The rain drippizzled off his car, making an annoying sound that the middle-aged hitman felt he would never have to hear again. (Along with the cell phone that had been ringing constantly in the passenger seat) Mr. Armando Varden didn’t feel he needed to answer the cell, since he was in his car, on a rainy day with a gas-powered, automatic, fifty-caliber Desert Eagle in his mouth.
“Damnit, why won’t people leave you alone long enough to blow your head off?! That is why the population is out of control; they won’t quit bugging us!” he thought as he picked up the phone.
“mwhha mwhha.” He spit the gun barrel out and started again. "What is it!”
“This is operator 319 with an emergency assignment, will you accept?”
The killer listened to the voice on the phone, and began to feel purpose and life creep back into his old bones. He looked down at the picture of Juliet on his cell. “Pretty little thing, what did you do to have to meet me?”