02-13-2019, 03:49 PM
Hood Wrote:He couldn't fault the old fart. There was almost certain to be some wet-works agent(s) out to merc his ass, and the old loon just took a drink and went to bed. Since Pervaya Ilniya hadn't taken the job, he wasn't there on official business. Which meant he wasn't there as John White. Which, of course, was a false identity. If everything went the way he was expecting, whomever they had sent to off the old shit was going to fail, and whomever had ordered the hit was going to get their pecker slapped hard to make sure that it didn't happen again. This things weren't supposed to be spur-of-the-moment decisions, after all. No way any government could make an official decision on anything so quickly; probably a power move by some wanna-be mover-and-shaker, eager to prove his use to the higher ups.
"Hood." As good as anything; it was, after all, his preferred callsign. Let him make of it what he would.
And then the old man was gone up the stairs to his expensive pajamas, leaving Hood to walk the interior, closing blinds and curtains, checking windows to see if they were self-tinting. Turning off interior lights. Wouldn't do to be casting silhouettes. And then, that done, he found a seat. For a few minutes.
It wasn't long after that that the tell-tale sound of someone jimmying the lock of the back door. He tapped his revolver lightly on his knee a moment, head tilted a hair to listen to the sound, but his eye was still on the front door. Whomever they sent surely wouldn't be sloppy enough to be so loud picking a lock. Unless whatever wanna-be white-collar shit that ordered the hit didn't have access to anyone worth Hood's time, of course.
That would certainly be quite the piss off. Come all this way just to deal with some random two-bit hitman. Probably some ex-military wanna-be. Special forces wash out or some shit. That would be quite the disappointment. So much so, that he would probably try to figure out just who had made the call, maybe pay them a visit. More a thought exercise than an actual intent; better to just let the idiot get himself in shit with his bosses, and not get involved with CCD political house cleaning.
Seated in the living room, he couldn't exactly see the back door, but he didn't bother moving to check it. Let whomever it was come inside; the house had good sound proofing. If things played out right, he could have his fun with the idiot without the neighbors calling the cops.