The hotel room smelled of wet socks and sex. It was an eerily familiar scent that reminded Hilt of his childhood. Instinctively, he winced at the memory.

Hilt swung his legs over and sat for few seconds rubbing his head. The hotel room was bathed in a dull red by the neon marquee flickering and buzzing just outside the window. With a heavy sigh he plucked his watch from the nightstand and checked the time. Just enough time to stop for a pack of smokes, he thought to himself, strapping the watch to his wrist.

After putting on his pants and shirt, he stood at the window, looking down at the street below.

He walked to the bureau, and picked up the purse lying on top of it. He dug around until he picked out three one hundred dollar bills. Ignoring the rest of the contents of the purse, he tossed it on the bed, next to its naked, recently deceased owner. Without looking back, he walked out of the hotel room.

“Ok, let’s go,” he said to the man waiting outside the door. “I need to stop for a pack of smokes.”