Hit or Miss, to Kill or Kiss - Romeo Alexander Page 0,1

trade in drugs and flesh. How long would it take before the police uncovered that? How long before the dead man’s wife and family were drowned by the media coverage, hounded by a merciless press that would smear them through the same shit and mud that the dead man deserved?

“Tyler,” Clay said, remembering the man’s name again.

Oh, what did it matter what his name had been? He’d fitted the criteria Clay had set, and even that hadn’t been enough. He’d heard the last gasp of air from the man and made sure he’d been dead. Clay would leave and make a call, informing Fate of his success, and the money would be dropped into his account. By the time anyone knew of the dead man’s passing, he would be a long way away, safe from even passing scrutiny.

Clay quietly slipped from the room, through a back window that latched on its own when closed. Like the ghost he pretended to be, he moved away from the motel and into the nearby vegetation. Careful to disturb nothing, and glad for the hard ground that craved a little moisture, Clay maneuvered through the dense foliage. As a boy, before his life had changed forever, he had wondered what it was like to be a tiger or wolf, to prowl the woods, to stalk prey, and to feel strong.

Turns out, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

His ride was like so many others he’d used before. A car, bought with cash, with a license plate that was by all measures, genuine. Not that it mattered, Clay always made sure to studiously obey all traffic laws while driving. And while the vehicles were never flashy, they were in good shape, and he made sure there was nothing wrong with them that would draw attention from law enforcement.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he took the disposable phone from his pocket and placed it in the cupholder. Professional paranoia told him to wait before making the call, not willing to ping even the prepaid phone on any towers while he was near the scene. Instead, he drew out the paper map from the glove compartment and looked it over. There were a number of places within a few hundred miles that would serve as a place to rest.

Clay firmly believed in taking at least a week or more between each hit. A workaholic attitude might be useful in the business world, but it led to sloppiness and mistakes for someone who required a constant sharp edge. Not that the most recent hit had been trying, it was just the principle of the matter.

Sand and warm waters were what he wanted most. He traced his finger over the paper map, untraceable compared to phone apps, and ran it in different directions. After a few idle seconds, it fell on a city on the coast, and from its size on the map, he imagined it appeared large enough to offer more than a few attractions.

“Port Dale,” he murmured softly.

It didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it would work just fine for a short break. It would take several hours to reach the town. Clay would need to deposit his temporary car in a safe place in another direction than Port Dale, and then purchase another away from the drop off point. His employer, the Agency, would pick the car up, but he would buy the next one privately, away from prying eyes. He might work for the Agency, but he’d be damned if he allowed them to track every little movement he made. No, he knew how to get hold of Fate if he needed to, and Clay would give her the new number once he’d obtained another phone, and that was fine by him.

“Vacation, all I ever wanted,” he sang softly to himself as he turned on the car and quietly pulled out.

It took longer than he’d planned to finally reach the outskirts of Port Dale. The spot on the map hadn’t done justice to the sheer scope of the city. While it was certainly no sprawling metropolis, buildings still sprung up from the core of the city toward the sky, reflecting back the orange glow of the rising sun. It was still early enough that the traffic was thin as he maneuvered his way along the highway and turned off onto an exit ramp.

Once upon a time, the city might have been a bustling fishing port, but it had far outgrown that in