Deadman Walking
fuckingbarctta
A year passed since the heist ans what had happened after it. Vic Vega preferred not to remember about it. He survived twelve bullets, most of which hit his stomach, went through hell after this, putting himself together. Now he had a job and a life, he was almost the same man that entered the warehouse. Almost.
This case was outside of LA. At the certain time he should meet a man, follow him to his house and kill him, leaving the message to his friends and collegues. For Vic it was easy like to smoke a cigarette. Right in the moment he was sitting at the bar, slowly sipping the beer and shooting glances at the opposite side of the street, where the car of his client was standing and waiting for it’s owner to leave the office and go home. It was still a couple of hours till the end of the working day, but Vic didn’t want to miss the man.
Someone entered the bar, but he payed his attention at the new face only when the guy came closer and spoke to the bartender. Vic felt how his t-shirt suddenly became wet on his spine and raised his eyes.
“Fuck..,” he muttered and barely held himself in place, “Fuck!”
