"He's at Chie Cafe."
"Do you know who he's with? What I should be looking out for?" Faint chatter echoed in the other room.
"A businessman" They paused to think. "Just look for two rich men sitting down, talking about a deal offer. It shouldn't be hard to point them out." The other man nodded and walked away, and leaned back to call out.
"Merci, au revoir." With one wave, they headed different directions. Automatic doors opened and a figure walked out into the daylight. He was tall, wearing a black suit with a vibrant red tie. The briefcase he was holding made him slump to the right. Though the sun was out, his face was still shaded by a dark fedora, that he fixed before walking to a cherry Ferrari. His apparent footsteps sounded like a knock on wood, a satisfying rhythm.
The lights of the car turned on with a click of a remote, and his left hand swung the passenger's door open, where he gently placed the case. He stood straight, fixed his tie, and made his way to the driver's side to get in. The engine roared when the ignition was turned on. A beautiful noise to say the least. The car made its way to a parking garage, close to the cafe. The bright, shiny color was dimmed once it drove underneath the road, and the Ferrari purred once it found a parking spot.
The man inside calmly opened the briefcase, revealing a Glock-19, a clip, and silencer, all in different compartments. First, he picked up the gun. Then the clip, though he paused on it to look at the singular bullet inside. After studying, he put the clip inside the pistol, to finally screw on the silencer. The whole piece made its way into the stranger's pant. He took one look through the passenger mirror and got out of the car to walk to the cafe.
"What can I get for you today, sir?"
"Can I have a cup of coffee?" he started, "oh, and a croissant please. Thank you." He lifted the newspaper and began to read, waiting for his client to arrive.
"Bonjour, how are you today?" The suited man looked up at the other two men greeting each other.
"I am quite fine, but let's talk business." They sat across from one another at the small, round table. "Mr. Convoy told me that you were willing to have a partnership with us. Être nos amis."
"Yes, what he said is correct. I'm happy to be meeting with you right now." Though he tried to act normal, his nervousness was obvious.
"Let me get you something to drink, you look thirsty." They chatted about the deal, drinking red wine and telling stories.
"Thank you for becoming apart of the company. We will discuss again another time."
"Yes, bonne journée." One of the men was now gone. The suited man, now ready to speak with his client, pulled out black gloves from his pocket, and slipped them on. He followed the businessman past a large crowd of pedestrians. Soon enough, they were in a dark alley, where a Porsche was parked. The businessman walked up to the door to open it, but he was stopped. A gun found its way to the back of his head.
"Please don't kill me, I beg of you," the businessman cried out. He was shaking, though emotionless. The safety on the Glock clicked. "I'll give you my wallet. How about my watch?"
"I'm not here for your money. I'm here for you, Annavon." Before Annavon could get another word out, a sharp, but short, burst of air escaped the weapon. Blood splattered onto the roof of the Porsche, and the body fell onto it. The job was done.