.
Continuing on down the road at a quick pace, he compretely forgot about the text he'd received earlier and didn't remember until another text ticked in. Jake slowed his pace briefly, but chose to ignore it. The extra minutes he'd taken to change clothes meant he'd have to hurry to reach his destination in time. Whoever was texting him would have to wait.
By the time Jake arrived at his goal, a rundown little pub near the harbor the he'd received five more texts and a phonecall. Jake ignored all these and headed for the weatherworn pubdoor.
A guy smoking a cigarette by the entry grabbed Jake by his long, dark ponytail and pulled him to a halt.
"And where do you think you're going, prettyboy?"
Suppressing the urge to pull out his knife at this dude, in public, in broad daylight, he met his gaze.
"I was thinking of heading inside." He said. "I have a meeting scheduled and I'm already running a little late."
The man, a burly thug with dark hair, shorn short and pointy black eyes gave a toothy sneer.
"Pub's off limits to outsiders." He growled, yanking Jake back by the hair.
In less than a second Jake had undone the clasp on the hunting knife and brought it up beneath the man's grubby chin.
"I said I've got a meeting scheduled and it'd be rude to be late, don't you think?" he said, eyeing the man coolly. "Now if you'd be so kind as to let go of my hair, please. I'd rather not have it tainted by your greasy fingers."
For a moment they just looked at each other, and when the thug appeared to not take the situation seriously, Jake shoved the knife further in under his chin, causing the man to choke slightly. He got a fearful look on his face and coughed faintly.
"Al'ight!" he gasped. "Alright, fine!"
He let go of Jake's hair and lifted his hands in a disarming way.
Jake smiled pleasantly removing the blade from the man's throat, where it had left a thin, red line seeping with blood.
Then after casting a quick glance around, to make sure they were alone, he shoved the knife deep into the man's chest, giving it a good twist before pulling it out.
"Nothing personal." He muttered as the guy slid slowly down the wall, eyeing him surprised. "It just makes things easier for me later on."
He whipped out an already heavily bloodspeckled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the knife clean, before pushing the door to the pub open.
Inside, the atmosphere was dim and musty. Grains of dust were floating through the air, glinting faintly in what little sunlight penetrated the thick, dirtgrimed windows, and obscuring the surroundings ever so slightly.
The room he'd entered was small, only a couple of tables fit in there, along with the bar counter and a little showstage.
Jake counted four people inside, all of them looking at him.
"What the hell?" one of them exclaimed, getting to his feet. Jake gave a faint smile.
"Hey." He said. "Which one of you is Ethan Dale?"
"Who wants to know?" another man asked. Jake could tell by the tone of his voice that this was Ethan.
"Some guy named Allan." Jake replied, running his fingers over the blade of his knife as he spoke. "He sends his regards and asked me to tell you that this is the last time you'll ever disappoint him."
The pub went eerily quiet, and Ethan's face had gone slightly grey.
"Oh yeah?" he said, only barely keeping his voice level. "How so? And who're you?"
Jake smiled, holding up the knife he'd used just seconds earlier.
"My name's Jake." He said. "Jake Novak. Your friend Allan's sent me to teach you lot a lesson. The guy was pretty persistent to get this job done."
Jake enjoyed the effect his name had on the four men. They all flinched slightly and shrunk back a little. Not that he'd expected a different reaction. He flipped the knife around in his hand.
"Now, Ethan, try not to make a fuss and we'll end this quickly."
Just then Jake's phone rang again, and his focus shifted slightly away from the four men before him. This gave the men time to advance and they got to their feet and reach for concealed weapons. Jake eyed the situation briefly, trying to think what his best strategy would be. In his pocket the phone continued ringing.
In the end he went for the light switch by the door and drove the knife through the power cord, sending a small shower of sparks into the air as the room was plunged into a soft darkness.
The distraction was enough to give Jake the upper hand briefly and he went over to the first guy, making short work of him. He had no interest in killing anyone who wasn't Ethan but he was willing to go the distance should the situation call for it. And giving how things seemed at the moment, it was entirely possible he'd have to slaughter his way through this entire ordeal. And it didn't help at all that the continuous ringing of his phone gave his opponents a constant pinpoint of where he was. Not to mention how distracting it was. He'd been hoping it would stop by itself, but the caller was persistent, and the moment one call ended another began. In the end Jake saw no other choice than to take the call and swiped his phone from his pocket, while pinning one of the men to a wall with his knife.
"Yeah?" he said, putting the phone to his ear. By the wall the man before him squirmed and tried to twist out of his grip and Jake promptly shoved the knife through his throat.
"Have I reached Jacob Novak?" came a faint voice over the phone.
"You have." Jake replied, dodging out of reach as a third guy advanced on him, wielding his own knife. There was a brief silence, and Jake took the opportunity to survey his surroundings and consider his options. There were two guys left. One had a knife and the other had armed himself with a bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage from behind the counter.
"Er, Jacob Novak, the... The assassin?" the voice on the phone asked carefully.
Jake confirmed this and the voice – was it a man? – breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh, good!" he exclaimed. "I've been trying to reach you for the past half hour!"
"Well, I've been busy." Jake said, ducking as one guy lashed out for him, and fending off the other with his knife.
"Still am, in fact. Do you mind if I call you back?"
He didn't get to hear the reply as he was brutally whacked over the head with a bottle of whiskey and had the phone knocked out of his hand. The bottle broke and the strong-smelling golden liquid was sprayed across his hair and face. Jake could feel a stinging pain in his forehead and a warm trickle seeping down his face. He pressed a hand to his forehead and it came away bloody. Jake turned and eyed the man who'd delivered the hit darkly. The guy shrunk a little, as if just realizing what he'd done. The smashed bottle slipped from his hand and landed with a hollow thud on the floor.
Jake finished off the remaining two men in a manner of seconds and went over to pick up his phone again.
"You still there?" he asked, straightening up and noticing his reflection in a dirt-grimed mirror hanging on the wall behind the counter. His shirt had torn at the collar during the quarrel and both the shirt and the waistcoat were smeared with blood. His face and hair were still dripping with alcohol and Jake went over to the counter to find some napkins to dry himself with.
"Good lord! What was that?" the caller exclaimed in his ear.
"Like I said, I was busy." Jake replied, eyeing himself in the mirror again and brushing a hand across his hair in an attempt to pull it back into shape. There was no use. The whiskey had washed away the wax he'd used to style it this morning
"How can I help you, sir?" he then asked, pinching the phone between his shoulder and his ear while pulling out the bloodstained handkerchief from earlier to wipe his knife.
"Well, I was hoping you could help me. I have this problem... Could you meet me at The Tavern Hotel?"
"Sure." Jake said. "Just give me an hour to get ready, yeah?"
"An-an hour?" his client exclaimed. "You're sure you can't meet sooner?"
Jake cast another glance at his disheveled self in the mirror.
"Trust me, if you want me to look presentable when we meet, I'm gonna need an hour."
"Oh. Well, alright then. The Tavern Hotel in an hour." His client announced. "Please don't be late."
Jake gave a faint smile.
"Wouldn't dream of it." He said, pulling the phone way from his ear and ending the call. Then he eyed the massacre before him. In the dim light it was difficult to tell which one was Ethan, but after brief examination of the bodies, Jake found him and snapped a photo of his slumped-over, bled-out body, before heading out into the cool late-winter air again.