A London Contract (651 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 0.33 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by digsy (View user info) at 2004-08-14 20:20:41 EDT
The envelope was tucked in between the seat cushions of the tattered hotel sofa. Its manilla surface seemed to fit the worn-down seating apparel quite nicely. As Barker descended onto the left hand cushion, it let out a small puff of dust, which slowy fell onto the velvet-like floor.
It was rare Barker got a chance to sit down whilst on business, especially when it didn't involve fleeing the job in an automobile. He had arrived in town that night, under the instructions that his next job would be waiting for him in Room 14 of the Rose Palace Hotel. It was in that very room that Barker was now sat. He took the envelope in his right hand, and slowy opened it by sliding his thumb underneath the seal.
He tipped the envelope vertically and out fell a folded newspaper clipping. To be more precise, the previous day's page 18 of the Daily Mirror. Barker unfolded the clipping. It was a black and white photograph of the Mayor of London. In the picture, the Mayor was shaking hands with another taller gentleman, whom Barker recognised as Hugh Westington, a particularly wealthy man of aristocratic blood. Around Westington's head, Barker's employee had drawn a circle in thick red marker pen. On the other side of the clipping, Westington's country mansion address was etched prominently in dark blue ink. He turned the clipping round and gazed into Westington's eyes. The eyes of a dead man.
As Barker eyed his target on the tattered newspaper clipping, there was a faint knock at the door.
Barker grinned. Punctuality. Inevitablilty. These were 2 things that a contract killer of Barker's calibre had to associate himself with. He rose slowly and began to walk to the door. He looked through the peephole, saw nothing, just as expected, and slowly turned the knob. The hallway was empty, and as Barker slid the briefcase into his room from the tunnel like space, he quickly scanned left and right to ensure he was alone. He put his hand against the wooden surface of the door, and applied pressure outwards as he shut it, so that the only noise made was the slight click as the bolt slid into it's socket.
He brought the briefcase to the sofa, cracked it open, and inspected the contents. 1 x dissassembled Dragonov Sniper Rifle, 7.62mm, just as ordered. Barker prefered the black-market to mail order; there was no middle man to deal with, and the bastards always worked Sundays. He quickly checked the felt lined pockets of the briefcase, and also discovered a quick-fix bayonet, 2 magazines and a box of 20 cartridges.
Barker closed the briefcase and layed it down by his feet. He took the newspaper clipping, looked at Westington's doomed eyes one more time, and pulled out the zippo from his inside jacket pocket. Walking to the dustbin, he lit the clipping and wafted the flames so that they rose quickly, engulfing the snap. He released his grip and the now flaming parchment fell gracefully into the dustbin. Barker grinned at the symbolism of it all.
He walked into the lounge area of his hotel room and approached the phone on the pedestal-like table. Whilst lifting the receiver with his left hand, his right dialled a 5 for reception.
"Hello, reception.." Echoed a heavily cockneyed female accent.
"Hi, this is Mr Stevenson in Room 14. Could you please order me a taxi? The sooner, the better."
"Certainly Sir."
"Thanks." His gravelly voice breathed into the mouthpiece.
He walked over to the briefcase and picked it up with his left hand. With his right, he slowly fastened the buttons on his jacket. Taking care not to make any noise, he left the hotel room and made a left, striding silently down the staircase into the hotel foyer. Seeing that the Receptionist's back was turned, he crept through the empty entrance hall and out into the bitter rain of mid November London. The illuminated 'Taxi' sign could be seen crawling slowy down the street, it's headlights making visible slender raindrops which bounced off the surface of the briefcase.
The taxi stopped outside the Rose Palace Hotel. Barker grasped the handle and opened the rear left hand door, his dark figure descending slowly into the London Black Cab.
___________________________________________
Part 2 coming soon
My other Barker story:
Barking in Berlin http://www.ubersite.com/m/41060
User Reviews
Submitted by WillZone (user info) at 2004-09-08 08:51:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
eh, wheres part 2?
Submitted by PersonMan (user info) at 2004-08-14 23:00:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I guess you deserve more than one review.
So is he using 7.62x39 or 7.62x54? very important details, you know.
Submitted by Timmah (user info) at 2004-08-14 21:14:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Liked it but only a +1 because there have been tonnes of hitman series on here.