Alex waited in the bar of the Hotel Elegana, rattling the ice cubes of his still-full vodka soda not because they needed stirring, but because it gave him something to do with his nervous hands. The room was beautiful in every traditional way: dark wood, a manly color scheme, and a mirrored back wall full of high-quality booze. If only there weren't so many chandeliers. It was hard to be inconspicuous with the full strength of a hardware lighting department burning into him.
Nick was handling it much better than he did. "You look a little green," he said, downing the remainder of his Two Brothers Oktoberfest. He gestured to the bartender for another one.
"I feel a little green."
"You know you've done this like a hundred times, right?"
"Is that supposed to make me feel better, or worse?" At the far end of the bar, a woman who was already trying too hard – judging by her plunging neckline – used a miniature bottle of perfume she'd removed from her purse and locked eyes with him. Alex fixed his attention on his drink and swallowed some of it, trying to decide what amount would calm his nerves without ruining him for the job.
"Do what I do," Nick replied. "Tell yourself this guy deserves it."
"So out of the hundred times you claim I've done this, all hundred guys deserved it?"
"Yep."
"And that doesn't bother you, statistically speaking?"
Nick received a fresh bottle from the bartender and thanked him. "It supports my life-long theory that the world is full of bastards."
Alex made the mistake of looking toward the end of the bar again, where the woman with the desperate décolletage tilted her head at him and flashed a smile. He managed a weak, close-lipped smile in reply and turned instead to look at his reflection in the mirrored wall, which was how he recognized their target walking past.
"C'mon," Nick said. He fished a few bills from his wallet and tucked them under his beer.
They made it to the elevator and up to the third floor, giving their target enough time to head into his corner room. They stood outside the door, Alex weighing the Walther PPK/S in his hand and it was sturdy, reliable. It would work like a cane to get him through this activity, which he couldn't always force his body to do on its own. He waited – stalled, really – and tried to breathe while Nick watched him. "It wasn't a hundred times," Alex whispered.
Nick finished attaching the suppressor to his Glock 21. "I can see that."
Alex psyched himself up as if he were still a teenager, about to go through a haunted house. Just keep your head down and keep moving, he might have thought. There's going to be a guy at the end with a chainsaw with no blade on it, and it's going to make a lot of noise, and he'll chase you a little bit – but you'll be safe the whole time.
In reality, he told himself what he always did: This guy is an actor. He's an actor, and what you're going to see is corn syrup and food dye. After you're done, he'll get up and we'll all have a laugh and he'll go back home to his family. Sometimes he added, this guy has no family for good measure.
Nick was the face of their team, as always. He rapped at the door – too light would look hesitant, too loud, like the cops had arrived – and wrapped his hands around the Glock behind his back. Alex hugged the outer wall, imagining their target returning to the other side of the door, suspicious, pressing his face to the peephole. From inside the room came a muffled, "Yes?" Alex's heart pounded and the inside of that haunted house approached at an equally steady, uncomfortable pace.
"Mr. Kline," Nick began. "I'm Jonathan from the front desk, and I've brought you some complimentary drink coupons for our bar downstairs, to thank you for—"
Worked like a charm. It usually did. The target pulled the handle on his side of the door and the lock popped apart. Without missing a beat, Nick tucked his right arm and crashed into the door with his shoulder. Kline went down heavy, cradling his face and moaning.
"No man can resist the free drink," Nick muttered as they both hurried inside.