Stan froze as he heard the gunshots whistle past his ear. Turning around he saw a small boy, no older than ten. He had a gun in his hands, and it seemed to be weighing him down. It was familiar. It was Stan's gun.

Ignoring the reason he had come here, Stan decided he would rather be alive and low on Zelos' friends list than dead and, well, still low.

The little brat had pickpocketed Stan's gun from him. He had escaped with his baseball bat, but his gun... That had been priceless. An heirloom. Pried from the dead hands of his first kill.

Stan cursed loudly as he considered what he would tell Zelos. Not only had he attacked a target without permission, but it had been Port's target. What's more, he had failed, and now the target was fleeing, in the knowledge that Zelos was going to come back. Of course, he and his brat would be long gone by then...

All of Zelos' gang knew the trouble Garson had been in, but the contract had specifically been given to Port, as Zelos' most trusted and most powerful man. Stan had figured that Port was too busy, what with another three contracts to carry out before he worked his way to Garson. Or so rumour had it.

Stan was technically doing Zelos a favour. He had failed, and now he was in trouble. Unless he could either kill Garson before he escaped, or ensure that nobody found out that Stan had been there tonight, he might be able to scrape through without a bullet in the head. Zelos was a ruthless boss.

Port would probably have another contract by morning. Stan.

The End

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