❝sᴏɴɢ 2❞
He has to run the address through his head a few more times before he can accept that this is the right place. Yeah, those are the right numbers, this is the right street - but why is he hitting up a college dormitory?
Anyone can rack up a debt, these days.
Just staring at the building from the door is making him shift uncomfortably. He never did get this far, and sometimes he thinks that maybe he should’ve. But those are wistful ideas for another time. He’s here to work.
So the door comes open under his fingers (and the help of a lock pick), and he begins his journey upstairs. Second floor, not too bad - it’s just a long walk from one end of the hall to the other... one that’s risky if anyone were to see him. It’s late enough that he’s not terribly concerned.
224B is painted on the door that he approaches. There are supposed to be two kids here, if memory serves. The spare is out right now - he watched the kid leave - and the one he wants is presumably alone.
There are no conflicted feelings about kicking the door open; he could go for the subtler approach again, but this adds to the fear factor. Wood slams against the wall and splinters, and he all but explodes into the room.
Gun draws from his back, gets pointed at the only sad mop of hair he sees. He summons up the most menacing voice he can.
“Yer in big fuckin’ trouble, kid.”
