. . .
In a secluded place, two men wearing black motorbike suits stopped in front of a sports car. The place was on higher ground and the cold wind brushed against their desperate faces. A lady wearing an expensive designer clothing stepped out of the car. She dawdled like a mistress who'd pay any amount of money to get her husband assassinated.
"What happened?" she asked the two.
"She'd been taken to the hospital," the driver said. He was wearing a black gray shirt underneath his aviator jacket. But no matter how cool his outfit looked, his face was utter disappointment. With a sunken face, and eyeballs almost popping out, he was the opposite of cool. Forties, Fifties, or maybe even Sixties--he'd pass any age range.
The lady just scrunched her nose at the sight of his appearance. She would have preferred hiring good-looking men--maybe the good looks can serve as a good luck charm for doing something terrible.
