My reconnaissance tells me he will be dining at a local restaurant
serving a rodizio of pizza tonight. He’s
been so careful about guarding every word to conceal his identity and
whereabouts. But no one is perfect. Everyone slips up, and his mistake will
cost him his life. But that’s the price of crossing those in power. Maybe he’ll
receive a hero’s funeral when they ship the corpse back home.
The restaurant is crowded, as I knew it would be. While it’s
open daily for lunch and dinner, the rodizio
of pizza is offered only on the fourth Saturday of each month. People begin
lining up hours before the doors open. I’ve never understood why. One would
have to be nearly dead from hunger to find it anything but edible. But I am a connoisseur
with extremely discriminating taste when it comes to food, drink, and the finer
things of life – something this squalor could never understand. I still can’t
believe they live with open sewers running thru their neighborhoods. How can
they not see … ehhh! It pains me to even think about it.
I find a table close enough to provide an unobstructed view
of my prey but far enough away he won’t notice me. The client gave me full
details on my target. Like most clients, this one felt it was important that I
understand why the target must be eliminated. It makes no difference to me. Like
any professional – lawyer, plumber, accountant – the why makes no difference. I
just do my job.
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