The part of Cuatro Angulos' territory that surrounded Mark's current apartment was a real ghetto. Old buildings, roads full of potholes, and other sights of poverty.
And Mexicans who lived here looked just as poor, although this early in the morning Tristan saw very few of them.
He spotted a couple sitting in a yard, staring into emptiness with drug-addled eyes, and another one knocking on the door of a closed liquor store.
But since it was so early, Tristan Hayes was mostly free to sneak around. He avoided walking near windows or out in the open and pulled the hood of his jacket low enough to hide his eyes.
With his high observation and stealth skills, though, avoiding people was easy.
He'd still feel safer if he could become Tristan Gemello, but right now, he had an illegal weapon in his backpack, so the risk was unacceptable to him.
Mark's apartment building had four floors, just like several ones next to it. No one was guarding it, making Tristan's job easy.
He knew Mark lived there, but not in which apartment.
To find that, Tristan had to look by himself.
The windows of the apartments went only to two sides of the building, and each side had another apartment building, both equally shabby.
Tristan picked one at random and went to its back, looking for the fire escape stairs. In these standard blueprint buildings, they all were in more or less the same place.
The stairs were there, on the back side of the building. If he jumped, Tristan could reach the lower part of the folded up ladder leading to them and climb up.
After looking around to check that there really wasn't anyone else, Tristan put on gloves and jumped.
He easily reached the ladder and pulled himself up. The strength he bought really came to use here.
Ten seconds later, Tristan took the rusty metal stairs to the roof. They creaked dangerously under his feet, but held.
The roof was empty, save for some pipes and a few pigeons that flew away at Tristan's appearance. Tristan sat there, a safe distance from the edge, and opened his backpack.
He pulled Pierce's parcel from inside and opened it.
Parts of a disassembled Remington rifle shone slightly in the light. From a single glance, Tristan could tell that they were all in an excellent state, cleaned and oiled.
There were also a couple dozen bullets, a silencer, and an optic scope.
Tristan took the scope and put the rest away, then used the scope like a spyglass to look into the windows of the Mark's building.
With the scope, he could easily see inside the windows. Even when the windows were blocked by curtains, Tristan could see shapes on the other side. As the time passed, more and more people inside began to wake up, get out of their beds, go to their kitchens…
But Tristan only needed one person.
He was sure that he would see him from this building or from the other one, but it was a fifty-fifty chance, and could lead to a lot of time spent only on observation.
As he thought that, Tristan spotted a different shape behind the curtains on the fourth floor. A shape of a person walking with the help of something… like crutches.
'Mark! That's him! Ah-ha-ha, how ironic—to live on the fourth floor with a broken leg! No wonder you don't go out. Does this building even have an elevator?'
Tristan smirked and set the scope aside to get his disassembled rifle.
With smooth, sure motions, he set it together. In less than two minutes, the rifle was whole again. Tristan attached the scope and the silencer and moved the rounds from the backpack to his pocket.
Then he loaded the rifle with five rounds that fit in it and aimed at Mark's window.
Mark had moved away from the window, but Tristan knew he wouldn't go far. It was only a matter of time before he could be shot.
Quietly and cleanly, just like Pierce wanted.
Tristan sat and waited, slowly becoming more and more hot under the summer sun.
Ten minutes must've passed when a sound of flapping wings caught Tristan's attention.
He turned there on reflex, but saw only a couple of pigeons taking off from the roof of Mark's building.
Then his senses registered more movement, and he noticed a man in a gray and brown city camouflage pattern. Until he moved, the man was almost entirely blending with the gray and brown concrete there.
And it wasn't just because of the camouflage—Tristan knew it immediately. That tall and lean man was hiding amid the water pipes on the roof on purpose. Although his face was hidden by a cloth mask, Tristan saw that his skin was too light for a Mexican. But he didn't think Mark was Mexican either, so it didn't matter.
The man was staring right at Tristan.
Even from the distance of twenty meters that separated them, Tristan saw it.
The man also had a rifle on a strap over his shoulder.
Tristan's eyes widened.
'Fuck!'
He raised his rifle at the stranger in reflex, but the stranger was even faster!
Half-way through the movement, Tristan knew he wouldn't win a gunslinger duel between them.
Instead of finishing the movement and shooting, Tristan threw his body to the side and rolled behind the nearest cover—a waist-high water pipe.
A bullet buzzed through the air right where Tristan just stood, but Tristan was also raising his rifle.
There was no time to aim—he pointed the barrel at the enemy and let his instincts do the rest as he pulled the trigger.
The shot missed, but Tristan forced the enemy to run for cover, too. There he disappeared, blending with his surroundings again.
'Two could play this game, asshole…'
Tristan's clothing—gray jacket, washed-blue jeans—also blended well with the concrete. He used all the cover available and all his stealth skill to change his position while remaining unnoticed.
Although he couldn't see the enemy, he was sure the man was doing the same.
Whoever found and shot the opponent first would win!
Tristan rapidly ejected the spent casing and peeked out of his cover to shoot again.