The beat of a remixed music arrangement played by a DJ echoed low, creeping into one of the private rooms.
"Why does Nate want to abort this mission?" asked a middle-aged man in a dark gray blazer, his body leaning against a sofa in the dimly lit, modern-style Cock and Ball, a bar located in the depths of Manhattan. Behind him were several people standing with a rather confrontational posture.
The man in his mid-thirties gave brief attention to his interlocutor, while reaching for the cigarette case he replied apathetically. "Nate just wanted to take a break."
Vincent Basciano is a former Sicilian immigrant. A middle-aged Italian-American, the head of the Donnano organized crime family in New York. Three months ago, Vincent contacted Nate. Wanting the death of the head of the Cuntrera-Caruana mafia clan of the rival Cosa Nostra. However, Nate abruptly canceled the contract with Vincent a week ago. So today Gregory met Vincent as Nate's representative to clarify the cancellation of the contract that was not mutually agreed upon.
"Rest? Did he take the wrong medicine or did he hit his head and shift his brain? I know what kind of person he is." Vincent Basciano sneered. A woman whose body was covered in a maroon dress lacking material giggled in the mob boss's arms, his brown eyes polished with eyeliner occasionally glancing mischievously at Gregory.
Ignoring the woman for the moment, Gregory replied, "It's not like that, but..." He sighed, "In the past few months our movements have been tracked by the FBI, even Nate's apartment in Washington has been discovered. Luckily, we managed to lose our tracks before leaving that place." While his mouth was talking, his hand pressed on the bottom of the box, pushing out a nicotine which he immediately welcomed by pinching it out with his lips.
While Gregory lit his cigarette, Vincent said, "One of my henchmen saw him yesterday, talking to the police, doesn't Nate hate the police? He's acting a bit strange too, what's going on?" His wrinkled eyes looked at Gregory quizzically.
Gregory didn't reply immediately, while a Dunhill cigarette was still on his lips. His right hand was busy with the lighter and his left was in front of the cigarette blocking out the air-conditioning air that could extinguish the fire. After taking a puff until grayish smoke wafted from between his mouth, Gregory asked, "Since when does Mr. Basciano care about people like Nate?"
Vincent snorted. "I don't care about him, but I am disappointed with the cancellation of his contract."
Throwing the lighter onto the table, grayish smoke wafted back from the mouth as Gregory exhaled, billowing up to create additional color in the bar that was dominated by red and blue. Hearing this, there was a nagging sense of worry. Gregory was worried about Noel who he had left alone in the apartment.
I hope Noel will be okay ....
Pulling out the ashtrays that had been provided at each table, Gregory quickly pressed the end of his cigarette that wasn't even half lit. Staring back at the middle-aged mob boss in front of him whose expression had turned cold.
Standing up from the barstool, Gregory said, "I've returned the money you transferred a few hours ago, let's pretend this meeting never happened." Having finished saying that Gregory stood up, turning to leave. Not accepting that it was over, Vincent broke the embrace from his woman, reached under his blazer and stood up.
"You think you can get out of here easily after canceling the contract?" Vincent pointed the revolver at Gregory.
While turning around, Gregory still maintained his calm expression despite the cold muzzle of the revolver almost touching his head. A single shot would have blown his brains out within seconds of Vincent pulling the trigger.
Gregory closed his eyes, momentarily regulating the rate of breathing that rumbled behind his ribs. He wasn't afraid. However, his mind was struggling to find a way out of the current situation, Gregory was worried about Noel.
Vincent had sent someone to their apartment, while Nate's body was being controlled by Noel's soul. If anything bad happened to Noel, it would affect Nate, because Noel couldn't possibly protect himself.
"Put the gun down!" Unexpectedly, a cold and stern baritone sounded from the side.
Seeing who had appeared, Vincent smiled wryly. "Wow, our villain has arrived." His lips formed a grin. The atmosphere of the room was suddenly tense.
"Put down that revolver now! Or I'll shoot you in the head." the man threatened.
Vincent stared, giving him a dismissive look. "You think a beleaguered rabbit can—"
DOR
Before Vincent could finish his sentence, there was a loud, ear-splitting sound. It startled everyone and drew the attention of all of Donnano's mafia boss subordinates in the room.
Gregory only frowned slightly, seeing the condition of the middle-aged man who had pointed a gun at his head earlier—now lying on the floor with a partially destroyed head. Thick red liquid pooled on the floor with a bit of brain scattered around. It was a sight enough to make a layman's stomach gurgle.
"You ..." One of them pointed at Noel, barely registering what had just happened; their boss was being killed before their eyes.
Of course, this event got an immediate reaction. Within seconds, Donanno's mafia underlings simultaneously grabbed their respective firearms supplies, pointing them right at Noel. Some of them seemed to be pointing their guns shakily.
Noel glanced at the expressionless coldness of the woman—she was trembling, kneeling by his feet while covering her mouth to hold back sobs, drowning in deep shock. Tears streamed down her cheeks like the blood that wouldn't stop flowing from the skull of Vincent Basciano's corpse.
Gregory was quite taken aback. Since when did Noel dare to do something like that? Unless ....
Unless Nate was back.
*
At 1am, the bell in an apartment rang, signaling that someone was coming.
A man who was sleeping in his bed was disturbed by the vibrational sound of an incoming short message cell phone. He got up from his lying position to reach for a flat object lying not far away. After a quick glance at the contents of the message, the man hurriedly got up, grabbing a vest-colored vest coat. Putting it on, he strode over to the desk and opened a drawer, grabbing something from there and, once he found it, stuffing it into a backpack that had been slung over his shoulder for who knows how long.
The apartment bell was still ringing, turning him attention to the brown-painted frame, his feet slowly walking towards the door.
"Who?" he asked flatly, the man's dark blue gazing intently at the small monitor screen mounted on the wall near the door.
"I'm Jill, from a 24 hour food delivery," someone answered from outside, their tone sounding casual.
The man's pair of sea-blue beads narrowed. The monitor screen showed a young man carrying a pizza box. His hand slowly opened the door for the food delivery man outside.
The second the door opened, a young man with straight black hair and a slender stature, named Jill entered while opening the pizza box he was carrying while exclaiming, "Surprise!!!"
It turned out that the contents of the pizza box was a gun, the young man named Jill pointed the gun at the man who owned the apartment and pressed the trigger.
There was a loud, stinging, deafening sound. Before Jill's gun could hit its target, the man swiftly kicked his hand. The shot missed, hitting the glass cabinet in the main room.
Quickly the man retaliated, his practiced movements lightning fast as he drew from under his vest coat, returning fire in the form of several shots.
Missing, the skillful young man dodged. His movements were fast, hiding behind a wall in the main room of the apartment with minimal light because the brightest lights were deliberately turned off.
"Nate the Killer Rabbit is amazing, now I can see your real face." said the young man from behind the wall, reloading the assault rifle with ammunition.
Nate only smiled slightly at the flattery. "How dare you come here and shoot me in the face." He complimented back.
Jill smiled slightly. "Compared to the police, I can shoot faster than them." He was quite confident. In fact, that fact was true. He also had a lot of guts and was nimble enough to dodge Nate's attacks.
Not surprisingly, Nate had an early morning visitor who turned out to be a hitman after his life.
In the next moment, the young man moved, peering over the side of the wall. As soon as his attention caught sight of a shadowy figure moving in the dim light near the somber white sofa. Jill immediately thought that Nate was hiding there. The gun was again aimed at the target, the trigger was pressed again.
The sound of gunfire was again gripping, deafening, perforating several objects that were targeted by the bullets.
Since there was no resistance from the opponent, Jill went out from the side of the wall, towards the sofa full of holes. The young man thought his shot had finished Nate off. Walking slowly to muffle the sound of his steps, in his right hand, the gun was always on firing alert.
The second the gun was pointed back at the holey sofa, the young man gasped. "Shit!" He let out a single curse after not finding Nate there. His inner vigilance heightened, Jill immediately focused his attention to all corners of the room.
In an unexpected instant, someone hit him hard on the back of the neck. Jill immediately fell to the ground, the gun in his hand was thrown away.
Ignoring the pain in his neck, Jill quickly got up, trying to retrieve the gun. However, his movement was preceded by Nate who kicked the gun until it was thrown further away. At the end of the brief duel, Nate aimed the muzzle of his pistol at the young man's head.
In a dark place, Nate always dominates. However, who would have thought, the young man still had a revolver stashed in his pants pocket. The tension in the room was getting tense, as the two generational assassins pointed their guns at each other within about two meters of each other.
"Who sent you?"
"You should know," Jill replied casually with a smirk plastered on his rather feminine face.
Taking a moment to think, Nate finally said, "Go home, Petya!"
Startled by Nate's order, Petya Jolly Bowditch's mind was struck with shock in an instant. How did Nate know his full name?
Not intending to wait for the young man's response, Nate said, "I'm going back to my house, too." His words sounded more like he was muttering under his breath.
A weak smile crept across Nate's lips, caught in Petya's eyes. For a moment the young man thought he'd seen wrong. However, it wasn't an illusion produced by the dim light in the dark room. Petya cursed silently, not expecting the mission that Donanno's mob boss had given him to fail with just an order to go home. However, if he continued, Nate would not spare him. While still controlling the calm wave on his face. Petya still couldn't believe what was happening.
Hadn't Killer Rabbit been a notoriously cold killer for years? But why did Nate let him go.
As Petya struggled with his thoughts, a colder voice restored his wavering alertness. "Before I changed my mind." Nate continued.
Petya was at a loss for words, a little hesitant, the young man began to step back while continuing to point his gun at Nate. Until he reached the doorway, Petya quickly closed the door with his foot and then turned and ran from there.
After Petya's departure, Nate scanned his surroundings with his attention. The man remembered that he had forgotten something. He ran into the room, rummaging through the closet, looking for something. Feeling he hadn't found what he was looking for, his search turned to the room. A faint smile was etched when the object he was looking for was found, immediately he picked up the backpack that was lying next to the bed. Without waiting for long, the man immediately rushed to leave the apartment carrying the backpack with him.
The moon shone brightly that night, in a parking lot, Nate ran to find his muscle car, after getting into the car, starting the engine. The man hit the gas, driving the four—wheeled vehicle at high speed. The slippery and snowy city streets did not make it difficult for him to hit the road; spurring the muscle car at an above—average speed to get somewhere.
Right at the intersection, a liftback car came from the opposite direction, the driver of the car honked to tell Nate to move aside. However, the man ignored the warning, when the distance between the two cars was only three meters, Nate turned the steering wheel of the muscle car to the left with a flat face.
Meanwhile, the driver slammed the steering wheel to the left in surprise, resulting in his car crashing into a pile of snow.
"FUCK YOU!"
The cursing rang out loudly on a street deserted of passing motorists. But Nate ignored it.
After arriving at his destination, Nate parked his car randomly in front of a building. As he was about to enter, a guard blocked his way.
"Show me the id—"
Nate kicked the guard backward in one fell swoop and continued to walk in, ignoring the stares of the people there who saw his behavior and occasionally whispered something.
Nate picked up his gun as he entered a room in the building and pointed it directly at someone who was also pointing his gun at someone he was looking for.
"Put down your weapons!" Nate ordered coldly and firmly.
"Wow, our villain is here." Vincent said as he clapped his hands.
"Throw that gun away now, or I'll shoot you in the head."
Vincent stared, giving him a dismissive look. "You think a beleaguered rabbit can—"
DOR
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